Page 6 of The Wolf Professor

“I’m very organized,” Charlie responded. “I’m sure I’ll be able to help with your process.”

“Perfect.” He smiled suddenly, displaying a flash of white teeth. Breathtaking. “I’m afraid you’ll find me the archetypal absent-minded professor.”

For a second more their eyes held, then Max looked back down at the desk. “So, if you want to settle in, get your work set-up organized, I will—” he cleared his throat, “go make us a coffee. I’m still getting used to the appliances and gizmos here. The housekeeper, Mrs. Bates, comes in twice a week, cooks and puts food in the freezer, but not today, I think. So I will have to work out the damn coffee machine myself.”

“I could—” Charlie suggested, but Max cut her off gruffly. “I’m not the kind of guy who expects their assistant to make them coffee.”

“That’s good to hear. But seriously, it’s no problem. I worked in a coffee shop before I started here, so I do understand espresso machines. Why not just consider it part of my job description?”

“Really?” Those expressive eyebrows lifted above his glasses.

“I didn’t put it on my CV or anything. I didn’t think it would be relevant.”

“I guess not.” He glanced at her a little sheepishly. “To be honest, I usually drink instant.”

“Shame on you, professor,” Charlie teased, and when his topaz eyes blinked, she quickly rushed to amend her statement. “I mean… instant is fine, it’s just a very different beverage to espresso. I’ve learned a lot about coffee in the past few months.”

“Then I will expect you to train my palate.”

Charlie thought she detected a twitch at the side of his mouth. A hint of humor. Which would be helpful, because she’d inherited her dad’s sense of fun, and it was fairly irrepressible. Apparently his younger sister, Eloise, had the same sense of humor—not that Charlie could verify that, because she’d never actually met her aunt. Eloise had joined a cruise ship as a dancer before Charlie was born. Very occasionally she sent them a postcard, but she’d never visited, so all Charlie knew of her aunt was what her dad had told her, and a few photos she’d seen.

“Perhaps you could supervise my coffee-making,” Max added now. “And let me know if I’m doing it right.”

“Happily.” She beamed.

As she followed him out of the room, it occurred to Charlie that she was for all the world like an enthusiastic puppy, chasing after her handsome werewolf boss.

CHAPTER 4

Max willed his hands not to shake as he tamped the coffee.

He’d always been awkward around people. He could hold his own in a lecture theater, of course, behind the safety of a podium, but if students came up and asked questions face to face, he’d have difficulty maintaining eye contact. As for book signings, they were a killer. He’d practice his signature countless times beforehand, but still his freakin’ fingers would shake when he took the pen, and his autograph would turn into a squiggle.

He blamed it on his inner wolf. Or, more precisely, his mistrust of his inner wolf. He was always worried that those wolf claws were too close to the surface of his hands. Sometimes he thought he detected a red gleam in his eyes in the mirror, and if he smiled, he worried that his incisors looked too pointy. His mom had warned him his wolf’s presence would get more pronounced as he matured, and he reminded himself of that often. But she hadn’t warned him adequately about the effect of an attractive human on his inner wolf.

“Just be careful not to pack the coffee too tight otherwise the water won’t get through.” Charlie’s melodic voice pulled him out of his funk. She was peering over his elbow. Too close forcomfort. His nostrils flared, picking up her tantalizing scent, mingling with the freshly ground coffee beans.

“So how long did you work as a barista?” he asked, by way of distraction.

“Nearly six months.”

“In Motham?”

She laughed softly. “No, in Be-Tween, I think my mom would have died if I took a job in Motham.”

He couldn’t help casting her a quizzical glance. “And yet you just have. Does your mom know you’re working for me?”

“Oh yes,” she replied airily. “She’s fine with it.” Why did he sense she was lying?

“Do you have a father?”

“Yes, yes, I do.”

“And he’s okay with you working for a werewolf?”

There was a pause. “Just screw it in—that’s right,” she instructed. Max tried to ignore the other possible connotations of the words as he focused on putting the coffee basket into the machine and tightened it.

“Now put the mug under and press the button with a little cup sign on it,” she said.

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