Page 73 of When Hearts Collide

I nod and let out a sigh. Outside the windows, I see a small crowd of people gathering on the sidewalk holding up large signs. There appears to be a protest of some sort against one of the luxury clothing brands nearby. People are braving the crowds, taking time out of their day to fight for change.

Perhaps it’s time for me to do something about my situation as well.

Chapter 28

It’s been an entire month since he has iced me out. Professor Ryland Anderson, the untouchable Prince of the USA, keeping everyone at arm’s length, has been back in full force. He has blocked off every attempt by me to talk to him in private. He’s acting like nothing has ever happened between us.

Like anything can erase the fevered memories of me falling apart in his arms, experiencing the most intense orgasm in my life, the way he tasted—mint with a hint of coffee—how he came alive each time he held me against him, all blistering lightning and pelting rain, a tornado sweeping me up into madness.

How can I forget any of this? It’s impossible.

The only good thing that happened this last month was receiving my PhD acceptances. The girls were ecstatic for me when the letters came in. Joss even sent me some celebratory flowers and chocolates from LA. My hard work has paid off and I have my pick of programs.

I know I should stay away from Ryland. After all, I’m putting my dreams at risk by being entangled with him. But lately, the argument sounds feeble to my heart, which recognizes in its very core what Ryland and I have. The way our psyches speak to each other is one of a kind, and something I won’t encounter again. And I can’t bring myself to let this go, to let us go. Ultimately, this is a risk I’m willing to take.

Gritting my teeth, I haul ass across the paved pathways on campus, ignoring the chilly breeze of fall. The amber leaves flutter and fall to the ground, a kaleidoscope of colors I usually admire when I’m in a better mood.

Instead, I wrap my red cashmere scarf tighter around my neck and stride toward class, my mind spinning with ideas about how I can get through the heavy layer of sleet to reveal the bubbling lava within the volcano of his soul.

“Who do I need to kill, and will you help me with the body?” Chloe appears next to me, her porcelain skin pink from the elements.

She cracks her knuckles as if she has a black belt in anything, even though the woman can’t swat a fly. She’ll probably hit herself with a bat while trying to inflict bodily harm on to someone else.

Biting back a smile, I reply, “You don’t need to kill anyone. I’m fine.”

“You’ve been sulking the last month and I’ve noticed something else interesting as well…” her voice trails off as she waits for my reaction.

I roll my eyes. “What did you notice, Chloe?”

“A certain dark-haired professor has been looking extra pissed off this past month too. Like he really needs to get into a good fight or something. I wonder if the two are related.”

My heart skips a beat and I fight the urge to look at her, even though I can feel her gaze searing onto the side of my face.

“Who?” I ask nonchalantly.

A gentle shove. “Come on, girl. I won’t tell Belle if that’s what you’re worried about. Well, maybe not everything…but she’s been pestering me, so no guarantees. You’re seeing her tonight, right? Say hi to her for me.”

I let out a sigh. “Chloe, there’s nothing going on between Professor Anderson and me. Drop it. I don’t want rumors to spread. It’d be disastrous for us both. And yes, I’m meeting with the other girls tonight, you nosy person.”

She skips a few steps in front of me before turning around, giving me a saucy, victorious wink. “I said nothing about Professor Anderson. You came up with that all by yourself.”

Chloe then points her index and middle fingers toward her eyes then at me, the universal hand signal for “I’ll be watching you,” and waggles her brows. “Hurry, we’ll be late soon. And I’m on your side, professor or not!”

Dammit.

The first half hour of class was another frustrating, blood-boiling affair where Ryland would look over my head when talking to me, his hands hidden in his pants pockets. But I felt the heat of his stare when I wasn’t looking at him, when he thought I was unaware. And when I’d turn my face toward him, I’d catch the smallest glimpse of his silver gaze flashing away and a vein throbbing on his forehead.

Now, we’re in the middle of the JEAP committee meeting, presenting the new information we’ve gathered on the open cases this past month from hours of interviewing, reviewing footage and emails.

The university IT department has turned over hard drives of emails between Professor Archer and Tammy. There is definitely a personal relationship, but the phrasing has never moved beyond innuendo. There isn’t anything definitive to show Professor Archer and Tammy are doing anything inappropriate.

I never knew how extensive these investigations were, but I guess it’s a good thing the university is being thorough. I know that’s sadly an anomaly and not the norm.

Perhaps the strict, unimpeachable Ryland has something to do with the gold standard here at NYUC.

“Why are we doing this, professor? Aren’t we just wasting time? It’s obvious Professor Archer and Tammy are guilty of a relationship. Just fire him and expel her. Why continue to spend hours talking to people and wasting everyone’s time?” Pete Crosby, a lanky guy with horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, asks.

Ryland’s face is unemotional as he turns to the rest of us. “Anyone want to answer Pete?”

---