Page 60 of When Hearts Collide

How my mind has already crossed into the realm of the forbidden, erasing every fucking ethical guideline the day a sopping wet water nymph crashed into my class and turned my life upside down.

How, if she didn’t cheat and if I didn’t have the IPO emergency, which involved switching underwriting banks and boring shit, there was no chance on earth I could’ve stayed away from her, no way I could’ve stopped myself from eventually succumbing to this burgeoning need, this ache inside me to touch her, to kiss her, to bury myself deep inside her and purge my darkness with her light, to find out every morsel of every moment in her life.

“Chloe, can you read the case background for the group? The names are pseudonyms.” I look at her friend sitting next to her.

She nods. “A complaint has been lodged by Professor Kohl regarding strange noises emanating from Professor Archer’s office, which sounded like,” she flushes, “the throes of lovemaking. Professor Kohl knocked on Professor Archer’s door and after a few minutes, the door opens to reveal Professor Archer with his student, a sophomore named Tammy, in relative dishevelment, defined as messy hair, sweaty face, and flushed skin. Professor Kohl distinctly remembers seeing a red mark, resembling lipstick, on the collar of Professor Archer’s shirt. Upon confrontation, both the professor and student denied allegations of inappropriate behavior, claiming they were in a heated debate over a classroom assignment instead. Professor Kohl submitted a complaint to the department chair. The case was submitted to the ethics committee for investigation and review.”

My mind drifts back to my office at ULA. When I touched her for the first time and felt the warmth of her skin, the wetness of her tears. When she slid her palms down my chest after she tied my bow tie. When I leaned down, my mind rendered into a useless mush, this close to kissing those pouty lips.

This Professor Archer is damn guilty alright.

But we have to undergo the process, the fact finding, before we conclude on the case.

It’s only the right thing to do.

I sneak another glance at Millie, finding her staring intently at her paper, her pulse feathering her neck. She swallows and blows out a deep breath. Then another. Her eyes dart up once more.

Two magnets drawn to each other.

Kindred spirits.

The blond friend of hers, Fred Carias, leans toward her, whispering something in her ear, his other arm slung casually over her chair. Heat churns inside me as I witness this tête-à-tête.

Does she like him? Find him attractive with his golden all-American looks? He probably fucks in gentle, missionary style and not like my rough, caveman ways.

Images of them tangled in the sheets have me seeing blood and violence. Heat climbs up my neck and face. I want to tug loose the tie around my neck.

“Ms. Callahan and Mr. Carias, do you have any insight you wish to share with the class?” I bark, my eyes pinning on the fucker with a hard-on for her.

I bet my life he sees what I see.

“We were just discussing how this case may not be as black and white as this summary implies,” Millie replies, her jaws locking.

“We don’t have all the evidence yet,” Fred adds, “and Professor Kohl only suspected something was going on. Strange noises and sweaty faces don’t equate to unethical behavior.”

“Not to mention, all parties are above the age of consent and no laws were broken.” Millie arches her brow.

“But if something nefarious were to have gone on, they’d have broken the university’s regulations over inappropriate faculty-student relationships. Their reputations would be ruined, not to mention other potential repercussions. It’s unethical, given the power imbalance, the undue influence one party may have over the other.” I tap my fingers on the desk, my blood simmering inside me. Tell yourself that, you idiot.

“Well, maybe these regulations need to be reassessed. They are both adults and if the relationship was consensual and if there’s no favoritism, then there’s no harm. Why should we view this as black and white? Who defined those colors and guidelines? Shouldn’t the assessment be case by case? Shouldn’t there be exceptions to the rule?” She raises her voice, her face flushed, her blue eyes blazing like the hottest fire, and I can’t help but marvel at her. She’s repeating her argument from when I saw her last in LA, when she defended her cheating.

Exceptions to the rule.

And deep down, I know I’m hanging onto the cheating like it’s my last shield, my last defense against her when she is nothing like Sydney.

Nothing at all.

She’s a fucking storm wrapped in a cloak of serenity. A tornado amidst clear-blue skies.

My undoing.

Chapter 23

Dear Mom,

He’s back, bringing with him his swirling tempest once more. Our connection is so much more visceral than last time. Except now, I know better. I know how fast those winds can turn. But I’m stronger. A fighter. I won’t surrender to his dark moods without a battle. I’ll tame the storm. Because I see him, the man behind the thousand-dollar suits and icy cold mask, and I know he needs me. He needs an outlet for his dark emotions and someone he can be completely honest with. I can be that person for him. This time, it’s my turn to give him my warmth, to shelter him from the storm.

Love, Millie

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