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She presses her lips together and gives a curt nod. “Yes, dean. Thank you for the opportunity.” Roger shifts his focus to me, daring me to contradict him in front of a student.
I follow Rebecca out into the hallway. Awkward silence surrounds us. I close the door behind me, hoping she’ll have already gone on her way. “Dr. Jameson?”No such luck.“I just want to say that I’m very excited to be working with you. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Rebecca holds out her hand. I stare at it for a beat, taking in the red nails. Wondering how such a promising student makes time to go and get a manicure. Maybe the dean is exaggerating. Maybe he’s got the hots for her and is doing her a favor by assigning her to my lab. The whole idea pisses me off even more.
Instead of shaking her hand, I turn away and head down the steps. “I expect you to be there by eight tomorrow morning. I don’t care if the bus breaks down.” I call over my shoulder. The echoes of my footsteps drown out any retort.
My head aches. The scent of lilacs now sickens me. For the rest of the semester, I’ll be saddled with Rebecca holding me back. This is so typical. One step forward and five steps back. I just want to be left alone, finishing my project at my own pace. But I can’t deny the fact that I can’t get the curvy brunette’s icy blue eyes out of my mind.
ChapterTwo
Rebecca
What a fucking prick.I pace outside the bus stop, grateful for the gentle breeze soothing the rage boiling my blood. It’s not like I didn’t expect it. Kellan Jameson has a horrible reputation for being the strictest and grumpiest professor on campus. But when the dean told me that his work on the life and death cycles of stars lined up with my idea for a dissertation, there was no way I could reject the idea of working under him.
Under him wouldn’t be the worst place to be, either. Having never met him in person, I nearly fainted when I saw how handsome he is. With his dark brown eyes and slightly wavy brown hair, he looks more like a soap opera star playing a professor than an actual Astrophysicist. And he’s giant, well over six feet, with massive shoulders and a trim waist that tells me he can’t possibly spend all of his time in the lab with a body like that.
Stop sexualizing your professor!
Hard as it may be, I shake off the thought of what it would feel like to give his bicep a squeeze. The bus appears in the distance, and I say a quick thank you to the powers that be. This is a huge moment for me, and I can’t blow it now. I’ve worked too hard.
All of those scholarships, money granted because people and institutions believed that I could pull myself out of my family’s financial situation and make something of myself, I still feel like I have to earn them. Uncountable nights studying in my dorm room instead of living a typical college existence like the other students around me. This very moment is what it’s all led up to.
I flash my bus pass and grab a seat near the front, still reeling from the meeting. I try to shake it off. It won’t do any good going in tomorrow with a huge chip on my shoulder like I have something to prove—but I do. It always feels like I have something to prove.
About fifteen minutes later, the bus pulls in front of grad student housing. Just a few more months, and I’ll finally be able to get a job and live in a house. I smile at the thought of owning my own house for the first time. No one else slammed up against walls and ceilings, involuntarily invading my space. It’s what drives me. One day I will have an amazing job and full financial freedom.
If you can get through this fucking dissertation, Beck.
If…indeed.
* * *
It’s seven-forty-five, and I’m standing outside Dr. Jameson’s office. If I were a bigger person, I’d wait until eight to walk in, but seeing as I’ve been challenged, I’m going to prove to this stick-in-the-mud that not only is he honored to have me but that his research actually requires my keen eye. I grip my coffee and throw open the door, ready to greet my enemy with a smile.
I stop dead in my tracks, and an audible gasp escapes my mouth. The lab is mostly dark, and in the corner, on the sofa, Dr. Jameson’s snores echo through the room. My body freezes, and I don’t know what to do, back up and pretend this never happened or stand here like a statue, staring at him until he wakes up. When Dr. Jameson stirs on the sofa, my decision is made for me.
With no time to run back out into the hallway, I stand there as his eyes flutter open, taking in the fact that I’m standing here. He bolts to a seated position, rubbing one eye while taking a sharp inhale through his nose.
“Christ, what time is it?”
“It’s just before eight.” Why do I feel so weird right now?
He glances down at his watch, and I notice how messy his hair is from sleeping on the couch. Bedhead looks fantastically sexy on him. I shake the thought from my mind. “I can come back.”
“Nope. I’m awake. Let’s get to work.” He heads over to the sink on the far wall and splashes some water on his face. I’m finally able to get my body to move a few inches, enough to set down my coffee on a nearby lab table.
He’s traded his button-down from yesterday for a plain white t-shirt. His back muscles flex through the cotton fabric as he pulls a towel down and dries his face. Again, I try not to stare but can’t help myself.
I hate how sexy he is. It’s criminal, and it hurts.
He lowers the towel from his face, and I turn away before he can (once again) catch me staring at him. I feign interest in my travel mug of coffee until the remaining lights flicker on. When I turn back to face him, Dr. Jameson’s wearing a fresh button-up shirt.
I have so many questions. Did he sleep here all night? Does he do this often? Does he have someone in his life who understands that clearly, his work is his life? A girlfriend? A wife?
“Let’s get started.” His gruff voice startles me, but I manage to nod without looking too freaked out. He slides a laptop in my direction and opens one of his own.
“What’s this?” I ask.
