I spot Royce nursing a beer in the corner with some friends, looking miserable. I know what it feels like to have doubts about your future.
He’s bet everything on the Stars contest, working his ass off through the school year and over the summer to be ready.
If he can’t compete, the biggest opportunity of his life will be gone before it’s even started thanks to circumstances beyond his control.
Not if I can help it.
4
Olivia
I head to the engineering building fifteen minutes before Professor Redmond’s first class, per the online department schedule.
“Twice in two days.” Betty’s lined face creases as she smiles.
I lean an elbow on the desk. “I need to get into Professor Lancaster’s office. I lent him a couple of books, and I was hoping to get them back.”
“It’ll have to wait until Professor Redmond is here. He’ll have my ass if I let you in. You can wait on the bench outside his office. Actually, I need him to sign these papers saying he won’t supervise the design team. Can I trust you with these?”
I flash my best smile and take the papers. I have no intention of letting him sign them.
Last night at the Omega party, I locked myself in the bathroom to research Sawyer Redmond. Turns out he worked with Lancaster, then left the academic world after finishing his Ph.D. When he co-founded his company five years ago, there was speculation he had sold out.
So why is he back?
Not my problem. He might not want to be here, but he has a responsibility to his students.
I’m going to remind him.
I head down the hall and sit on the bench.
The sound of doors clicking closed and the elevator have me looking up every minute. No professor.
I check my phone. He’s teaching a class in fifteen minutes. Maybe he won’t stop at the office first…
“Sawyer Redmond,” a smug voice comments from down the hall.
I sit straight up, my bare thighs pressing against the wooden bench.
“Being dean seems to have made you even more self-impressed.”
The man is kind of a creep.
“Careful. Some people might love seeing your face around here, but I know exactly what you did and why you left your company.”
I strain to hear, but then he comes around the corner and pulls up when he sees me.
His gaze is hot and flustered. He scans me from head to toe, my shorts, the black tank top, the Tory Burch flats.
“Olivia,” I say at last, realizing we haven’t actually met.
“I know.”
He unlocks the door, pushing it wide. I’m aware of every inch of his body, broad and strong and oh-so-close. Today he’s skipped the jacket, opting for a navy button-down shirt. His hair tickles the collar.
“I’m here to talk about the Stars Engineering Contest,” I say to preempt his assumption I’m here to stare at him. Or beg him to kiss me again.
He rounds the desk as I follow him inside, dropping his bag onto the seat. “Don’t bother. I’m not an academic with ambitions for knowledge and teaching. I have an agenda.”
“Collect shot glasses from America’s seediest strip joints?”
Irritation clashes with amusement on his face. “I’m headed to class.”
“The winners get funding, mentorship, and basically a ticket to work anywhere they want,” I continue. “We have a team, but we need a faculty supervisor.”
I set a folder on the desk between us, but Sawyer rounds to the window without even glancing at the paperwork.
“See those students out on the hill?” he murmurs, and my gaze follows his. “They’re eager, impressionable, malleable. The next generation of leaders. Hundreds of researchers across the country would kill for this position. But that’s not why I’m here.”
I cross to stand next to him, pulling up when his shirt brushes my arm. “Then why are you here?”
That scornful mouth is inches from mine. His contempt should turn me off, but it’s the opposite. I’m used to people pulling their punches, my mother’s thinly veiled disapproval or Adam’s banal smiles.
Professor Redmond’s restless energy is a dog whistle to some dormant instinct.
“You don’t know me, Olivia, but I know you. You have a designer wardrobe. A country club father and a yacht club boyfriend and a need for approval that runs so deep they’d have to cut it out of you.”
Anger flares in my chest, singeing my lungs. “That’s not true.”
“I’ll make you a bet. If I can guess what you were doing this morning in one try, you’ll get out of my office and stay out.”
My attention drops to his watch. I thought it was a Rolex, but it’s not. The face is made of rock or stone, a rough surface under glass. It’s clearly custom, but the opposite of what’s on trend.
It’s as if he has money, and he wants it and he hates it at the same time.
“And if you can’t guess, then you will supervise the Stars team,” I counter.
Surprise flickers across his expression. “Why do you care so much?”
I think of Royce. “It’s a huge opportunity for some people. And most of us don’t get endless chances.”
Before he can respond, a clearing throat in the doorway makes us both turn.
“Miss Barclay.” The dean looks me up and down, his gaze lingering. “I hope your parents are well. And Jean and David.”
“They are, Dean. I saw them last weekend.”
“Very good. We’re glad to have you back on campus. We are particularly proud of our female engineering students.”
I force a smile.
“I’m sure we’ll see more of one another. Stay out of trouble.”
The dean’s gaze flicks to the other man, lingering. Does he know what happened?
Impossible.
Still, I can’t breathe until the dean continues down the hall.
“Jean and David?” Professor Redmond asks when the dean is gone.
“Adam’s parents.”
“Adam is the supposed ex. Do all your exes call you babe?” The judgment bleeds out of his tone.
I don’t have any other exes. I’m not about to say it, because he’s already looking down his straight nose at me.
“You made it clear you’re not interested in getting to know me, Professor Redmond. So go ahead and guess what I was doing this morning,” I prompt, folding my arms.
His attention drops down my body, a lingering perusal that has the hairs lifting on my neck and arms.
“You woke up in bed with your vaping prince. Made plans to meet your friends to get your nails done.”
I cock my head. “Which of those is your guess?”
“Neither.”
He grabs me, and I suck in a breath as he turns me to point to the streak of crimson paint along the side of my bicep.
Shit.
“You were…redecorating your dorm room.”
“Wrong! We had an engineering orientation week event. We wake up the first years and paint the bell Russell red with them. It’s been a tradition for decades.”
He arches a brow, dismissive, but triumph surges through me.
“Betty wanted me to bring you these forms confirming you won’t be taking over Lancaster’s role as team supervisor. Since you lost our bet, you don’t need them. You do need this.”