Page 4 of The Professor: Ep. 1

I rolled my eyes at the nickname. It started after they learned my full name—Kayla Isabella Mickelson. One of the older girls decided to call meBellaafter the induction. She said it matched my dark hair and matching eyes. When I asked why, she replied, “Because you’re obviously Italian.”

Yeah, because Mickelson sounds Italian,I thought for the thousandth time, nearly rolling my eyes again.

“Later,” I called after Nikki. But she’d already popped in her earbuds to play some tunes while she made the fifteen minute hike back to our sorority house.

I just shook my head and packed my bag. Professor Kane had already disappeared by the time I finished. Either he’d forgotten about his note or he wanted to meet in his office.

The latter couldn’t be a good sign.

I frowned down at my paper. It wasn’tthatbad. And I was certain I’d written a better essay than Nikki.

How could someone screw-up an essay on the supply and demand of healthcare in the United States? Sure, I’d compared my analysis to the United Kingdom and brought in a few words about how universal healthcare changed the scope of the market layout. It’d been a bit off topic, but I’d thought he would appreciate the creative lean.

I guess not.

Blowing out a breath, I left the lecture hall in search of his office. I’d never been, but Nikki had visited on a few occasions. Mostly just to have an excuse to talk to Professor Kane.

He was the youngest member of the College of Public Health faculty at a ripe thirty-one years of age. My father had been part of that hiring decision, choosing to go with a fresh face to lead the economics side of the curriculum. At least, that’d been what his hiring announcement had claimed.

But everyone knew the real reason was because of Professor Kane’s last name.

He was heir to the Kane Corp, a lucrative pharmaceutical company specializing in cancer drug research.

Professor Kane never once brought it up this semester, even with several students asking about the impact of big pharma on healthcare costs. He didn’t shy away from expressing his negative opinions on the pharma industry, which was fascinating considering he would one day inherit the company from his father.

Which begged the question—why did he go into teaching? He had a PhD in Global Economics and had chosen a life of academic research instead of taking on the family empire.

It had always intrigued me.

I wandered down the hallway toward the faculty offices. I knew who sat where because of my dad. He’d walked me around my senior year of high school, introducing me to all my future professors. It’d been humiliating, mostly because I hadn’t decided what to major in yet. But I’d endured it for him, aware that he was only trying to show me off as his precious little girl.

That was the downside to being an only child.

Professor Kane stood near his desk as I approached his open door, his muscular back to me as he shrugged out of his blazer to hang it on a coat rack against the side of his office. I almost announced myself, only he began rolling up the sleeves of his button down shirt, and I suddenly lost my voice.

The man was a distraction. All lean muscular lines, toned forearms dusted with light brown hairs, and Nikki had been right about his ass in those jeans. So tight and perfect.

“Miss Mickelson,” he said without looking at me.

“How…?”Oh.He could see my reflection in the window behind his desk.Right.“You, uh, wanted to see me?”

“Yes.” He walked around his desk to face me. “Shut the door behind you.”

Not a request, but a demand.

Uncertainty must have shown in my features because he added, “These are not standard office hours and I don’t want to be interrupted.”

My stomach flipped at the deep tenor underlining his words. It was how he always spoke, but being close and alone with him added an undertone of sensuality to his voice.

Another attribute to add to my frequent fantasies about him.

I stepped inside and shut the door to his office. His gaze danced over my sweater and skirt to my boots, then he nodded to his computer. “I want to show you something.”

My lips curled down. “Okay.” I set my bag on the carpeted floor beside the table in the corner in his office—a space he likely used to meet one-on-one with students—and wandered across the small space to his executive desk.

The masculine tones and woodsy scent made his office feel more like a den. He had very few decorations, no pictures, and three sets of shelves all laden with books. It was very minimal, yet modernly furnished. However, the room also held an air of temporary to it, like he didn’t intend to stay here long.

He didn’t sit in the leather chair behind his desk, choosing instead to bend down to type on his keyboard. His long fingers captured the mouse, drawing my focus back to the strength in his forearms.

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