Page 32 of When Hearts Collide

He’s in his element.

“Professor Anderson, is this a good time?” I ask softly, clutching my drink and the potted flowers closer to my chest. Like a shield against what’s about to come.

His head snaps up, his sharp eyes widening a fraction and something imperceptible flashes in his gaze. The gray pools darken as he immobilizes me with his searing stare. He rises to his full height, the motion seeming automatic, like the rest of his aristocratic breeding.

No potted plant can save me from the lasered focus of his attention on me.

“Mill—Ms. Callahan,” he murmurs, his voice raspy. Millie. He almost called me by my first name. I want to hear him call me that. “Yes?”

I adjust the flowers and drink in my hands and use my hips to close the door behind me. The soft click sounds loud.

Carefully, I walk toward him and find his imposing frame tensing, the muscles bunching in his shoulders as he sits back in his large leather chair, warily eyeing my approach, like I’m going to destroy him.

Setting my things on his desk, I take a seat and clasp my hands on top of my lap. “I want to ask you to write a letter of recommendation for me. If you’re open to it.”

“For?” He cocks his brow, his frame relaxing slightly, as if relieved at the topic I’m bringing up.

“The Education Honors Program at NYUC. I’m only at ULA for one year. I’ll be back at NYUC next year and the honors program is notoriously difficult to get into. Your class here is one of the funnel classes to the program. I’m sure it would go a long way if you wrote me a letter of recommendation.”

Professor Anderson sits back, his posture deceptively relaxed, but his eyes remain shrewd. “And you think you deserve a recommendation from me?”

“I know we didn’t start off on a good foot, but I hope I’ve proven to you in the last few weeks I’m serious about your class. My grades are stellar. I have a lot to offer, and it’s my dream to get into the program.”

“Why?”

I tug my fingers and sit up straighter. “I want to become a teacher or a professor. Travel the world and teach those less fortunate. And maybe in the future, a policymaker advocating for equal education amongst all socioeconomic classes.”

He steeples his fingers in front of him and stares at me, his gaze unwavering.

My fingers twist and tangle, my tongue darting out to wet my parched lips. His nostrils flare and he swallows, the muscles in his corded throat rippling.

Ignoring the flutters percolating inside me, I soldier on. “I want to be a guiding light and teach the leaders of our future. I want to make a difference, like how a teacher in my childhood made a difference for me when times were dark. I want this to be my legacy.”

He stills as he listens to my words, his eyes never leaving mine. His gaze is penetrating. Unforgiving. A muscle pulses in his jaw and slowly, I see his hands curl into fists on top of the table.

Seconds pass by, but he says nothing. Doesn’t acknowledge my story. Doesn’t answer my request.

“I…I want to honor my mom’s memory…to make something out of a tragedy, I…I…” More words threaten to tumble out of me, but I hold them in, the rest of the sentence practically choking me.

He just sits rigidly, as still as a statue, his face free of any expression, and yet, I feel emotions pouring out from him in torrents. The vein throbs on his forehead now. A heat crawls up my body, and I’m sure my face is flushed. Why is he looking at me like he’s seen a ghost?

My pulse dives off the cliff, and my hands shake on my lap. This is a mistake. He hates me. He has since the first class. There’s no way he’ll write the recommendation for me. This is so embarrassing. I quickly scramble up, the chair scraping the floor in a loud screech.

This is a mistake.

I pick up my bag from the chair, my hands mindlessly reaching for the hot chocolate and flowers on his desk. “I-I’m sorry to disturb you, Professor. I can see this isn’t the time for it. Or perhaps you need more time to evaluate my performance. I’ll go. I’ll—”

Crash.

The pot of daffodils falls on the hardwood floors, the pot shattering into a thousand pieces. Just like my fragile heart today. In my haste to make a quick escape, my uncoordinated hands dropped the first flowers Dad got for Mom in over twelve years, the ones symbolizing his love for her.

A sob escapes my throat, my vision blurring instantly.

My hand flies to my mouth as I turn away, trying and failing to look at anything other than the imposing man before me. With his laser eyes. Eyes that seem to see everything.

Chapter 14

My mind is a scramble of sadness and embarrassment, my breathing quickening into short bursts. My vision is blurry, the tears welling up rapidly, and I bite my inner cheek in a last-ditch effort to halt my inevitable meltdown.

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