by Piper Lawson
“You’re lucky to have him.”
“He tells us every day.”
Harrison snorts and I stare at her over the rim of my drink.
She’s teasing me, even here. She’s steady where I’m volatile. Light where I’m black.
I curl my hand into a fist to avoid reaching for her.
Olivia departs in a smooth swish of fabric, every bit the elegant swan she played once in Swan Lake.
“Professor Redmond,” Harrison mocks.
I take a long sip of my drink. “Shut up.”
Moments later, she’s dancing with some guy, and my spine stiffens.
Harrison’s words barely make an impact.
“…I’ll introduce you to the man I worked with on a club in New York. He’s a massive contractor, and…”
I order another drink, my gaze never leaving Olivia.
She listens to what he’s saying, but when she smiles, it’s forced.
Harrison stares after her. “Let’s set aside the fact that you’re sleeping with your student—”
“You’re the only one who thinks that should be set aside.”
“—you don’t think you deserve her.”
She reaches up to play with her tightly wound hair.
“She might look like some heavenly creature, but she has her share of sins, too.”
“She’d be no match for you if she didn’t. Take it from someone who thought he knew what he wanted. The right woman doesn’t only soften your rough edges. She files a few of them into blades.”
Raegan appears from nowhere and Harrison slips an arm around her waist. She murmurs something that makes him grin in a way I haven’t seen in years.
Across the dance floor, the guy Olivia’s with pulls her closer, his hand sliding down to her ass.
I drain the drink and set it on a tray as I cross to them.
I stop behind her dance partner, making him jerk his head around in surprise.
“You’re done here.”
“Are you serious?” the guy demands, but when he sees the expression on my face, there’s a hint of fear in his eyes.
“Deadly.”
He lifts both hands and slinks off into the crowd.
“What are you doing?” Olivia demands, grabbing my arm.
Her touch burns through the jacket and my shirt, has me stepping closer amidst the bodies around us.
“Dance with me.”
OLIVIA
I’m staring at Sawyer like he’s from another planet.
One full of beautiful, reckless men in tuxedos.
Dance with me.
Is he joking?
“We’re in the middle of a fundraiser,” I say, my heart accelerating.
His mouth twitches. “If we were in private you’d say yes?”
Damn him.
I shake myself. “No. I don’t want to dance with you.”
Sure the guy I had been dancing with, the son of one of my mother’s friends who’s at Columbia, was talking my ear off even before he tried to feel me up.
He also left the second he got a look at Sawyer.
On that stage, Sawyer got up there to prove a point. My parents were appalled by the idea of calling out a room full of rich donors, especially if it required spilling your guts to do it.
It wasn’t crude.
It was brave.
“You weren’t having a good time with him,” my professor says smoothly.
“And you think I’ll have a better time with you?” I counter.
“Yes. Because you don’t have to pretend with me.”
The truth of it vibrates down to my bones.
Tonight, I wanted to enjoy the evening with my family. I was starting to believe this life wasn’t so bad—until my dad reinforced this is all an act, and my future rests in the balance.
The only person who’s not acting here is the man in front of me.
Sawyer’s waiting for me to respond and now, with the music and the darkened lights and everything that’s happened tonight, I force the words from my lips. “We can’t do this.”
“Here or at all?” He steps closer.
“Both.”
But his palm is warm and rough as it clasps mine. “Noted.”
I place my other hand on his shoulder. The wool suit strokes my fingers.
Sawyer is possessive without grasping. His entire countenance draws me closer.
I try to take a steadying breath but when I do, I breathe him instead of oxygen.
We’re surrounded by the very people we’ve tried to hide from.
I’m a butterfly trapped in a box, a panicked display. If any onlooker could feel how fast my heart is kicking against my ribs, they’d know this is more than it looks like.
“You’ve been drinking gin,” I murmur.
“It’s for special occasions.”
“Entertaining assholes?”
He chuckles, the sound warming me everywhere.
The song seeps into my brain, and it takes a moment to recognize it: an orchestral version of “Perfect.”
“I love this song,” he murmurs.
My throat is a desert. “A closet Ed Sheeran fan. Full of surprises.”
“Don’t you get it by now? I’m not your typical professor. These people are hollow pretenders who care more about looks than substance.”
I want to press my face to his lapel, or better yet, his neck. “What do you care about?”
His touch strokes up my back. “You.”
It’s one word, forced.
It cuts bone deep.
“You shouldn’t.”
“That’s when I care the most.”
I rip out of his hold, catching his startled expression before I spin on my heel and take off for the hallway.
Dodging bodies in the dark, I try not to run until I shove through the ballroom doors.
Outside, I start down the corridor, my heels catching on the carpet. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need space to breathe that’s away from my family, the posturing, the pretending, but also away from Sawyer.
There’s a potted tree and I duck behind it.
It’s only moments before my privacy is torn in half.
Sawyer shoves between me and the wall, forcing my chin up.
“Is it that terrible being close to me?” His handsome face fills my vision, his tie at an angle as if he was yanking on the fabric. “You didn’t used to hate it.”
“You can get up on stage and rip into those people because you don’t need them. But this is my life, Sawyer. You can’t tell me to stand up for myself and everything will be okay. Because you don’t understand, and you gave up the right to care.”
“Tell me anyway.”
My eyes are burning. “My family’s splintering apart, my dad’s business is crashing down and he’s trying to hold it together but he doesn’t believe in his own daughter. Everything I thought I knew is crumbling. And you’re the one who made me see the cracks.”
Sawyer grabs my shoulders, his fingers digging in until my flesh hurts. “Olivia…”
I shove him, hard.
He trips backward a step before straightening. His steady hands adjust his shirt collar.
“Again. Come on, sweetheart.”
I do, not because of the invitation but the endearment.
How dare he care?
He deleted our texts, our history, our relationship.
We aren’t anything.
This time, he hits the wall.
A rainbow of emotions—concern, regret, something that makes his eyes gleam—are scrawled across his face, and my heart skips.
His gaze drops to my throat for a beat, two.
Then he tucks my head under his chin and wraps both arms around me.
Out there, the world is fucked but everyone pretends it’s not.
Here in Sawyer’s arms…there’s no hiding. There’s only truth and strength.
His fingers play with my hair. He leans his forehead against mine, holding my face with both h
ands.
He smells like alcohol but every part of me aches to beg him to hold me again, to tell me everything will be fine, to blanket me with his reckless confidence.
“You said you’re not what people expect. So what are you?” My breath trembles between my lips.
His eyes lighten, honey tones dancing in the dark chocolate. It should soften him.
It doesn’t.
“A man who hates himself almost enough he can’t sleep at night, but not enough to stay away from you.”
I squeeze my eyes shut against the traitorous thudding of my heart.
We could get out of here. Run for the street, deal with the consequences later.
It’s even harder than I expect to pull away when he’s holding me. “I need to get back.”
I return to the ballroom, checking my makeup in my compact mirror on the way.
“Nice hair,” Emma says as I retake my seat.
It’s not until I feel the side of my head that I realize Sawyer took all the pins out.
5
Sawyer
“What?” I bark as the speaker in my Mercedes’ notifies me of an incoming call.
“Sawyer, it’s Tate. Apologies for missing the fundraiser. I heard there were some top partner prospects there.”
“You mean suits with more money than brains? Sure. Give them chandeliers and open bars, they’re good to go.”
Now that I’m on my way back from the city, I’m glad Tate wasn’t there. If he’d come, he would’ve seen a man consumed by thoughts of a woman.
After Olivia left me in the hallway last night, I returned to the ballroom for the requisite glad-handing. But my head was only half in it.
The only future I cared about was one that involved wiping away her tears until I could make her laugh, reminding her with my lips and words and body that she’s enough and it’ll all work out.
I wanted to help her, in my own fucked up way, but instead I made things worse.
“Your remarks seem to have made an impact.” Tate’s voice cuts into my thoughts.
“It was an introduction.”
“We need to be careful not to piss people off.”
“Is that why you called?”
“No.” He sighs. “Talent acquisition. If we’re going to start our new firm as scheduled, we need hires.”
“We are the talent. Look at the top companies in any industry; what’s lacking is vision, not manpower. Steve Jobs revolutionized communications, not an army of yes-men.”
“I’m not talking about yes-men, I’m talking about engineers. Ten at least to get us started. You can’t do all the work—you don’t have the time or the expertise.” He pauses. “I’m guessing this was part of the problem at your old company.”
“The problem at my old company was my cofounder was severely limited in his ambition. Graham cared more about the bottom line than pushing the frontier.”
My gaze drops to the stone watch on my wrist, a stark contrast to my ex-cofounder’s shiny oyster Rolex.
“It’s not either-or, Sawyer. We need to keep the lights on and pay the bills. Being the first mover is hard and expensive. The second mover, the one who follows close behind, gets the spoils.”
“But he has to look himself in the mirror at night and know that he was second.” I let that sink in. “We’ll get people from your firm. You’re a Senior Vice President for fuck’s sake.”
“They won’t walk without the assurance of a bigger payday.”
“I can try to interest people from my former firm. There are a few who might move with us. I’ll make some calls.”
After hanging up with Tate, I pull over to the side of the road and find my contact list from the old company.
Thirty minutes later, I’ve spoken with three former colleagues. None of them expressed more than a vague interest in moving.
This is a problem.
I click off and shove a hand through my hair as the road flies past my window.
I wanted a fresh start with a former rival, making the best tech on the planet. The rush of living on that edge, having money for R&D, not watching my ass or worrying about who else is.
Now, we need to attract new talent, too. I mentally scroll through names in my class roster. I know their faces, but next to nothing about their lives.
I don’t know who they are, or what they want.
When I get back into town, I don’t bother stopping at home but go straight to campus and up to my office.
I pull up my dad’s academic files from past years. He used to assign a short paper on why students wanted to be engineers. Sure enough, I find most of my students in there—including Madison, Royce, Adam, and Olivia.
My cursor hovers over the last one, but in the end, I ignore it and open the others.
If Tate and I are going to be able to recruit a team to support the work we’re planning to do, one of us needs to be able to bring junior engineers on staff and mentor them once they’re there.
I should’ve spent less time thinking of Olivia and more thinking of the rest of them.
That changes today.
6
Olivia
Liv: Can I get today’s class notes from you?
Adam: Sure. But you owe me ;)
The first Monday after fall break, I skip engineering class.
Cowardly? No. I have other shit to get done before meeting the team in lab and I don’t need to face Professor McHottie on top of it.
In my last fifteen minutes of history, I’m flipping through my notebook when I find my note I made a few weeks ago.
How to be a badass:
1. Date who I want. (And not who I don’t.)
2. Pursue my own career and personal interests.
3. Become financially independent.
So the first one’s easy. I’m not dating anyone.
But I am pursuing my own interests, and if our team can win this competition, it’ll set me up for a legitimate career.
Still, there are problems. Big ones.
This afternoon is the first team meeting since break, and I haven’t talked to Madison except our run-in at the bar a week ago.
I hoped to arrive early to corner her, but our history prof ends the day by announcing the midterm time, which conflicts with one of my labs, so I stay late to plead my case.
As I head across campus, the late afternoon sun has me stripping off my sweater. The pleated skirt and tank top are cute for class but less than ideal for actually working. But I don’t have a second to head home and change like I’d planned.
At least Sawyer won’t be there. Today, I’m grateful not to have to face him.
I’ve always liked the engineering design lab. It’s not the lab itself, but what goes on there: projects, creativity, exploration of ideas.
I run into Adam on the way in.
“You’re here early,” I comment.
“Madison suggested getting a head start.”
I’m immediately on alert.
She changed her mind and she’s planning to tell them about me and Professor Redmond.
“Missed you over break,” he says. “A few of us went to a party at Keaton’s.”
I focus on his words and not the feeling of impending doom. “Remember when you broke that vase of his mom’s back in senior year when you were high and throwing it around like a football?”
“I thought I was a dead man.” He shakes his head.
“You get away with everything. It’s that smile.”
The smile in question appears. “Everything okay? Your mom skipped lunch with mine, and when you texted to say you weren’t coming to class, I wondered if something was up.”
Adam puts his hand on the small of my back, and I step forward. “Yeah. We’re doing okay.”
“Liv…”
I cut him a look. “It’s been a little stressful with my dad’s work, and Emma.”
“I’m here for you. You know that, right?”
His eyes search mine, looking genuinely concerned
.
And as much as he was a dick earlier this semester, he does understand what my world is like because it’s his world, too.
We make our way into the lab to find Madison’s already there, facing a whiteboard, plus Royce, but it’s the third figure between them that has my chest tightening.
Sawyer’s wearing a black T-shirt over jeans and boots. His hair is tied back and he writes on a whiteboard.
A dull object pokes my stomach and I curse as I run into the corner of a lab table.
Adam grabs me, a hand on my waist and another on my shoulder. “Easy there,” he laughs. “Need me to carry you to lab? Cuz I’ll do it.”
All three of them turn this way.
Our professor’s gaze flickers over me and Adam, making every inch of my skin tingle.
“Glad you guys could make it,” Madison says. “We’re going over the schedule for the rest of the semester and we started brainstorming what we can improve on after regionals.” She motions to the whiteboard.
“Since when does Professor Redmond come to meetings?”
Royce arches a brow and Madison blinks at me.
“Since now,” Sawyer replies, a warning lurking just below the surface.
“Go with it, Liv.” Adam laughs at my side. “We’re getting extra help, it’s a good thing.”
“This is just a team meeting,” Royce says, crossing to us. “It’s still a long road to nationals and we can’t do it without him.”
He’s right. I should focus on being the team leader they can trust, the one who pulls her weight.
I glance at Sawyer and take a deep breath. “Sure. No problem.”
An hour later, Sawyer’s been less watchful mentor than drill sergeant. He’s been giving us all kinds of menial tasks. Wires and circuit components are scattered across the lab counter, none of which are attached to the robot.
“Are you sure we need to practice this kind of circuitry? We’re not going to use it.” Royce holds two wires up to the light.
“If this robot is going to be able to function in a range of environments and be small enough to fit in a modest space, you need flexibility.”