Page 87 of His to Teach
Once inside, he seems to reach the limits of holding his tongue. “Jesus, Nathan. What in the hell happened in here?”
I barely cast a glance around at the mess as I make my way to the kitchen, my thoughts focused on the bottle of whiskey I left on the counter. Philip follows hot on my heels. “Seriously. I’ve never seen your house like this. You’re usually anal as fuck when it comes to cleanliness.”
I shoot him a glare over my shoulder as I reach for the Glenfiddich. So what if my house is a little bit messy? A few dishes in the skink are the last of my concerns right now. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the overflowing garbage can. To the left of that, piled up right in the middle of the kitchen floor, is a rumpled pair of slacks. I narrow my eyes at them, trying to remember how discarded clothes had ended up in the kitchen. I must have been drunk and too lazy to go upstairs to change.
Now that I think about it, Ihavespent an awful lot of the last few days dressed only in boxers.
Okay, so maybe the mess in this house is a little bit excessive.
Before I can pour my drink, Philip’s hand shoots out to grab the bottle from me. “Hey!”
He holds up the Glenfiddich. “You can have this back after you tell me what the fuck is going on with you. Why was Harper at Wyld without you? Why does it look like you haven’t left this house in a week?”
For a moment, all the rage I felt at the club resurfaces. I want to yell at my friend, to throw my empty glass at the window, to tear down the fucking walls around me. But then I look at him, seeing the concern in his eyes, and all the fight goes out of me.
“I fucked it up,” I mutter, collapsing against the counter. “I fucked everything up.”
He watches me for a long moment. Finally, he holds up the bottle. “Let’s have a drink and you can tell me about it.”
I sit next to him at the kitchen island and tell him the whole fucked up story. How I wasn’t ever supposed to be with Harper, for so many reasons, but convinced myself I could make it work.How quickly she seemed to get past the barriers I put in place to divide up my life into neat sections. How I became increasingly careless with her, culminating in almost getting caught that day in the library and the rumors her brother said he heard.
I wince when I mention Mason. I haven’t heard from him since that shitty morning in Harper’s kitchen—not that I’ve tried to be in touch. What would I even say to him? If there’s one thing I know, it’s that I’m the one completely in the wrong in all of this.
Apparently, Philip agrees. By the time I finish my depressing little story, he’s looking at me like he’s never seen me before. He takes a long sip of his whiskey, then makes eye contact. “I have to say, Nathan. I’m disappointed in you.”
I hang my head. There’s something about criticism from Philip that makes me feel particularly low. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s usually so even, so controlled. This is a man who rarely shows his emotions—it’s part of what makes him such a great dominant. But he can’t seem to hold them back right now, and it makes me feel even shittier than I did before.
“I know,” I mutter, staring down at the counter. “Believe me, I’m fucking disappointed in me too.”
“No.” His voice is low and commanding, the same tone I’ve heard him use a hundred times in scenes at the club. And even though I don’t have a single submissive bone in my body, the dominant edge to his voice has me looking up.
Philip’s eyes are still on me, filled with fire and what I’m pretty sure is anger. “I have a feeling you and I are disappointed in two entirely different things.”
My brow furrows in confusion. “What are you?—”
“You’ve never struck me as a coward, Nate.”
My mouth drops open in surprise at his harsh words, but he isn’t finished yet. “You’re the man who turned his back on one of the most lucrative, powerful multinational conglomerates on the planet. The man who, instead of following his family’s plan forhis career, set out to create a life he could live on his own terms. You literally gave up your rights tobillionsof dollars, immense power, all to sit in a dusty research room at the university, dissecting human nature. Do you have any idea how few people would be able to do that?”
I shift on my bar stool, feeling uncomfortable. “It’s not like that decision made me destitute. I still had the trust fund from my grandfather.”
My parents cut me off the moment I told them I wouldn’t be coming to intern at my father’s office after graduation. But there was nothing they could do about the several million dollars my grandfather had already left me. That money is the reason I was able to be an academic and still live the life I live. I know full well there aren’t many professors who could afford a townhouse like mine in this neighborhood. The car I drive, my membership at the club, the expensive season tickets at the symphony and ballet, the ability to drop everything to go on sabbatical and travel. Hell, even this expensive as fuck bottle of whiskey is a sign of my privilege.
Sure, I’ve done well with my books, but my income is nowhere near the level needed to sustain all this. Who knows if I would have been willing to give it all up if my paltry university paycheck was my only income.
Philip is shaking his head, watching me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “You still would have left, Nate. We both know that. You never would have been able to live your life on someone else’s terms.” He leans in a little closer. “So why in the hell are you doing that now?”
I’m sure my expression is about as blank as I feel because he chuckles a little, like I’m being incredibly dense. “You’re in love with this woman. And it works between you—you both want the same things. How many people get to say that?”
There’s a slight pause, the tiniest sliver of bitterness in his voice, but it only lasts a second before he’s once again fixing me with his piercing gaze. “You have always been the kind of man who fights for what he wants. So why aren’t you fighting for her? Why on earth would you let her brother determine your course of action? Why would you let some arbitrary societal expectation about age differences or petty work place gossip make this decision for you?”
“It’s not just petty gossip,” I argue. “If she’s linked to me, it could affect her entire career.”
I’m surprised, and a little annoyed, to see a smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. “Do you realize that not once in this conversation have you mentioned any concern for yourowncareer?”
That makes me pause, glass of whiskey halfway to my mouth.
Philip continues in that same patronizing tone. “The fact that you seem to care far more about her career than your own should tell you everything you need to know, old friend.”
