by Lia Lee
“Just wait,” Natalie said with false cheer. “Midterms next week.”
Hazel curled her knees up to her chest and moaned. “Nooo, I’m dying this week, so I don’t have to do it.”
“See?” Hawk said, rubbing Hazel’s shoulders. “This is why you college nerds are dumb, and I’m a genius.”
“Get a job, Genius,” Hazel shot back.
Logically, rationally, Hazel knew she should cut back on her time with Dr. Cartwright. They’d done enough planning on the book that she could write independently most of the week… but that would mean less time listening to Cartwright’s stories, less time basking in his admiration, less time with her heart racing from his casual touches. Obviously, the same man who had appeared on the weekly tabloids for years, enjoying affairs with models, actresses and socialites in every country he visited, could never really be interested in plain Hazel Greenwood—try-hard and annoying social activist.
The only thing she had going for her was the scholarly backing she could offer his book. Otherwise, she was just another girl following him. Just another woman who he could use and discard, if he so chose. He hadn’t chosen to do so, however. Cartwright had made it very clear that not only wasn’t he interested, but he wouldn’t think of having a relationship with an inferior.
Perhaps, it was for the best, but it made her heart ache.
Chapter Six
“Sir?” Vicki poked her head into Ian’s office.
He was reclining in his massage chair as he looked over a progress report for this branch. “Yes, Vicki?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I know you wanted the afternoon to yourself, but your ex-wife is here, and you remember what happened the last time she didn’t get what she wanted—”
“I remember.” Ian turned in the chair and dropped the papers on his desk. He didn’t have to ask which one it was. His first wife was in Europe and tried to never be in the same room with him, if she could help it. The feeling was mutual, after all of the baggage they had between them. “Send her in. I want to get rid of her before Hazel shows up.”
Vicki nodded and slipped out again. Ian straightened up his papers and went to stand by the windows.
“Darling!”
“Meryl.” Ian half-turned and raised a brow. Meryl had nuked her hair at the salon recently. That color of red didn’t exist in nature. Neither did breasts like those, but he’d been all too aware of that during their marriage. “You’re looking prosperous. To what do I owe this visit?”
“Partially because you’ve answered not one of my letters.” Meryl brushed a bit of white fluff off of her suit jacket and walked over to take a seat by the coffee table.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Oh, I’ve heard! Ian Cartwright, cozy old professor, now? How you’ve changed.” She crossed her legs and leaned back.
With a sigh, Ian walked over to her. It was one of her common tricks—forcing you to come to her, even when she was the one asking for something. He had to admit, though, even if they hadn’t worked together romantically, they’d been quite aligned when it came to business philosophy.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m representing a group that is looking to strengthen laws against sexual assault and sex trafficking. I know philanthropy isn’t really part of your business plan, beyond yearly donations for tax breaks…” Meryl waved a hand in the air. “But I thought, ‘Ian’s big into the PR thing right now, offering up his services to help tutor a bunch of budding entrepreneurs. Maybe he’d be interested in helping us make some connections’.”
“That was never part of your plans either,” Ian pointed out.
“It isn’t, but my fiancé is involved, through his business, and they hired me for my legal expertise. So, are you interested? It’s a win-win for you, honestly. No one is going to look poorly on a man who supports legislation protecting against sex crimes, except maybe some politicians and priests. And it isn’t like they’re on your board of trustees in any case.”
Ian pressed his lips into a line. It was harsh but amusing, and that was Meryl all over. They’d known one another in school, for a time, before he’d made his career, and then married and divorced his first wife in an explosion of mutual emotional trauma after her miscarriage. Meryl had come into the picture afterward, a corporate lawyer with equal amounts of confidence and ruthlessness. No one would ever catch her blushing.
Ian took a seat. “Tell me more about what my involvement would be.”
Nearly an hour later, the doors to his office opened again, and there was Hazel. Both Ian and Meryl looked up to see her burdened with her laptop bag, messenger bag, and a third bag of notes. She wore her work clothes, but her hair was a loose mess, and she’d forgotten to change her Converses for heels. Ian nearly burst out in laughter, but Hazel looked so startled to see Meryl there that he held off.
“Meryl, this is my assistant and the young woman helping me with my next book.” Ian rose and took two of Hazel’s bags from her. “Hazel Greenwood. And Hazel, this is my ex-wife—”
“Meryl Davenport,” Hazel said.
“Oh, you’ve heard of me.” Meryl laughed. “Good things, I hope.” She winked at Ian.
“We covered one of your cases this semester in my Poli-Sci class. Elder vs. Conway.” Hazel looked up at Ian uncertainly for a moment before setting her laptop on the coffee table.
“Ah, yes. That was tricky. How did the class take that?”
“Explosively.”
“Sounds a lot more interesting than my political science courses.” Meryl smirked.
“Hazel is getting one of her majors in Nonprofit Management,” Ian explained. “Her peers are excitable, to say the least. I wish I had half their energy.”
“Yes, I’m sure you can barely keep up with this girl.” Meryl ran her eyes over Hazel. “Don’t wear the old man out.”
“Oh, I am not that old,” Ian protested. “Lester is older than I am.”
“Lester is my husband,” Meryl said, answering Hazel’s curious expression. “And at forty, he’s only three years older than Ian.”
Hazel looked incredibly uncomfortable. Ian took the seat next to hers.
“We were just talking about the organization that Meryl works for, and if it would be possible for Cartwright & Benton to partner with them.” Ian nodded to Meryl. “Could you give her the details?”
The tension dissipated a little after that. Hazel was focused on asking questions about exactly what Cartwright & Benton would be offering, and if there was anything else they could do. A few minutes into the conversation, and he’d realized that Meryl had captured all of Hazel’s attention and the two ladies were taking this away from him. Given that Hazel had fixed a laser-like focus on the problem, Ian wasn’t about to disrupt them. It would probably bode well for Hazel if she could get along with Meryl, anyway.
All said and done, his ex-wife had managed to take up most of his morning before she left, promising to send paperwork his way. She pulled him into a hug before she left, and when she did, it was like the room filled with air again.
“Oh, shit,” Hazel said suddenly.
“What?” Ian turned his head. She was staring at her feet.
“I forgot to change my shoes.”
“Don’t worry about that now.” Ian returned to his desk.
Hazel picked up her messenger bag, dug around in it, and pulled out a hairbrush. “I look like I just woke up.”
“Not possible, since I’ve seen you contending with a corporate lawyer for the better part of two hours.”
Hazel made a face.
“What’s wrong? It isn’t like you to be late, or for you to come to work like this.” Ian leaned back.
“It’s just midterms. My Poli-Sci exam is tomorrow, and Intersectionalities is on Wednesday. My grant writing class has a big paper due on Thursday, too. It’s twenty percent of our grade. I’ve got it mostly written, but I have all these small details to check out, and the professor is really picky.” Hazel pulled her ha
ir up and twisted the hair around into a makeshift bun.
“This is why I don’t miss college,” Ian teased. “And you want to go to grad school.”
“I love college. I hate tests. Thank God you aren’t having us do midterms.”
“I don’t like to grade. And I think it’s useless for a practicum in any case.”
“Yeah, I’ve had more than my share of exams from the Business Department.” Hazel brushed her hands over her hair and sighed. “Are you going to take Ms. Davenport’s offer?”
“I’m thinking about it. Cartwright & Benton has never had a strong philanthropic arm before.” He shrugged. “But at the very least, I can help her with making the contacts they need.”
Hazel seemed pleased. “Good. I’m glad.”
“You’re too kind for your own good.” Ian went to her and touched her hair. “You’ve given me some time for the day. I think you ought to go study.”
“I can finish the day,” Hazel protested. “I took the week off at the grocery store, so I would have extra time for my finals.”
Ian looked into her eyes—so open, so vulnerable and eager to please. He suspected it wasn’t just a good work ethic that made her want to stay.
“As you wish. I’m going to call my main office for a conference about Meryl’s offer. You can listen in, or you can work on the book.” Ian returned to his seat. Then, he paused to press the intercom button. “Vicki, could you bring the two of us some coffee and order us lunch from the Terra Café.”
“Right away, sir.”
Hazel grinned as she set up her laptop. She knew how he despised vegan food. There was really only one reason that he’d order it.
And that was to make her happy.
***
The week was only halfway over, and Hazel felt like she might die of exhaustion. On Monday night, she’d turned in her Grant Writing paper early, and then gone to a study group for Poli-Sci on Monday night and taken the exam the next morning. After that, she’d studied for Intersectionalities continuously, only stopping to show up for her class with Dr. Cartwright. She hadn’t slept that night. Not a wink. Then she’d returned to the school and studied until the exam itself.
The exam was held in the computer lab. Three hours, three essay questions. When Hazel read the exam questions, she thought her stomach might fall out onto the floor.
Somehow, after taking a long swig of her water, Hazel had buckled down and typed until the teacher told them to stop. She didn’t even take a bathroom break like some of the other students had. By the time she was finished, she was exhausted and starving, and her head still buzzed from all the caffeine she’d had over the past two days.
Trying to get her head together, Hazel sat and waited for the bus to take her to her parking lot and looked at the calendar on her phone. Was there anything she was forgetting? That was all of her classes, right?
She jumped as her phone buzzed with a text message. It was Dr. Cartwright. Had she forgotten something he’d asked her to do?
Are you coming by this evening? was all the message said.
Hazel blinked a few times, trying to remember what she’d promised. She couldn’t. Though it would be just like her to have agreed to come to the office after her test. She dialed his number.
“Dr. Cartwright? Hey, I’m sorry. I don’t remember promising to come in after my exam. What was I supposed to do for you?” There was a slight keen of pleading in her voice, but Hazel ignored it. It wouldn’t be helped. Not with this headache.
“Hazel, it’s not a big deal. I asked you yesterday if you’d like to skip work today and instead come by my penthouse for a relaxed chat about how you’ve been doing. You don’t have to come.”
His voice was so warm. He seemed so generous at the moment. But there was no way she was going to turn down time with her professor. She just wasn’t built that way.
“Do I have your address?” she asked.
“I can email it to you.”
And with that, she was on her way to her boss and teacher’s home to talk about her career, not having slept in more than roughly forty-eight hours. She managed to find the proper building and a parking space and made her way inside, trying not to look drunk due to how exhausted she was.
The doorman sent her to a small elevator behind the stairs, which he opened with a key on his belt, and she leaned against the cool metal of the wall as the lights flickered from floor to floor. She was going to see Cartwright soon. That thought made her giddy for some reason. Was it just because she was tired? No… she was always happy to see him, especially lately. She felt impossibly lighter, knowing that she could forget school for a few hours and maybe just listen to Ian telling her things in that deep, velvety British voice of his.
When the elevator reached the top, it stopped and chimed. The doors remained closed for a moment, while Hazel blinked sleepily. They opened to an expansive apartment that must have encompassed the entire floor. A gray and white sofa that could have seated ten people stretched across the middle of the floor and sat on a snow white, triangle-shaped rug. Hazel stepped out and looked around in awe. She’d never seen an apartment that looked so much like a mansion before. Well, not outside of a movie.
There was a lighting fixture floating over the staircase that looked like fourteen tiny suns hovering in the air, with dozens of glittering stars around them. She moved toward it slowly, transfixed like a moth to a flame.
“You like it?”
Hazel jumped so hard that Dr. Cartwright had to take a step back. She’d nearly dropped her bag. “God, sorry. I guess I didn’t realize the elevator would go all the way up to your apartment, uh, mansion floor.”
“Penthouse.” Cartwright laughed.
He was dressed down, for him. Instead of the ever-present suit, he wore a sleek, fitted sweater that clung to the shape of his muscles, offering a view of him that was at once sexy and relaxed. Below that was a sight that Hazel had never imagined she’d witness in her lifetime.
Jeans.
Granted, they looked to be expensive jeans, but they were still jeans. Dr. Cartwright, lounging around his house in jeans. And socks. He wasn’t even wearing shoes.
“Noticed that, did you?” Cartwright said, looking down at his feet as well. “I try to keep outside dirt to a minimum. It’s hell on the white carpet and chairs, and my maid Marta does work hard enough cleaning the place already.” Cartwright held out his hand. “I could take your bag? And your jacket? And would you like a glass of wine?”
“Um, sure. Do you want me to take off my shoes, too?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.” Cartwright set her things on a shelf by the door and kept walking. To the far left was an open kitchen area with a small island in the middle, and a wine rack next to the black refrigerator. All the appliances in the kitchen were black, a distinct contrast to the white of the rest of the apartment.
Hazel kicked off her shoes and put them beside the shelf by the elevator. She understood now that the doorman had opened up the private elevator for her. No one else could’ve gotten up here without Cartwright’s express request. She went into the kitchen where he was opening up a bottle of wine.
“Do you like red?”
“Yeah. I prefer it.”
“Excellent.” With a twist of his wrist, he uncorked the wine and poured two glasses. “I don’t mean to presume. You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to. It’s simply that when I was in university, we’d always have a few after finishing exams.”
“No, I think that tradition definitely translates across the pond.” Hazel took the offered glass and raised it. “To being a quarter of the way done! The end is near!”
“Cheers.” Cartwright clinked his glass against hers and sipped. “Mm. A quarter of the way?”
“It’s my senior year. So I’m halfway done with the semester, one-fourth of the way done with my last year.” Hazel sighed and leaned back against the island. “You might be right about getting a job after I graduate. I could always go back to gra
d school.”
“True enough. And with the right employer, they might support you in that endeavor.”
Hazel took a long sip of the wine then closed her eyes. It was strange to be drinking with her professor, but if she ever went to grad school, that might be the case. Relationships changed when you were all professionals at different points in your career.
“This is good. What is it?” she asked.
“It’s a wine from Argentina. 2007 Nosotros.” Cartwright swirled the deep red liquid around in his glass. “Only $100 a bottle, but I have no regrets.”
“Only $100?” Hazel chuckled. “Okay.”
“There are wines out there that run for thousands a bottle,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, and I heard there’s taco made of Kobe beef, lobster, caviar, and actual flakes of gold that goes for $25,000, but I wouldn’t go out of my way to buy it even if I had the dosh.”
“Ugh. No, neither would I. I’ve heard of that, and it sounds terrible.” Cartwright pressed his back against the counter to face her. “I don’t mind to spend money on quality, but there does come a point when things are just ridiculous.”
“I’m glad you agree.” Hazel set her glass on the island, then pushed herself up to sit on it and dangled her legs. “What did you want to talk about?”
“Hm? Oh. I really did just want to see you. This isn’t a meeting.”
Hazel tilted her head to the side. Somehow that hadn’t penetrated when he’d said he wanted to check on her before. “Right. Well, I’m fine. Exhausted.”
She drained the last of her glass, and Cartwright picked up the bottle to give her a refill, which she gratefully accepted.
“Are you finished? Everything in?”
“For now. Have you ever had that feeling where your shoulders were so tense that you could barely breathe, but then suddenly, the weight of all that stress disappeared, and you feel like you’re floating?”
Cartwright smiled. “Yes, I know that feeling.”
“Good. I don’t think I could trust someone who walked through life without experiencing that.”
Hazel took another sip of her wine and let her eyes drift over Cartwright’s casual wear. He was gorgeous. Had she known before now that he was gorgeous? She must have. She’d noticed other girls getting flirty and silly around him. And she’d always been a little nervous—until they’d begun working together practically every day. It was like the wine had unlocked a little piece of her brain that was stubbornly holding onto the idea that she couldn’t find her professor attractive.