Page 18 of Arrogant Professor

“No,” I replied. “I’m alone.”

A small smile flickered at the corner of her mouth before she ducked her head.

“I came here because it was your idea to change my major. You suggested it. And now, I decided I plan to study English, like you did. I’m not smart enough to become a professor, but…I’ve always liked your classes and…”

Oh, boy. I stifled a sigh and rubbed my forehead.

“Elle,” I said.

She trailed off and raised her eyebrows waiting for me to continue.

“Is that what you want?” I added. “What kind of future do you envision for yourself?”

Elle swallowed. She shifted in place and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, self-conscious. Then she glanced away.

“I…I don’t know,” she whispered. “God, what am I doing here? I’m so sorry to bother you. I’ll go—”

As she turned away, I curved my fingers around her elbow. Elle stopped and slowly brought her gaze back to me. Goddamn it, I could kiss that promotion good-bye. I didn’t stand a chance at being Dean of East Regent University as long as I wanted her this badly.

“Come inside for a few minutes,” I said. “It’s cold. I’ll make you some tea. We can talk.”

I led Elle into the kitchen. As I filled the kettle with water, she took a seat at the table, fiddling with the cuffs of her coat sleeves.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“Not really. I didn’t mean to intrude…”

I waved her off.

“You didn’t interrupt anything important. I ordered a rare edition of Byron’s work and it came in the mail today. I was looking it over when you knocked.”

“That sounds expensive,” she replied.

I hummed in agreement as I retrieved two mugs from the cabinet, along with a box of chamomile tea.

“It is, but I consider it an investment. When I retire, I hope to open a shop for rare books in Boston, or maybe New York. I can’t teach forever. Wait here a moment.”

Ducking back into the entryway, I retrieved a handful of pamphlets I kept in my bookbag for students who needed them. Returning to the kitchen, I placed them in front of Elle.

“I know it’s none of my business,” I continued. “But after our chat, I think you should speak with a counselor. There’s no shame in it. Everyone needs help once in a while.”

Elle said nothing, picking up the pamphlets and studying them. The kettle began to boil until it whistled, and I poured water into each cup. She was so quiet that I couldn’t tell if she was upset, offended, hurt, or relieved.

I placed a cup of tea before her, and pulled out a chair to join her at the table. I waited as she folded the pamphlets with careful diligence, and wrapped her hands around the mug, drawing it closer.

“My name is actually Giselle,” she whispered. “My father is Daniel R. Roche. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

The entire world had heard of him—a wealthy, powerful man. Although Elle didn’t look anything like the glammed-up girl usually hounded by relentless paparazzi.

“How did you manage to keep it quiet?” I asked. “I’m surprised the news that a millionaire’s daughter attending our university hasn’t spread like wildfire across campus.”

She shrugged.

“A few people know. Dean Wilcox knows because my father made an exorbitant donation in order to have access to my courses and smooth over my abysmal SAT scores.”

I fought the urge to flinch at the mention of Dean Wilcox, knowing he would rescind his offer of putting in a good word for my promotion if—or when—he found out about my involvement with Elle. Even though I hadn’t done anything inappropriate, I was undeniably blurring the lines between student and teacher.

On the other hand, Dean Wilcox was no saint in this situation either. He’d been bribed.

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