Page 11 of Tangled with the Professor

?We lay together for a few more minutes before we decide he should go back to his room because even if my parents approved of him wholeheartedly, they’re old fashioned and would never let us stay in the same room.

“See you tomorrow,” I say, running my hand through his hair, standing on end from all my tugging on it.

He grins. “I can’t wait, little girl,” he tells me, making my blood heat up again.

I tiptoe to the door and he kisses me goodnight, both sweet and full of passion. As I get into my pajamas and under the messy covers, I slip easily into sleep. Sated, comforted, and full of confidence in my man.

Chapter 7

Mark

I tossed and turned on that damn couch for about an hour before sneaking back into Isabelle’s room. It was impossible to fall asleep knowing she was just down the hall, especially after what we had just shared. She’s perfect and I can’t wait to get inside of her again. She welcomed me eagerly, adorably sleepy and confused at first, and then we both fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Now I’m sneaking back to my room at the crack of dawn, more than a little stressed out. Just sleeping next to my gorgeous girl was difficult to say the least, and today is probably going to range from hell to living nightmare on the scale of unpleasantness. But I’ve got a few good hours of sleep under my belt and seeing Isabelle so hopeful and trusting revived me. I’m ready to take on whatever the Knight family has in store for me.

It’s early and the house is quiet as a tomb so I head downstairs to see about putting on a pot of coffee to help me face the day. The kitchen is spotless, with shining, modern appliances and gleaming marble countertops. There’s a big espresso machine I’m sure I’ll need another advanced degree to figure out, but the coffee is hiding.

As I’m rummaging through the third cabinet, I hear someone roughly clearing his throat behind me. Freezing with my hand on a bag of flour, I slowly turn to face Bruce.Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t look happy. I say nothing, thinking a cheerful good morning might get me punched, and we stare at each other in silence for a moment.

“It’s not enough you fucked me over ten years ago,” he finally sneers. “But now you’ve got my daughter twisted around your finger and your hands in my cabinets, too.”

I close my eyes, unsure how to react, certain my first instinct to knock him out isn’t the right one. My part in the lawsuit feels personal to him, even though it wasn’t that way at all. As for my relationship with Isabelle, only time will show him how serious I am about her. Before I can find words, he continues.

“I should report you for getting involved with a student. You wouldn’t have such a stellar reputation then, would you? Wouldn’t be able to rake in those expert witness fees after a disgrace like that, or get all those speaking engagements.”

Clearly the man has been Googling me over the years. There’s no point in telling him that that side of my work is a drop in the bucket because now I’m seeing red. And not for me but for Isabelle.

“Do you even care about your daughter?” I snap. “Did it ever occur to you that making such a report wouldn’t just fuck me over but Isabelle as well? Do you know how hard she works, and how far she’s come? How far she’s going to go?”

In reality, I combed over my conduct expectations and there’s no fraternization clause in my contract with the university. So long as it’s consensual and she’s not an undergrad, we’re free to pursue a relationship. The last thing I’d want is to get Isabelle involved in something that would threaten her goals and dreams and that’s why we need to keep it quiet for now. It’s infuriating that her own father doesn’t seem to care about that, only wanting to hurt me.

Bruce is taken aback by my outburst and babbles incoherently for a moment, his face getting increasingly redder. “How—” he sputters but then Isabelle’s nosy Aunt Mary and Uncle Phil wander in, yawning until they see we’re about to come to blows.

Isabelle is close behind them and her face falls to see us. “Dad?” she asks tentatively.

“Well, good morning,” booms Uncle Phil, trying to defuse the situation. “Who’s making coffee this morning?”

I slip away before Bruce can make a scene and embarrass Isabelle more than he already has. I’m calm and cool enough on the outside to show that nobody’s gotten to me but inside I’m fuming. Once I’m upstairs and out of sight I storm toward my room to use that abandoned weight set to work off my frustration.

As I reach the door, Isabelle catches up to me, breathless and in her fluffy yellow robe. “Mark, wait,” she says, following me in.

“I’m okay, go back downstairs and have your coffee. I’ll join you later.”

She shakes her head, her brow furrowing as she looks around the old rec room with the blanket flung over the couch. “Is this where they put you to sleep?”

“Yeah,” I say, not sure why she seems so disgruntled.

She flops down on the couch, and the old springs squeak. “This is from the old house, and this room was where my brother used to bring his stinky friends to play video games. It’s basically a storage room now.” When I start to shrug, she jumps up. “No, don’t say it’s fine. It’s not. Even with my aunt and uncle and cousins we still have another guest bedroom free. It’s clear they’re trying to make you feel unwelcome and I’m sick of it. You’ve done nothing to deserve this treatment.”

My stomach sinks and I sigh, pulling her to sit on the old couch with me. “There’s something I need to tell you. There is actually a reason why I might deserve this treatment.”

She gives me a disbelieving look and I hesitate, wondering how bad things really were for her family back then. Her father losing his job and reputation had to be stressful, maybe even devastating to them. Once I tell her, will she think I purposefully kept it from her? Will she turn as bitter as her parents and shun me?

“Mark, you’re scaring me,” she whispers, gripping my arm. “What are you trying to tell me?”

I can’t take the fear and worry in her big blue eyes, so I dive in and tell her everything. She’s already aware of me sometimes being called as a witness, though it’s not something I’ve done in a long time. When I mention her dad’s old company, it’s also clear she knows all about that particular lawsuit even though she would have been a teenager at the time.

“Marquis Plastics was found guilty for environmental damage and the payout bankrupted the company,” I say, winding up the story.

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