I rolled my eyes back at him. “Now who thinks highly of themselves?”
His full lips ticked up. “Point taken. Can we start over? Maybe go for a coffee? You look like you could use one.”
My laugh was edged with disbelief. “Smooth, John. Hot tip, if you’re asking a girl out maybe don’t imply she looks like crap.” Even if I did have eye bags big enough for international travel.
He winced but persisted. “Fair point. Dinner instead?”
This guy was unbelievable. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m seeing someone.” I checked my watch and huffed with frustration. “And now I’m running late for work, so please do me a favor and stop following me.”
I picked up my pace as I hurried across the campus grounds, but he kept up easily with those long legs. It was almost insulting how many steps I took to every one of his.
“Work?” he asked. “Isn’t that here?”
I clicked my tongue with irritation. “No, this is for my doctorate and barely covers tuition and gas, genius. I also need to pay life bills, so right now I need to get to my real job before my boss decides there are hundreds of other talented artists floating around Whispering Willows, and hires one of them instead. Goodbye.”
John finally took my hint when I reached the parking lot and unlocked my car with the remote fob. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around, Tristian.”
“Hopefully not, John,” I shot back, then climbed into my car and slammed the door shut. He gave a little mocking wave as I reversed out of the parking lot, and I extended my middle finger in response. Childish, yes, but he fucking started it.
Ugh, what a way to start my week.
three
JOHN
Well…that went badly.
I stood there like a fucking Muppet, staring after Tristian’s crappy Toyota Corolla as she disappeared down the street away from Boles. It’d been a long time since I’d been so significantly off my game, and it left me flabbergasted.
“What the fuck just happened?” I muttered under my breath.
“Looks like Tris handed you your ass,” someone said from beside me, and I was startled to find a twenty-ish guy in a Boles sport jacket standing there with a smirk on his face. “Don’t take it personally, old timer. She’s a cold bitch on the best of days.” The kid clapped me on the shoulder like we somehow had common ground, then headed off to his car while chuckling to himself.
What the shit? I dusted off my shoulder where he’d touched me and stalked back toward the art wing of the university. Fucking kid had probably been shot down by Tris plenty of times himself and thought that made us equals. Even if he did call me old timer. Jesus, I was thirty-six, not eighty.
Either way, I was off to a rough start and desperately needed to make up for lost time. It’d taken me two months to get this far, mostly chasing a false lead in Dr Bailey, and then hitting dead end after dead end while researching the elusive Tristian Ives. Or trying to. I wasn’t lying when I said she had no online presence; it was like she didn’t exist.
The only lead I had was that Dr. Bailey had let slip that he suspected his teaching assistant was involved with a known crime family. Lucky for me, that family happened to be the ones who’d last purchased Van Gogh’s Poppy Flowers at a black-market auction.
Tristian Ives was my way in, I was sure of it. But I’d just totally fumbled that first meeting, first by insulting her painting then by assuming she was a he, and she really seemed like the kind of girl who made up her mind on someone in the first ten seconds.
My only defense for my total fuck up of a first impression was that she’d caught me totally off guard. She was gorgeous, and when I’d been expecting to find a brown-nosing male doctoral student, it knocked my whole game plan.
I’d orchestrated things to get close to Tristian within the university setting, but now that I’d met her, my plans were already changing in my head. This could potentially be easier than I’d first thought, if she could get over our rocky start.
With that renewed sense of hope, I made my way back to the administration office and greeted the elderly secretary with a charming smile. She sent me straight through to the dean’s office, and I strode in with a confident set to my shoulders.
“Ah, Dr. Smith,” the dean greeted me, rising from his desk, “or do you prefer Professor?”
I shook the man’s hand with a quick pump. “Just John, please.”
“New age, got it,” the dean enthused, then indicated for me to sit. “You’ll fit in well here with that younger approach. Did you manage to catch Tristian’s class just now?”
I folded myself into the hard wooden chair and casually hooked my ankle over my knee. “I did, indeed.”
“She’s impressive, isn’t she? I never said this, but Stephan falling ill is probably the best thing to happen to his students. Tristian has a much more effective way of getting through to them.” The dean shuffled some papers, then folded his fingers together on the desk in front of him. “But of course, now they have you. Are you looking forward to starting tomorrow?”
“I am,” I confirmed, “but if it’s okay I’d quite like to take this week just to audit Dr. Bailey's classes. Just sit in the back and observe the students to get an idea of the general structure. That sort of thing.”
The dean’s brows rose, but he nodded hesitantly. “Uh, yes, sure. If that’s what you think best.”
“I do,” I confirmed with a confident smile.
“Well, like I said on the phone, we at Boles are eternally grateful that you could take this position on such short notice. Whatever we can do to make this work for you, consider it done.” He sat back in his chair, like he was happy that his part was done. “Marla has your ID card and office keys ready, and I understand you’ve been assigned a cottage on campus for accommodation?”
I inclined my head. “Yes, much appreciated. I think I’ll check it out now, then head into town to get the lay of the land. This is my first time in Whispering Willows, so it’ll be nice to take a look around.”
Rising from my chair once more, I shook the dean’s hand and went to see his secretary to get all my keys and cards. As of today, I was the new professor of art history at Boles University, and I'd take on the undergraduate studies courses. More importantly, I’d be filling in as the adviser for Dr. Bailey's graduate students.
As I said to the dean, I took my time getting situated in my new accommodation for the afternoon. Mostly revising and reviewing my notes on Poppy Flowers. I’d lied about this being my first time in Whispering Willows, but my stupid ass had been tailing a false lead the whole time. How utterly frustrating.
Faced with the prospect of needing to actually cook dinner for myself—since I’d opted to take the free on-campus staff accommodation rather than a hotel—I decided to cut my losses for the day and head into town.
Whispering Willows wasn’t a huge city. It had been built around Boles University, which started out as a very exclusive college for the children of wealthy families. Mostly ones who made their money in somewhat less reputable industries than the legacies of Stanford or Harvard. What had started as a small community for staff and supporting businesses had grown into a full town. Complete with controlling crime families—like all prosperous towns.