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My brow rises. “Things went well with Professor Eckhart, I trust?”
“Yes.” His smile broadens. “Thank you for yesterday.”
“You’re welcome.” I draw out the last syllable in a silent question to ask what’s made him so animated.
A heartbeat later, Julia Fucking Raring steps out from behind him, looking like she’s just been fucked.
No.
She looks like she wants me to think she’s just been fucked. If she had, the red spots on her cheeks would have stretched down her creamy neck and to the miles of cleavage she feels the need to display.
It’s all about the complexion. Hers is even finer than Phoenix’s, who reddens delightfully.
But I digress.
“I thought you and I were going together.” I turn to Dr. Xander, my eyes narrowed.
He gazes back at me with a guileless expression that makes me want to whack him upside the head.
“Oh, well, Julie here heard we were nipping down to watch the band and she offered to come along for moral support.”
I turn back to the woman in question, who shrugs. She and I both know she maneuvered herself into this position, even if Dr. Xander is obvious to such transparent machinations.
The question is how she got to know our plans. Did Dr. Xander tell her because he’s incapable of keeping his mouth shut, or has she been dropping by to siphon as much information about me from him as she can?
Paranoia suffuses every inch of my skin, making it itch.
Is she a loose associate of the Bestlasson family, making regular reports to Odin on the progress of his nephew? If so, my name has no doubt come under the radar as the professor who threw the chair. Now, she’ll report that I’ve attended the boy’s concert—
I cut off those thoughts before they spiral.
“Fine.” I turn on my heel. “Let’s go.”
I’d like to say we walk across the campus in silence, but Dr. Xander’s enthusiastic chatter is like a parmesan zester across my nerves.
The café is surprisingly full, but Dr. Xander leads us to the left of the bar to a booth he reserved for the occasion.
I sweep my arm toward the seat, allowing Dr. Raring to enter first, then step back and gesture for the other man to sit beside her. That way, he can at least serve as a buffer.
“What will everyone drink?” I ask.
Dr. Raring doesn’t even conceal her annoyance and tightens her lips. “Double vodka and espresso.”
“Xander?” I ask.
His brows pull together as though he can’t decide if he likes me using his last name without a title. “Hot chocolate, please.”
Up ahead on the stage, one of the long-haired boys from the flyer chats with someone in the front booth. It’s hard to see who it is at this angle, but it’s likely not Veer Bestlasson.
The line is mercifully long, giving me time to sift through everything that happened since Phoenix left my office under the watchful eyes of those harpies.
Regret kicks me in the libido, making me groan. I could have summoned her last night, but Quinn called back an hour later with her findings. Then she sent over maps and a whole host of data that made it look like abducting Veer Bestlasson would be easier than Crius had estimated.
But still… Waking up this morning was unpleasant, knowing that it would be at least thirty hours until I got to touch her.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. What the bloody hell is wrong with me? I’ve never gotten attached to any of my subs. But then I don’t get to see them on the daily. Nor are they quite so spirited.
“What will it be, sir?” asks a student I recognize from Finance and Accounting.
