Page 2 of Hot Professor (Tainted Professors)

Mrs. Brooks, the academic advisor, greets me with a kind smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes this morning.

Uh oh.

“Hello, Ivy. Thank you for coming. How do you like New York so far?”

“I love it. I’m very excited to be here and looking forward to my classes.” I carefully drop my backpack on the floor next to the guest chair as I sit in front of her desk. Folding my hands in my lap, I lean forward. “I hope there’s not a problem with my teaching assistant position?” I worry my request might have been revoked, given my status.

“That’s why I asked to speak to you, Ivy.”

Oh crap. Did the professor change his mind? Did the dean?

“I provided all the information and references needed. I realize it’s usually given to students in third or fourth year, but I thought the position was mine.”

She arches an eyebrow, tapping a pen against a stack of forms. “You’re certainly qualified, Ivy. And given your particular circumstances, we’re happy to give you the opportunity. But...”

“But what?” I sigh heavily, trying to hide my annoyance.

“It’s...” Mrs. Brooks hesitates, obviously choosing her words carefully. “Your chosen professor, Professor Ashe... Perhaps a female mentor would be more appropriate.”

I frown, not understanding. Why does gender matter? “I don’t see how that changes anything. Professor Ashe is my English Lit professor, and he’s got quite the biography.” The man is younger than most professors, having graduated high school before he turned sixteen, college at eighteen, and completed his Ph. D by twenty-three—he’s super smart—one of literally a handful of people to be in his position in his early thirties. I always did good, but not that good.

“Yes, he certainly does.”

“Is it because I’m only in my first year? I promise you; I plan to work very hard. I can balance my classes and the workload of being a TA.”

“I’m sure you can, dear.” Mrs. Brooks gives me a look that’s half pity, half concern. “It’s not about the workload. It’s that... well, college can stir up all sorts of new feelings. And distractions.”

Distractions? Now I’m even more puzzled. Is she trying to discourage me from taking this position? “I’m not sure I understand what you’re trying to tell me.”

“Well, Mr. Ashe is… he’s um… he’s very attractive.” She blushes.

I blink repeatedly before rubbing a hand across my forehead. “And that’s a problem for me? How?”

“I’m not sure how to put this.”

“Why don’t you simply tell me what your concern is?”

“Very well. We’ve had other students swoon over Professor Ashe and it’s caused… some trouble.”

I nearly choke on a snort of laughter.Swoon?Seriously? Who says ‘swoon’ these days. I’ve seen my share of cute guys. But swooning? That’s not really on my syllabus this year.

“Mrs. Brooks,” I straighten in the chair and school my expression, hoping my maturity and confidence are convincing. “I assure you that I’m here to learn and grow academically. Nothing else. I have no interest in a relationship with anybody. My focus is my studies and my job.” In all honesty, I plan to have fun, too, but she doesn’t need to know that.

She regards me closely, her eyes narrowing, and I can see her weighing further arguments in her mind. It’s a long moment of me trying not to fidget while she decides.

“Alright then,” she sighs. She gathers some papers on her desk. “Read these over. It tells you everything you need to know and do to finalize the arrangement. But remember, Ivy, sometimes the heart tutors us in unexpected ways.” She holds out the pages for me.

Right now, this woman is reminding me too much of Mom. I grab the papers from her hand and stand, thanking her before picking up my backpack and breezing out the door before she can change her mind. All this talk about hearts and feelings—it’s like they think I’m some green girl straight out of a Jane Austen novel. Please. I have a plan and goals, and they don’t involve falling head over heels for any professor, no matter how captivating his lectures may be or how attractive he looks.

“Thanks, but I’ll stick to my books about century old authors and poets,” I whisper, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear and setting off toward my first class.

Bring it on, Professor Ashe. Let’s see what you’ve got.

Chapter 2

Harrison

Anew year. Fresh minds. And the year I finally get tenure. Even though I fast-tracked, it feels like forever since I started working toward my goal, and now, it’s finally within reach.

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