Page 27 of Wet Paint

I was sweating, and I felt guilty for feeling what I felt for Will.

My fingers trembled as I pushed open the door to the hallway leading to the Dean’s office. The assistant at the desk glanced up and smiled at me. She didn’t look like she knew what was going on.

“How can I help you?” she asked, leaning forward with her elbows on the desk.

“I uh…Professor Novak called me here.”

She looked down at the small note in front of her, then nodded. “Ah, yes. Ivy Hill.”

“That’s me.”

“All right, Ivy, please enter,” she said, her smile consistent as she gestured to the door behind her.

“Thanks.” I knocked once before entering.

Will was sitting across from Mr. Hartley, his spine straight but tense, his expression unreadable. His eyes shot to mine the second I stepped in, and something in his jaw relaxed slightly.

“Ivy,” Mr. Hartley said. He was in his late fifties, always polite, always sharp-eyed. “Take a seat.”

I did. Right next to Will. He gave me a tight smile, but neither of us said anything.

“I want to be clear that this is a professional conversation,” Hartley began, interlocking his fingers on the desk. “And no disciplinary action is being taken at this time.”

I sat still, staring at him with glassy eyes. We all knew why we were here, and it felt strange. At least, to me it did.

He looked at us both. “A student came forward with concerns about your relationship. Namely, that there may be inappropriate contact between a faculty member and a student. Ivy, I’m not asking you to confirm or deny anything. But I do want to be very clear about what the college’s position is.”

My heart pounded.

I just swallowed, unable to say anything.

Mr. Hartley turned to Will. “Mr. Novak, technically, you are not employed as a full-time professor. You’re an adjunct art instructor. You were contracted through the college’s artist-in-residence program, which, legally, places you under a different classification.”

Will raised his brows. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, the rules are…less rigid,” the Dean said carefully. “We don’t have a formal faculty-student relationship policy that governs guest instructors or contracted artists the same way it does tenured staff. That said, thespiritof the code of conduct still matters.”

So they couldn’t fire him.

But they weren’t thrilled about us, either.

“The optics are the issue,” the Dean added. “This isn’t about legality. It’s about how things look to the rest of the campus. If the rumor spreads, it could damage bothyour reputations. Ivy, yours especially, if other students feel uncomfortable or claim favoritism.”

I felt Will tense beside me.

“We can’t, and won’t, terminate Mr. Novak’s contract over an assumption, nor will we penalize you, Ivy. But we expect discretion. If there is anything more than a professional relationship here, we’re asking that it not play out on campus. Understood?”

I nodded slowly. “Yes, sir.”

Will matched my nod. “Understood.”

Mr. Hartley sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I trust both of you to be smart about this. I’d rather not have another meeting like this one.”

“Of course not, Mr. Hartley.”

We stood to leave, and as we turned toward the door, Mr. Hartley added, “And for what it’s worth, Ivy…you’re a very talented student. Make sure nothing, and no one, derails that.”

I smiled tightly. “Thanks.”

---