Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
She drank from her beer. “That’s really cute.”
“What?”
“You speak so highly of your parents and the way they love each other.”
It was the only reason I still believed in love at all, that I thought there was a chance that two people could be so loyal to each other, that goodness still existed in this cruel world. “What they have is real. They gave me a great childhood—and not because of the wealth.”
She smiled at me. “They must be proud of you.”
“Yeah…they tell me often.”
“They should. You’re the most selfless person I’ve ever met.”
Instead of reaching for my beer again, I turned to her, surprised by the compliment I didn’t really deserve.
She could read my disagreement in my features. “You are.”
“I’m kinda a dick.”
“Well…” She gave a shrug. “You can be.”
I chuckled at her honesty.
“But the behavior is excusable because of everything you do.”
“I don’t save lives like my father.”
“But you enrich them, and that’s just as good if you ask me.”
She already had the job, so it was unlikely she was blowing smoke up my ass like most people. When my mom said Emerson wouldn’t stick around if she didn’t get the respect she deserved, I believed it. When I saw her on her date, so confident, I knew she didn’t need me at all. She could go get another job if she despised me. So, her compliments seemed genuine, at least to me.
“So, I kinda overheard you and Isabella the other day.” She set her beer down as she looked at me.
I’d tried to put that episode out of my mind. It still pissed me off.
“I thought you handled it well.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and sank into the chair.
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to push—”
“It’s fine,” I said quickly. “I’m not angry.”
“You look angry.”
“Not angry with you.” I stared at the painting on the wall across from me.
“Is this the first time that has happened?”
“No.” It seemed to happen every time I had a female in my class. “I’ve been teaching for five years. It’s happened several times.”
“Five years?” she asked. “When did you get your PhD?”
“Twenty-four.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How is that possible?”
“I skipped a bunch of grades. I finished my undergrad at age twenty.”
“Wow…Super Brain.”
The corner of my mouth rose in a smile.
“That means you started college at sixteen.”
“With math skills like that, you should be an engineer,” I said sarcastically.
She grinned at the joke. “Where did you go for undergrad?”
“You’ve really never Googled me?” I turned to her, incredulous.
She shook her head and raised her hand. “My hand to god. Besides, I like learning about you from you. A lot more interesting that way.”
I faced forward again. “Harvard for undergrad and Stanford for the PhDs.”
“What was it like to be on your own so young?”
“I was a mature kid, so it was no big deal.”
“That’s still impressive,” she said. “So, this has happened with students a lot?”
“When I started teaching, I was only a few years older than them, so it was really bad then.”
“Have you ever slept with a student?”
I raised an eyebrow, surprised at the blunt question.
She realized her mistake. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“No. Never.” I faced forward again. “It would be an abuse of power, and I honestly don’t feel that way toward any of my students. Whenever I’m in that position, I feel like a mentor, counselor, and someone who’s supposed to guide these people to success. It’s almost like…they’re my kids or something.”
She smiled again. “That’s sweet.”
“And now that I’m thirty, it’s even more unacceptable. There’s such a big age gap that it’s completely inappropriate. Imagine how their parents would feel if they knew their daughter’s older professor was sleeping with her?”
“How is it any different than the other women you sleep with?” The question didn’t seem judgmental, simply stemmed from curiosity.
“The women I hook up with are looking for an older man, someone rich and powerful. They already have daddy issues.”
She didn’t cast judgment or berate me like my friends did. She seemed to accept me as I was. “Is this a temporary thing while you’re young, or are you a terminal bachelor?”
The question started to scoot into more dangerous territory, because now it was becoming really personal, really deep. A part of me began to feel embarrassed by the questions, but I didn’t have very good answers. “Terminal.”
She didn’t give any reaction. “Most men in your position love their power because they can abuse it, but you seem honorable, to know exactly where to draw the line. I think your only problem is that these young women, like Fleur, are exposed to an exceptional man, when most women don’t ever meet one and it’s impossible not to get attached.”
“Exceptional?” I asked, surprised she would describe me that way.