Page 7 of Her Dark Salvation

“What type of modeling? What’s the objective?”

He shook his head. “I can’t tell you that. Not until you meet with him and sign an NDA. But I can tell you that your research is directly applicable. It’s an international, privately owned company, and the work is for their European branch. Frankly, I can’t do this without you.”

A rush of adrenaline shot through my body and surprised the hell out of me. It took me a moment to register where it came from, but I finally recognized it as genuine excitement at the prospect of doing something, literally anything, different than research and teaching.

“I know the timing is terrible, but this project has a short fuse. And there are still two weeks before classes start. You said you had a light teaching load this semester, right?”

“It’s lighter than you think.”

Jeff’s eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean?”

“I’m taking a sabbatical.”

And just as quickly, they launched to his non-existent hairline. “What? Since when?”

“Since about”—I checked my watch—“an hour ago. Give or take.”

“Two weeks before the start of the semester?”

“Yes.”

“Is it your parents? I thought you said they’re okay.”

“No, it’s not my parents. They’re fine.”

Concern etched lines in my best friend’s face. I sipped my cappuccino, searching for comfort, strength, and the right words.

“I don’t want to be a professor anymore,” I blurted before I chickened out.

Jeff’s mug froze midair, and his eyelids moved through a slow blink. He set the mug down, and his mouth opened then closed. He pressed his lips into a line and studied me. It wasn’t often Jeff’s opinionated mouth was rendered speechless, but then again, I’d just dropped the Anna-equivalent of an H-bomb.

“My sentiments exactly,” I said. “More so now after saying it out loud.” I rested my elbow on the table and slumped my chin into my hand. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Jeff. I’m so over it.”

“You’re over it?” His frozen shock shattered into a hysterical laugh, and he leaned forward. “Anna. You’re a tenured professor at MIT, the best school in the world, and you’reover it?”

“Yup.” I nodded. “Over it.”

He reclined in his chair, scrubbed a hand across his head, and glanced around searching for our waiter. “I think I’m going to need something stronger than coffee.”

I gave him a wry smile. “You and me both.”

“Seriously, Anna. What’s going on?”

“Seriously, I just told you. I don’t want to be a professor anymore.”

“Since when? You’ve wanted to be a professor since grad school.”

I nodded vigorously and swirled the last bit of biscotti in my coffee. “I know. Itiswhat I wanted.” I lifted the biscotti out of the mug and held it midair sodden with milk and espresso and my dreams. A chunk fell off and landed back in my mug. “Or, at least, it’s what I thought I wanted.” Defeated, I popped the soggy end into my mouth and pushed the remains of my biscotti-laden cappuccino away.

He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “Is this some sort of midlife crisis thing? Is that what’s going on here? Because Michael went through that two years ago. I bought him a Porsche, and he started getting Botox, and now he’s fine.”

I snorted. “I hate that term—midlife crisis. This isn’t a crisis. It’s an awakening. And I don’t think Botox is going to help.”

He sat back and folded his arms across his chest.

“Your caprese sandwich,” the waiter interjected and placed our food on the table.

I smiled at the waiter, grateful for the interruption and a chance to gather my thoughts. Jeff, on the other hand, dove right in. He licked his lips, lifted his half of the sandwich, and took a huge bite.

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