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What are the fucking odds?
“Welcome, everyone. Let’s settle down,” Professor Hullum addresses the lecture hall. “We have a guest speaker today. Someone you’ll never get another chance to listen to in a million years. This guy is the top corporate lawyer in the country, and if I were you, I’d pay attention.”
The girls in class perk up immediately—and I do mean that literally.
I don’t know if this guy’s presence makes bras disappear like he’s some sort of illusionist or something, but I’ve never seen more nipples in my life. They’re cutting through tank tops and sweaters and fucking hoodies with equal and surprising precision.
I won’t go into the details of what my own are doing because, quite frankly, it’s embarrassing. I cross my arms over my chest just to make myself feel better.
He steps up onto the raised platform at the front of the room and grabs the chalk from the board.
With a scribbling scrawl, he writes the name I tried like hell to avoid in big capital letters, and I find myself reciting it silently to myself.
Caplin Hawkins.
It’s unique and unexpected, but somehow, it seems like it fits his persona with astonishing succinctness. His smirk, his cockiness—his unapologetically intense flirtation.
“Thanks, Professor, for having me. I know you had a party to celebrate my disappearance from your life all those years ago, so it means a lot that you’d burden yourself with entertaining my brand of humor again.”
For the first time on record, I’m sure, Professor Hullum smiles.
I sit up straighter in my seat as a girl in front of me tries discreetly to pull her tank top lower to reveal more cleavage.
Jesus. Does this guy have some way of potioning the air or what?
“I was a student here, in this very class, many moons ago. I sat in those seats, listening to these same, boring lectures…” Caplin glances over at Professor Hullum, who is again smiling. It’s like a parallel universe or something. I was certain it had been at least a decade since that man’s face morphed into anything but humdrum neutrality. “And I’m here to tell you the good news. In the end, I’m a better lawyer for it. Half the law is looking at what isn’t there. What’s not explicitly directed, what’s not covered in a contract, what’s not expressly illegal.” The class at large titters in their seats, and Caplin smiles. “That’s right, guys. I’m talking about the loopholes. The powerful, ever-changing tool you’re going to use to win ninety percent of your arguments and barter fifteen out of twenty deals.”
He walks across the platform and jumps up to sit on top of Professor Hullum’s desk, and I hear a collective female sigh. I roll my eyes.
No doubt, my spidey senses were right. This guy is big fat fucking trouble.
“You have to look beyond the information you’re given to the information you can find,” he continues, and I’m just about to look away—because Jesus, this guy is something else, and I don’t want any part of whatever sexy black voodoo he’s tossing out like candy toward the rest of my female classmates—when his gaze finds mine directly and holds it.
Shit. I don’t miss the amused recognition that flashes behind the sienna hues of his eyes.
He remembers me.
And most likely, he remembers the moans that blared from my audiobook while I bumbled around like an idiot with my phone.
I freeze in my seat, eternally grateful I decided to cross my arms a few short minutes ago, and I can feel his eyes on me like a physical touch. A fucking shiver runs up my spine.
Look away, Ruby! Look away from the sexy man!
I try to force myself to break the intense eye contact, but it’s no use. His penetrating stare holds my gaze, and he starts to speak again. “I’ll give you an example that some of you might relate to. Say you see a pretty woman or a handsome bastard—depending, of course, on your preferences—in…a library.”
Déjà vu hits me like a Mack truck.
What the hell…?
My mind fixates on the word library, while my breath catches in my throat so hard, I nearly choke. It’s all I can do to stay in my seat.
Caplin smirks and continues.
“And you want to see her—or him—again. But you don’t know her name—you don’t know her at all. How might you go about finding her?”
A guy down in front who loves to answer questions raises his hand. Caplin calls on him immediately.
“Yeah?”
“Is she an employee or just a patron?”
Caplin’s smile deepens. “An employee.”
The guy perks up. “Find the library board and request a staff roster.”
Caplin jumps back off the desk and walks across the room again. “Ah, great idea. Except, say you do that, and her information still doesn’t come up.”
The guy frowns, and another law student a few rows up and on the other side of the room raises his hand.
