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ChapterTwenty-One
Jonathan
Other than sending her that delivery on Sunday night, I’ve been keeping my distance from Emelia the last few days, giving her time to recover from the events of the weekend. I didn’t anticipate this,hercoming tome.
I’ve brought her back to my office on campus, but I don’t invite her to take a seat. This isn’t about getting comfortable. While I’m not exactly sure why she’s come here, I do know if she wanted a simple conversation, she could have found me at Banks and Barclay. This feels more like a game, and as such, I assess my opponent.
Her attire is stylish but prudish. Her short button-down dress and ballet flats are the picture of sweetness and youth. Her makeup highlights her prominent cheekbones and round eyes—doe eyes—and of course her lips are painted, just like always. Today it’s sinner’s red, but lips aside, nothing about the way she’s dressed hints at her plan. Still, I know she’s up to something. She came here with intent, and now here she stands, almost like she’s convincing herself to go through with something.
She steps forward and circles around my desk slowly, tracing her finger along the edge, studying a paperweight I was given by the AIA—an achievement award—before she lifts it up so the sunlight fractures through it, casting a rainbow across my body. She peers up at me, a heady look in her eyes.
“Emelia.”
It’s a warning.
“Professor,” she answers, almost tauntingly.
Ah, so that’s the game…
I reach out and wrap my hand around her wrist until she lets the paperweight drop back onto my desk. It doesn’t break on impact, though I can see from her wide eyes that she was worried it might.
I let go of her and nod toward my office door. “Go lock it.”
There’s not even a flicker of hesitation before she does as she’s told. She’s showing me how dutiful she can be, the perfect pupil.
The lock slides into place, and Emelia turns to look back at me. She’s waiting for a command. I know she wants the opportunity to please me. It’s why she and I work so well together.
“You look just like you did when I stood in your office at Dartmouth the day you suggested I drop your class. Handsome. Powerful.” She tips her head to the side. “Perhaps slightly cruel.”
I could tell her I’m just a man, flesh and bone, but why ruin her fun? She’s convinced herself I’m something of a monster; I might as well act like one.
“I know you’re not here for a conversation,” I tell her, sounding as if I’m less than impressed with the direction she’s taken things. “Are you nervous? Is that why you’re bringing up the past and trying to stall?”
She frowns. Maybe I’ve gone one step too far, but I don’t care to backtrack.
She takes her bottom lip in her mouth and then, realizing what she’s done, quickly releases it.
The phone rings on my desk, and for a fleeting second, I contemplate letting it go to voicemail, but it’s such a convenient opportunity to make her squirm. My actions tell her my time is valuable.
“Professor Barclay,” I answer.
It’s my assistant.
“I couldn’t reach you by cell,” Candace says.
I keep my phone on Do Not Disturb during my lectures, and I’ve since forgotten all about it. A first, I think.
“I just want to make sure you’re aware that your three PM meeting with CBN Construction has moved to four. Don has an inspection with the city, a last-minute change. If that’s an issue, I can—”
“It’s fine.”
My stern voice startles both Candace and Emelia.
As if a trance has lifted, Emelia pushes away from the door and starts to walk over to me.
Candace stammers over her next sentence. I shouldn’t have been so brusque with my reply, but Emelia has me wound tight.
“A-and since you’re meeting with Don at four now, I thought I should also change your 5:30 meeting to—”
