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Sext with Me(2)
Author: Evie Claire

   “Thank you. I need to sign up for the faculty mentorship program. Can you help me with that?” Talia took a seat in the chair opposite. “Is there a form or something?”

   “No, no form. We’ve decided to shake things up a little bit this year.” Lorena wiggled her shoulders, causing Talia to snicker. On this side of the door, her giggle didn’t feel childish. “We’re going to hold a random drawing, that way there’s more…cross-pollination among the faculty.”

   “Sounds fun. I had assumed Mrs. McTavish would tuck me under her wing, but who knows?” Talia shook her shoulders the same way Lorena had. She liked the woman and made a mental note to reach out later in the week to thank her for her help.

   “Who knows?” Lorena repeated, smiling and winking like it was some grand secret. It was names in a hat. But Talia could play along. Shaking things up rarely happened at an established institution like Talmadge.

       “Well, thank you. Have a good day.” Talia stood, still smiling, as the assistant continued to shoulder dance and make notes. Lorena’s energy was nice—much livelier than coworkers who had perfected the art of sneezing silently and couldn’t wait to teach her, too. It was an accomplishment. A boring one. But a source of pride in its own special way.

   Turning, she slid the business card into her bag and went for the door. Only to take one step and crash headfirst into a hard, warm body that smelled like Earl Grey and leather.

   “Oh”—an unfamiliar voice paused—“there you are.” His mouth was right at her ear, and when he let out a throaty chuckle, it wafted over her cheek. The hint of laughter burned her ears, not because she was being laughed at but because the tone was so carefree—the antithesis of everything she’d felt for the past half hour. Two hands pressed into her upper arms to steady and carefully rebalance her. “You found your feet?” he asked, dipping his head to catch her gaze.

   Swinging her hair out of her face, she looked up and stepped away.

   Only to stop again.

   Blinking.

   Swallowing.

   Blinking…again.

   Of course she’d body tackle someone like him. It was one of those days.

   His hair was chocolatey dark, with a hint of salt sprinkled at the temples. Beside his temples, the telltale lines of a quick smile faintly webbed toward his eyes. Eyes that were quick, dark, but somehow teasing, too, taking Talia in with much amusement. Lines also curved away from a half-grin, showing he had a way of laughing at himself and the world that Talia admired because it still eluded her. She should say something. She knew she should. But every thought that flew into her mind wasn’t one she could allow out of her mouth.

       If he wore a bow tie, he’d be preppy. If he bothered with the top few buttons of his shirt, he’d be polished. If he didn’t wear a tea stain splashed over that unused placket, he’d pass for put together. And if he didn’t flash a roguish smile that implied he knew every thought in her head, he’d be charming.

   Instead he came off like the bad boy crime boss in Gran’s favorite soap opera. The guy Talia secretly loved despite Gran’s passionate disapproval of his wicked ways. Even Gran would have to admit this man was handsomely disheveled, like he could slip out of that barely buttoned shirt at any minute—without warning—and that wouldn’t be an altogether awful thing.

   Shit. Talia mentally slapped herself for having such thoughts. Not professional.

   “Oh, excuse me. I should pay better attention to where I’m going.” She wheeled away from him, tightened her hold on the bag strap, and continued to the door. “Thank you.” It was an afterthought, really, but sincere. Had he not been paying attention, she might be sprawled all over Lorena’s floor right now…duchess slant and all. Ugh, she was such a mess. A total sham. And for some reason, it felt like he saw her for what she really was. Were the ladder rungs from coed to respected colleague this far apart for everyone?

       “My pleasure,” he said, his voice fading behind the closing door.

   Once again, Talia’s back found the solid wood. Instead of closing, her eyes were saucers. Her palms damp. She peeked through a small window to be sure he wasn’t watching. Nope, he was chatting with Lorena, not at all worried about the impression he may have made on her. So, why was she so bothered? Again with the existential questions. He was obviously a faculty member. She should’ve introduced herself. After crashing into him, an introduction was the furthest thing from her mind.

   He was cute, but definitely older. And any man with such confidence was dangerous. Gran’s soaps had taught her that much.

   Talia King always played it safe.

 

 

Chapter 2


   Maxwell


   “Sorry I’m late. It’s been a morning.” Maxwell Radclyffe opened his blazer to reveal a tea stain dripping down the front of his shirt and shook his head.

   “Trying to handle too much at once as usual.” President Harlow tsked as he offered his hand and a welcoming smile. Maxwell shrugged, not wanting to rehash the details of how the tea got on his shirt. “Good to see you. Thanks for coming on such short notice. I won’t keep you long.” Harlow’s attention fell to his desk. Shuffling some papers, he found the one he was looking for.

   “Rob—I mean, President Harlow—” Maxwell caught himself and winced slightly. On campus, he always tried to respect the accomplishments of his old friend and former mentor. They weren’t sharing whiskey over a soccer game today. They were work colleagues. More importantly, they were boss and employee. “Life gives only what you take from it. I’m grabbing every banana.”

   Harlow chuckled under his breath.

   “You will never change, Maxwell Radclyffe. I’m certain that attitude serves you just as well in life as it did whizzing through Harvard undergrad.” Harlow’s mouth wrinkled into a roguish half-smile and he took a seat.

   Maxwell grinned, remembering the first time he’d sat across from Harlow. He’d left the advisory meeting with a new friend and the nickname “Cliffie”—yeah, his last name made him low-hanging fruit at Harvard. But Maxwell realized it was all in good fun—especially given his affection for the opposite sex.

       Robert Harlow was the only reason Maxwell had decided to leave private practice and join academia. Since he had been a freshman on the Cambridge campus, Robert had guided him, first as his academic advisor, later as a friend, and now as a boss. Maxwell had never given a career in academia serious thought. For a sexual psychologist, private practice was where you helped people the most. In the trenches, so to speak.

   Until Robert invited him to dinner one day to discuss an “exciting idea” he had.

   Maxwell came away with a new purpose.

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