Page 16 of Isabela

I can’t respond to him because I’m worried about getting the liquid bandage shit in my mouth. I have a feeling it wouldn’t be a good thing to allow this to happen.

“Shh,” he mutters. “The stuff is still drying. So, you have money, but dress like a pauper, and it fucking irritates the shit out of me. At least today you’re dressed for the weather, but you’re hiding, aren’t you, Isa? I can call you that, right?”

No one calls me Isa, outside of my parents, and they’re dead. My attempt to shake my head, is interrupted as his fingers grip my chin tighter.

“Be a good girl, and stay still,” Dr. Murphy says absently, his eyes on my lips. I don’t know if he’s pretending I’m a dog or serious, but my stomach flip flops in the oddest way. “Now, on to the next thing that annoys me. Your uncle is an asshole?—”

I can’t avoid the visible flinch I make as he stops and meets my eyes. Whatever he sees there makes his green eyes darken in anger.

Dr. Murphy should hypothetically wear glasses, have a boring haircut, and dress atrociously as a history professor.

This man looks nothing like a stodgy university professor, who is one of the department’s best teachers.

He may be a hard ass, but students fight to get into his class.

Instead, he has artfully tousled blond hair, a goatee, and dresses very well. His camel-colored coat over his coffee-colored sweater and black pants back this statement up well.

Isa, he’s married.

At least, I’m pretty sure he is. Dr. Murphy is also dangerously close to uncovering things I don’t want him to know.

“As I was saying,” he continues as he moves my face to see if the liquid has dried yet. “Your uncle is an asshole, and I work for a group of people outside of the university who wish to connect with your company and its resources.”

My eyebrows draw down because I don’t understand why he’s discussing this with me. My uncle loves money, and appears desperate for it currently. I’m sure he’d give Dr. Murphy anything he wanted.

“He won’t take my calls, and it occurred to me that you have just as much stake in the company,” Dr. Murphy says. “You can talk, it’s dry now.”

Releasing me, he leans back on the desk. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the hallway is empty, and I don't even hear anyone outside. That’s odd.

“Isa?”

“Don’t call me that,” I snap at Dr. Murphy. “You’re taking an awful lot of liberties, Professor.”

Turning to face him, I take another sip of water because I’m still a little dizzy. “Was there anything in this water?”

Blinking at me, he shakes his head. “No, of course not. Why?”

“I don’t feel great,” I mutter. “I slept all weekend and barely woke up.”

“You probably have a concussion,” my professor barks. “You’re the world’s worst patient. Fuck, Isa.”

“Don’t call me that,” I remind him. “It’s not as bad as it seems. I’m just a little bruised. I still have my work as a teacher’s assistant at the university to do and I’m dealing with professors who don’t believe me.”

“Come again?” Dr. Murphy asks.

“Not you,” I say, shaking my head carefully. My head is starting to hurt. Driving home is going to be a lot of fun today.

“Dr. Borgs didn’t want to send me the notes for his upcoming classes, but he came around. It’s fine. Please stop staring at me as if you want to kill me.”

“Infuriating girl. Alright, so you don’t have a boyfriend, and you are lying about the car accident. Don’t deny it,” he growls.

My eyes widen because damn that sound should not be making me squirm right now.

Goddamn, I think I discovered an interesting new kink about myself.

“Fine,” I say airly, waving the hand with the water bottle in it. “Move on from beating the dead horse. I really need to get home. Why am I here?”

“Where else are you hurt? Do not lie to me,” he says.

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