Page 26 of A Legal Affair
He inclined his head. “It was.”
Shara frowned with disapproval. “Do you really think that’s a good idea, Caleb? Fraternizing with your students?”
“She invited me for coffee. I accepted. End of story.”
“You know very well it’s not that cut-and-dried. You can’t be seen going out on dates with?—”
“I’d hardly call what we had a date,” he interjected dryly.
“Maybe not this time. But what about the next time, and the time after that?” Shara’s nostrils flared in anger. “Can you really afford to risk your career by getting involved with Daniela Moreau, or any other student? You’ve got a good thing going here, Caleb. You’re greatly admired and respected by your students and colleagues. The administration thinks you walk on water—despiteyour maverick attitude toward policies and procedures and your outright refusal to attend faculty networking events. My God, Caleb, they even let you get away with showing up to class looking like the poster boy for a motorcycle gang!”
“You know I hate wearing suits,” he grumbled.
“I know.Everyoneknows. It’s your legacy around here—Professor Thorne, the hot, brooding bad boy with the dragon tattoo, soulful bedroom eyes and sin-inducing voice.”
He smirked. “Sin-inducing?”
“Don’t mock me! If you heard what these girls whisper about you, you’d understand exactly what I mean by that expression. All I’m saying is, no student is worth losing your job over. I don’tcare how pretty she is.” Shara paused, then added snidely, “And honestly, Caleb, you’ve had prettier—studentsandgirlfriends.”
His eyes narrowed on hers in silent appraisal. “This isn’t really about my job security, is it, Shara?” he queried softly.
She averted her gaze, her mouth tightening. “Don’t make this about us.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No,” she snapped. “It’s about me looking out for a colleague, someone I also consider a good friend. I don’t have to remind you that there aren’t too many of us in this department, Caleb. If the three of us—you, me and Evander—don’t watch one another’s backs, who will?” With a glance at her slim gold watch, she started toward the door. “I have a class in five minutes.”
“Shara.”
She turned back, one brow arched. “Yes?”
Caleb searched her tense face. “You know I’ve never crossed the line with any of my students before. What makes you so sure Daniela Moreau will be the exception?”
Shara gave him a sharp look. “What makes you so sure shewon’t?”
With that terse challenge hanging in the air between them, she spun on her heel and strode out of the office.
Caleb was left to mull over her parting question, though he already knew the answer.
When it came to Daniela Moreau, the only thing hecouldbe sure of was that he was in trouble.
Just how much trouble remained to be seen.
10
When Daniela entered Roarke Investigations that afternoon, the phone was ringing off the hook. The secretary, Carole Hightower, was frantically trying to keep up with the rapid succession of incoming calls while entering information into the computer in front of her.
Daniela quickly surveyed the reception area, which had undergone a radical transformation with the purchase of rustic pine tables and chairs artfully arranged around the large room. The seat cushions were upholstered in earthy shades of orange, red, salmon and turquoise that added to the Southwestern motif, and black-and-white prints graced walls the color of papaya. The new and improved decor—courtesy of Daniela—was a marked departure from the sparse, no-frills private detective offices characterized in hardboiled mystery novels.
In one chair, a burly, balding Hispanic man barked rapid-fire Spanish into his phone while puffing away on a cigarette.
Daniela walked over to him. “Excuse me, sir.”
When he glanced up at her, she pointed toward the sign prominently displayed above the large oak reception desk. “We don’t allow smoking in the building.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly. He glanced around the room for an ashtray. Finding none, he stubbed out his cigarette against the sole of his lizard-skin boot.
“Would you like some coffee, Mr?—?”
