Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 52643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
“Miss Edwards?” he whispers against my lips.
“Yes?”
“Get the fuck out of my house.”
“What?”
“Now.” He steps back, shattering our moment. “Get out.”
“I wasn’t finished talking.”
“Yes, you were.” He shakes his head. “And I definitely am. We are done talking.”
“I have more questions.”
“Send them to me in an email.” He grabs my hand and leads me back to the living room. Picking up my things and stuffing them into a bag, he practically throws it at me.
Then he pulls the door open so hard the hinges squeal.
“Out,” he says.
“Fine.” I walk past him, taking a few steps onto the porch. Sighing, I turn around to face him, but he slams the door shut before I can say another word.
5
LIAM
A couple of nights later
Drafting a two weeks notice isn’t supposed to be this difficult.
Unfortunately, there are no proper ways to say, “I can’t bear being around one of my students because she’s too fucking beautiful,” or “I’ve never been this attracted to anyone—not even my ex wife—and I swear, it’s not just her looks. It’s her mind, too, and if she were my age, I would’ve asked her out long ago.”
My cursor blinks at me in annoyance, unimpressed with the five words I’ve managed to type.
To Whom It May Concern.
Shutting the laptop, I open a drawer and pull out a Cuban cigar. On Wall Street, these were reserved for special occasions—closing deals, landing top clients, and crushing the competition. Now, my wins are defined by a personal metric that changes daily.
Didn’t look at Genevieve too long. Didn’t think about what would’ve happened if I tasted her lips the moment she dared me. Didn’t wake up with a hard-on after replaying our first night together for the umpteenth time.
Before I can light up to today’s success, my phone buzzes on the desk.
Her.
Assuming it’s a butt dial, I hit ignore. Then I make an adjustment to her contact information: “Never Get Caught Alone in a Room with Her Again.” To better conceal it, I make it an anagram.
The moment I hit save, she calls again.
“Yes, Miss Edwards?”
“Hey…How are you tonight?”
I say nothing.
“Sorry. I meant, ‘Hello, Mr. Donovan,” she says. “Are you busy right now?”
“It’s two o’clock in the morning.”
“You said the members of your mentee group could call whenever we needed help.”
“I didn’t mean for you to take that literally.”
“Then you should’ve never mentioned it.”
“I’ll make it clearer at the next session, trust me. What do you want?”
“Two things.” She pauses. “One, I’d like for you to find me a different mentee group by Monday.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time. What’s the second thing?”
“I need a ride back to campus.”
“What?”
“Yeah, so um…” Her voice trails off a bit. “The event in Boston ran a lot later than intended because the crowd kept asking questions and more people came. I lost track of time, and Amtrak canceled the final train of the night.”
Un-fucking-believable. I shake my head, stunned that she took this risk again. On the one hand, it’s somewhat fascinating to see someone go after what she wants without worrying about the consequences. On the other, this is a huge warning sign about how goddamn reckless she is.
“Mr. Donovan? “ she asks. “Are you still there?”
“Not for long.” I sigh. “Where are you, exactly?”
“The Raven House.” Her voice is a whisper. “Before you judge me, one of my favorite authors is Randall Grey and he like, never does public events. He was hosting an impromptu reading, and I would never forgive myself if I didn’t make it.”
“Why are you suddenly whispering?”
“I think the bartender is trying to figure out if I’m the girl on the ‘Do Not Serve’ poster, so I’m slipping out the back and heading next door.”
“I’m on my way.” I hang up and debate whether I should wake my grandfather with this situation, but his recent words play in my brain.
“If she steps out of line again, I’ll have to expel her for sure.”
I grab my keys and keep this to myself.
* * *
Fifty miles later, I pull off I-95 and call Genevieve.
“Are you here?” she answers on the first ring.
“I’m four minutes away,” I say. “Walk to the corner.”
“Okay, bye.”
I pull to the curb as a group of college students cross. I’m about to call Genevieve again, but I spot her in my rearview mirror.
Walking under a grey umbrella, she’s wearing a tightly fitted pink sweater dress that’s even sexier than the one she wore the night we met. An oversized beige bag hangs off her shoulder, and instead of stilettos, she’s wearing boots.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and get out, opening the passenger door.
“Thank you.” She slips inside, and I debate whether to put on the child safety lock before returning to my side.
Sliding behind the wheel, I turn up the heat and pull onto the road.
Before I can ask her what the hell she was thinking, she opens her bag and pulls out her school uniform. She pulls her hair down from its bun and quickly ties a maroon and white ribbon around a low ponytail.