Page 39 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

I stand there for a moment, frozen in place, watching them disappear around the corner. Then, as if on cue, I let out the longest, most exasperated sigh of my life. Of course, this is happening. Of course, Gio has decided to insert himself into my Monday morning!

Why wouldn’t he?

By the time I drag myself to the department head’s office, my brain is spinning with all the possibilities of what kind of chaos he might be stirring up back in my workspace.Is he rifling through my desk drawers?

Rearranging my bookshelves?

Chatting up every passing student because he’s a pseudo celebrity?

The thought is equal parts horrifying and absurdly distracting.

Professor Casey is mid-sentence when I take a seat at his desk—exactly on time, no less—but I barely catch a word of it. Something about new policies? Budget cuts? It all blurs together as my thoughts spiral.

I force myself to nod at the appropriate times, jotting down nonsense in my planner to make it look like I’m engaged.

My mind refuses to cooperate.

Instead, it cosplays images of Gio sitting in my desk chair, playing with my pens, tapping on my keyboard, his cocky smirk plastered across his face as he says something that makes Paul laugh like they’re friends.

What does the man want?!

“Professor Adams?”

I blink, snapping back to the present to find Professor Casey staring at me expectantly.

“Uh, yes?” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as guilty as I feel. “Sorry.”

“Do you have any thoughts on the matter?” the departmenthead asks, his tone suggesting he’s losing patience with me for my lack of attentiveness.

Crap.

“Could you repeat that last part?” I ask, offering my most professional smile.

His eyes narrow slightly, but he obliges—thank God—launching into another explanation about departmental priorities and some vague mention of student engagement initiatives.

I do my best to appear focused on his words.

All the while, my mind keeps drifting back to the man currently occupying my office—and the undeniable chaos he’s brought with him.

I glance at my watch. We’ve been in this meeting for sixteen minutes, though it feels like an eternity. I tap my pen against the page, willing myself to focus.

“And as for the faculty workshop,” Professor Casey continues, his tone dry as he flips through his notes. “We’ll need all hands on deck to ensure its success.”

“Mmhmm,” I murmur, nodding in agreement, though I couldn’t tell you what workshop he’s referring to if my life depended on it.

I glance at my watch again.

Seventeen minutes.

“Professor Adams.” Professor Casey stares at me. “Are you with us?”

“Yes, of course,” I reply too quickly, straightening in my seat. “The workshop. Hands on deck. Got it.”

My boss stares at me for a moment longer, unconvinced, before continuing his droning monologue about the department workshop, blah blah blah.

Blah.

I tap my paper with the tip of my pen. Let out a quiet breath of relief, my mind once again drifting back to my office.

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