Page 38 of Obsessed with the Heartbreaker

Don’t think about that.

Meanwhile, Professor Larsson, just looked at me with a resigned expression, knowing full well that when I wanted something, I got it.

And right now I wanted his advice.

“For what probably is the hundredth time, you do know I’m not an advisor, don’t you? I’m not even your professor anymore.”

I made myself comfortable in the chair opposite his. It was made ofvelvet. “I’m well aware. You’re also the only person over the age of forty I trust in a ten-mile radius. Which means: you’re stuck with me. Deal with it.”

Professor Larsson gave me a look. “I’m thirty-five.”

I shrugged. “Same thing.”

He put two fingers on the bridge of his nose under his tortoiseshell glasses—which looked surprisingly classic but modern on him—silently muttering to himself. He was probably cursing my guts, but I was immune. I crossed my legs and put my hands on my lap, set to wait for as long as I had to.

After a sigh, he gave up on fighting me and just accepted the situation. “Fine. What do we have here?”

I explained to him my situation: I needed to find an internship, one that would set me up for a career in something that didn’t make me want to pull my hair out on a day-to-day basis, and one that was as far away from what my father wanted me to be as possible.

He picked up one of his pens and a notepad—the guy was so old-school, I suspected he was secretly eighty—and wrote down something in a surprisingly messy scrawl on it.

“Okay. What are your ideas?”

“I have none. That’s why I’m here.”

He raised his head and glared at me. “I hope you’re not waiting for me to make this decision for you.”

“Well, Prof, that’s exactly what I’m here for.” My grin was full of mischief and evil satisfaction.

We were finally on the same page.

“This is your life, Henry. It’s not something that you can leave someone else to decide for you.”

“Well, you should speak to my father, then, who is hell-bent on me continuing the family legacy he and my mother started with no regard for my own feelings.”

“I’m assuming you’re doing this so you won’t have to work for him?”

“You’re assuming right.”

“And so you just want someone else, a complete stranger, to decide for you.”

Raising my hand, I started counting with my fingers. “One, you’re not a complete stranger. I wouldn’t ask a nobody to make the hard choices for me, only the best. Two: the fact that we have little relation is why I trust you to be impartial and tell me truthfully what you think I can do. Andthree:I didn’t choose my father but I choose you.”

He pushed a hand through his scrumptious wavy hair, which he wore in an artful messy-but-perfect style, letting out an all-suffering sigh. Several people in our college liked to call this man ‘Professor Sexy’when he wasn’t close enough to send them a disappointed reprimanding look. I had to admit that they had a point, because where he sat, this man looked like he was made to be in a fashion magazine photoshoot surrounded by books, instead of actually reading them. The gene-pool lottery had gifted him with both looks and brains, and had I been someone else, I might have tried my luck with him.

As it was, my green-eyed curse was still standing.

So pseudo-advisor it was.

“I’ll help you, but you also have to help yourself,” he ended up compromising, just like I knew he would.

“I’m helping myself by being here. So, tell me. What am I good at, you think?”

Professor Larsson leaned back on his high-backed chair, resting his chin on a fisted hand, and considering me.

“Well, you’re obviously good with people. Students eat out of the palm of your hand, especially all of those living with you in your frat, and you’re also good at leading them.”

“I said I wanted to be the opposite of what my father wanted me to be, not just to spite him by being the boss in a different company,” I said tersely.

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