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He was uncharacteristically dishevelled, his clothes looking rumpled like he’d been wearing them for several days, and his hair was wild and unbrushed.
I pushed a hand through my curls that had escaped my hair tie. I was sweaty, exhausted, and done with this man, and my long day. “What could we possibly have to say to each other?”
“You were drunk and not thinking straight at the awards night. If you apologise to the dean, everything will be okay.”
The nerve of this man. I clenched my fists. “I was sober. I drank water all night.”
“Kerri saw you with champagne.”
“I saved Kerri’s drink from ending up in her lap when she accidentally knocked it over.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Rosie, there are photos of you clearly drinking that night, and then you drove off in that state. Reckless and dangerous behaviour. And then that PowerPoint show.”
“What are you doing here?” a gruff voice demanded.
I whipped around. My father was ambling over as best he could with his cane. Tom followed behind him.
“Mr Zanetti.” Richard stepped towards Dad with an outstretched hand, which thankfully he ignored. “Perhaps you can provide a voice of reason here for your daughter.”
“If Rosie says she didn’t drink, then she did not drink.” Tom moved towards Richard.
Richard shot Tom a stony glare. “And you are?”
Tom straightened, using all of his height and broad shoulders to block the setting sun and cast a shadow over Richard’s face. “I’m her friend and I believe her. And so should you.”
Richard swallowed hard before stepping back several paces.
Mum popped her head out of the cellar door entrance. “Rosie, I am about to make—What is he doing here?”
“I ask that too,” Dad yelled back. “He has not given a honest answer.”
“Mrs Zanetti. Angelo.” Richard’s voice was like honey, all sweetness and heavy, working the gravitas of his plea. “I’m here to discuss my concerns of how your daughter wasn’t coping with the strain of grant applications, teaching and marking student papers. Clearly, it’s taken its toll.”
I moved around Tom and advanced on Richard. “How dare you! I was marking papers foryoursubjects whileyoucompleted grant applications thatyou’dleft too late. You need to leave.”
Richard took another step back. “Rosie, we need to sort out this mess you’ve caused.”
“I didn’t cause any mess, Richard. What about you and those undergraduates? The messages.”
“How dare you insinuate—”
“I know more women have come forward about your behaviour.”
Richard slammed his mouth shut, his lips in a thin line.
“You’re here in desperation. If I did say that I made the PowerPoint video and retracted the claims made on the slides, said I was suffering from … delusions, as you called them, then you just might get away with your behaviour. But Richard, I can’t claim that stroke of genius that was that video. I had nothing to do with it.” I paused, recalling something very important. “You’ve been stood down pending the internal investigation at work. You shouldn’t be here, should you?”
“Rosie, you’re not listening to me—”
“Are you deaf, mate?” Tom growled. “Rosie said you need to leave.”
Richard turned his attention to my parents once more. “She’s hysterical. I understand how emotionally fraught she’s been since the awards night.” Richard now looked downcast, even sad. He was an adept method actor. “We could have her assessed for the delusions. I’m so sorry this happened.”
My jaw dropped.
Dad leant forward on his cane. “Get off my property.”
“I beg your pardon.”
