Page 54 of When Hearts Collide

I’d bite it to punish her for invading my mind, searing a permanent brand there, such that even in her absence, a day wouldn’t pass by without some thought of her, the person who saw through me when everyone else couldn’t.

Fuck. This is all types of wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

When I left LA, I was going to stay away, far away from her, to protect her light from my darkness, to let the little bird fly high in the skies instead of shooting it down. I was going to respect the thick black lines separating my world and hers.

And now she’s back in my life again because fate likes to fucking play me as a fool. She’s once again my student and one thousand times more beautiful and enticing.

I fight the urge to loosen the black silk tie around my neck as I sit on the sofa of Dean Jacob Emery’s stuffy old-fashioned office decorated with dark woods and so many fucking gold antiques and other gaudy displays of wealth and power. My eyes dart to the half-opened windows, noting the curtains fluttering in the breeze.

Why is it still so stifling in here?

Strong footfalls reach my ears before a hearty voice bellows, “Ryland. How was your first day at NYUC? It was on Monday, right? Students have been treating you well, I hope?”

Jacob was Mom’s friend from college, a bona fide workaholic who refuses to retire, saying work is his life. He hangs his suit jacket on the coat rack before taking a seat across from me.

“Things are fine. Thanks for the opportunity.”

He waves me away and smiles, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks young for someone in his late fifties. Mom would’ve been his age if she were still here. “Julianna would be proud of you. She wanted to become a professor, you know?”

And she would have if her parents didn’t arrange for her to marry my father and she had to give up all her dreams to become a dutiful Anderson wife per the damn trust. The women married into the Anderson family would either stay home and spend their time in charities, raise families, or would join the family business.

She’d probably still be here if she weren’t entangled with the Anderson family and the curse which killed her.

The pendant weighs like an anvil on my chest. I clear my throat, my mind trying not to think of the generous, kind woman who left my life too early. It’s a pain I don’t think I’ll ever recover from, an agony few people can truly understand.

Except her. My forbidden temptation.

Shit.

“I’ve heard great things about your classes at ULA. Unblemished record of students with a high passing rate and rave reviews,” he begins, and my breath lodges in my throat.

Unblemished, my ass. I shouldn’t be an ethics professor. If he only knew what goes on in my mind, he’d be appalled and fire me on the spot.

He clears his throat. “So, why do you want to meet today if everything is going well?”

“I want to switch classes.”

“Why?”

Because I’m mind fucked over a certain vixen in my classroom. Because I’ve already violated my ethics for her and I’m afraid I can’t withstand temptation the second time around.

I settle for BS instead. “With the IPO in full swing right now, it’s requiring more of my time than originally expected, and the commitment needed for Advanced Ethical Leadership and JEAP is too high. I’m afraid I won’t be able to dedicate my full energy into the year-long program.”

Jacob settles into his chair, a pensive frown on his face. “You’re the perfect candidate for this class. You and your family’s impeccable reputation, your business prowess and knowledge, and frankly, I’m in a bind. There’s no way I’ll be able to find a professor with half your caliber on such short notice. This is the keystone course of our Education Honors Program, the reason our endowments increase year after year.”

Fuck. I knew he was going to say this, and I can’t disagree with him. It isn’t easy to find a leader of a Fortune 500 company who doesn’t have public scandals, who has brokered ethical deals benefiting all parties equally, leading to the growth of Fleur Entertainment Holdings at an unprecedented rate in the last few years.

Even I can’t find another person to replace me.

He leans forward, a shrewd glint in his eyes. “If you told me this half a year ago, perhaps I could make arrangements, but now…it’s simply impossible. But how about this? I know you wanted tenure when we approached you for the adjunct professor position. And you know we don’t offer tenure track to part-time professors without doctorate degrees. Your accomplishments in the business community with Fleur are well-known and much deserving. So much our university can be persuaded to grant you an honorary doctorate.”

I narrow my eyes, a heavy pulse thumping in my ears. Images float into my mind of me teaching full-time, no longer splitting my precious hours between two jobs, designing every aspect of my courses instead of teaching curriculum crafted by others, running my own research projects and teams, spending every waking moment doing the things I love.

Impossible dreams, and yet, seeming almost within reach. If I get tenure, maybe it’s a sign I can approach my family about my discontent with working at Fleur.

“What do you mean? Are you saying NYUC will grant me a doctorate and put me on the tenure track?” I fight to keep my face impassive, because that is the number one rule in business negotiations and despite this being a dean’s office at a university, everything is business and politics.

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