Collide (Off-Limits Book 2)

by Piper Lawson

  They retreat and I roll up the sleeves of my dress shirt.

  “You’re good with your hands, Professor.” Her teasing tone makes me grin. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking. But I’m twenty years too old to find out. Fine, thirty.”

  “Any man would be so lucky.”

  “Charmer. It’s going to be a long day. Industry members are visiting campus. It’s been on the calendar for weeks, and the dean’s way to drum up interest in our graduates—as well as potential funding sooner.”

  “He didn’t invite me to any meetings. I must be bad publicity.”

  “No, he probably thinks you’d steal his attention.”

  I finish my work and tell Betty to run the cycle again.

  She does and the machine whirrs to life.

  I roll my sleeves back down. “All this for worse coffee than the cafeteria.”

  “It’s not the best but it’s what we’ve got.”

  It’s what we’ve got.

  I cross to the kitchen window, taking in the packs of two and three and four jacket-clad undergrads drifting across the expanse of green and paved walkways. “Some students got in trouble at Black Build this weekend.”

  “I did hear about that. Most of the department heard about it,” she concedes. “There was an article in the news, and it made the campus paper too. Didn’t help they’re all sporting bruises and scrapes.”

  “They crashed a car in the middle of town.”

  If Olivia’s right, there was an animal running across the road. But if they’d been doing the speed limit, it could’ve been handled. Easily.

  “You’re all worked up because they were your kids.”

  I shake my head. “They’re not my kids.”

  “They are. You get attached to them. And they fuck up,” she says. “They’re lucky to have you.”

  I glance back over my shoulder. “Why’s that?”

  “You show them it’s possible to grow and change at any age. This place is changing you. Like it changed your father.”

  “I never saw him change. That’s why I left.”

  Betty lifts a mug to her lips, sipping the coffee and considering me over the rim. “That’s what changed him.”

  Before I can respond, an unwelcome shape appears at the door.

  “Sawyer. We have a special guest,” the dean says, but it’s the man in a suit next to him that has my abs tightening in surprise.

  “Tate.” My voice echoes in my ears. “I didn’t realize you were part of industry day.”

  He clasps my hand in his. “I wasn’t but he called personally yesterday and insisted I participate. Sent a car and everything.”

  What the fuck?

  “He wanted to meet some of our finest students firsthand,” the dean goes on, the smugness coming off as pride. “Including yours.”

  That’s it. He wants to make me look bad in front of Tate. He’s trying to ruin me the way he thinks I hurt him.

  “Your dean was kind enough to distribute an email to third- and fourth-year students giving them time slots to meet,” Tate goes on. “I asked him to start with your Stars team. I can’t wait to see the impression you’ve had on them since we last met.”

  19

  Olivia

  Our tower is amazing. I stop in front of the engineering building and smile.

  After my midterm, I head to Sawyer’s office for lunch.

  His irritated expression dissolves when he spots me. “Everything okay?”

  I shut the door behind me.

  “Well, my history midterm went all right but I have two labs to turn in before the end of the week, and this panel to speak on, and we need to write and rehearse the justification presentation for Stars.”

  Sawyer surprises me as he bends to claim my lips with his.

  It’s possessive and searching and I reach up and run my fingers through his hair.

  “We need to talk,” he says when he pulls back.

  “Yeah. I guess we do.”

  We haven’t touched since Saturday night at his open house, and I’m aching for him.

  Our encounter was super hot, but when he came to get us after the accident, he was distant.

  Not that I expected him to grab me in front of my classmates, but the look in his eyes was removed. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or shaken or both.

  A knock on the door makes me stiffen.

  Sawyer steps back and opens it.

  It’s Tate.

  Sawyer’s friend from New York is familiar in a dark suit, his hair neatly trimmed and smile warm yet professional.

  “Good, you’re both here. I’m hoping to speak to you. Especially you, Miss Barclay.” His smile fades as he takes in my bruise. “Did something happen?”

  I duck my face. “No. Just a prank gone wrong.”

  He clears his throat, but the wariness lingers. “I’m not sure how much your professor has told you, but we have plans for a new effort.”

  Sawyer returns to his desk. Tate sinks into the chair opposite him.

  I don’t know what script I’m supposed to follow, so I take the remaining seat.

  “I understand you’re going into business together.”

  People pass in the hall.

  I stick out my legs, my feet slipping under the edge of the desk. It feels weird that I can’t touch Sawyer.

  “Yes. I was very impressed with your adaptability at regionals,” Tate goes on. “Your grades are strong, but more than that, creativity and working under pressure are integral to being a good engineer. Which is why you should consider us for your internship in the summer.”

  “Excuse me?”

  My gaze flies to Sawyer’s.

  Did he and Tate talk about this?

  “I’m not confident that’s in our collective best interest,” Sawyer says smoothly.

  Tate frowns. “Do you have an internship already? We can offer an excellent package.”

  My mouth opens and closes. I hadn’t really considered where I’d intern. Adam said he’d have room at his parents’ company, but I’d rather work somewhere else.

  “Olivia—may I call you Olivia?” Tate asks.

  “Of course.”

  Professor Redmond calls me whatever he wants when he’s fucking me.

  “I understand you might be concerned with a potential conflict…”

  The floor tilts under me.

  “…because Professor Redmond is responsible for your grade. But it won’t affect that. Sawyer, tell her.”

  “To be frank, Tate, I’m not sure this is the right fit for everyone.”

  Hurt seeps into my chest, stinging. “I assure you, Professor Redmond, I’m as capable as any intern you’d hope to find.”

  His eyes flash in warning. “And while I appreciate your flexibility”—my brows lift—“there’s more to success than that.”

  “Sawyer! For God’s sake, you are the worst recruiter.” Tate glowers. “I have another meeting. But think about it,” he says to me before rising and heading for the door. “If you’d like to talk, I’ll be around. Here’s my card.”

  He spares us a final look on the way out, leaving us alone, the door still open.

  “What was that?” Sawyer demands once Tate is gone.

  “You tell me. It’s your business partner who sprung this on me.” Sawyer’s words about this being a bad fit echo in my mind. “Am I that terrible, you wouldn’t consider me for an internship at your company?”

  “Of course I would. But we can’t work together.”

  “Because of rumors from your last company?”

  “Because anyone could take one look at us and know I’m…” He rubs a hand over his jaw.

  My heart thuds in my chest. “You’re what?”

  Sleeping with me?

  There are words I suddenly want him to say, ones I’ve never dared hope for.

  Say this is as real and right as it is crazy.

  Say when you close your eyes, it’s me you see.

  Say we have a chance to not only b
e free, but to be happy.

  But I’m trying to make my own way, not jump from being under my parents’ control to under this man’s. It’s one thing for him to have my back, another to depend on him for my security, my future.

  “You’d be working for me,” he says, softer. “You think there’s a gap now, it’ll be even more obvious when you’re a junior engineer and I’m running the company.”

  “Or we’d stop doing what we’re doing.”

  I’m not making a suggestion, only enumerating the other obvious option, but his gaze sharpens.

  My stomach flips, as if I’m staring down a long hill, treacherously steep.

  “I mean,” I stumble on, “summer’s a long time away. And my future is important to me. If I have to choose, maybe I’d rather work with you than…”

  “Fuck me.”

  That doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t feel right either.

  Yes, we’re sleeping together, yet it’s so much more than that.

  But he’s staring so intently, I nod.

  “Fine,” he bites out. “So we’d stop.”

  He says it as if it’s easy for him to turn it off, what we’re doing. A decision made in a heartbeat.

  I’m tumbling down the hill now, the ground slamming into me everywhere.

  “Is that what you want?” I ask, struggling for breath.

  Sawyer’s hands grip the armrests of his chair.

  I get that there’s a legit concern about conflict of interests.

  The truth is, I can’t see myself looking at him every day and not want to be with him.

  He reaches into his drawer and produces a brown paper bag—lunch, probably.

  Our hands brush. His touch lingers, his thumb stroking the back of my knuckles.

  “Let’s just focus on what’s happening now,” he murmurs. “If the Stars team does well in the justification and makes it to finals, you can write your own ticket.”

  “Do you have an extra pen?” I ask Madison in class that afternoon.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Her voice is tight and dismissive.

  “How’s midterm death week going?” She doesn’t answer and I glance down at my outfit. “I have matching socks, so…could be worse.”

  She shakes her head.

  “Want to meet up and talk about our submission for the justification panel?” I say. “It’s only three weeks away, and we need to wow them.”

  “It’s not over, is it?” She turns toward me, eyes flashing. “You and Professor Redmond. I saw the way you looked at each other that night in the car.”

  No matter her role in distributing the video from Velvet, she doesn’t deserve lies.

  “I can’t stay away from him,” I admit. “It is causing problems, though not in the way you think.” Madison waits me out. “Professor Redmond’s partner offered me an internship. At their new company in New York.”

  “Of course he did.” She shifts in her seat, tugging at a chunk of red hair as if focusing all her attention on it might make it combust.

  “What would you do?” I ask.

  “I’d take it,” she says immediately. “Take it, but make sure you cover your ass so there’s no way he can fire you if the thing between you goes south.”

  I don’t want to cover my ass with Sawyer. I want to trust him completely.

  “Have you looked at internships for the summer?” I ask.

  “I’m going to work with Engineers without Borders. When I was a kid, we went to visit a developing country. A building burned down because the work wasn’t done right. I want to do jobs right, and anyone who doesn’t do them right should be exposed. People should be free to live their lives without worrying about their own safety.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “Everyone has their own reason. No one’s is better than anyone else’s. That’s just mine.” She shrugs. “So we’ll work on the justification tomorrow?”

  “Can we do it the next day? I have to speak on a panel about women in engineering school.” I explain how I met Aliya on the call and she invited me to participate.

  “You’re exactly who they want. Perfect spokesperson. Stick you in a hardhat and you’re a stock photo.”

  “Stock photos don’t hold up very well in real life. Can they build a circuit or write code? I don’t think so.”

  She rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch.

  “Hey,” I decide, impulsive. “Why don’t you do it with me?”

  “Because they asked you and it’s weird to have two people.”

  “So?”

  The professor starts to lecture and a moment later, there’s a nudge at my elbow.

  Madison’s pen.

  “We’re going to look stupid,” she whispers.

  I grin.

  20

  Olivia

  Madison and I use a conference room in the library the next day and share my notebook computer screen to participate in the roundtable. Our shoulders bump when we answer questions from excited high school juniors and sophs about class, student life, careers.

  I grew up with a sister who loved me. But Madison makes me work for every ounce of it.

  When that icy chill melts a little, I realize how good it feels to be respected by someone who has no reason to respect me.

  When we wrap up and wave goodbye, I head across the rolling hills of campus toward my apartment, the early afternoon breeze cooling my cheeks.

  I think back to Tate’s internship offer.

  I can’t picture reporting to the man I’m falling for, but working in his company could be exciting. I believe in him and his vision. He’s endlessly capable, and I can’t imagine him working with people who aren’t.

  Plus, it would mean being in New York with Sawyer for the entire summer.

  In the moments when I’m lying in bed alone in my dorm room, I think about waking up next to him.

  I want to argue over snack foods and games and the state of the world as we walk through Midtown.

  To elbow him in the gut when he gripes about someone being ridiculous when they’re only being human.

  To tangle my fingers in his hair while he uses his smug mouth to take me apart one layer at a time, because when his tongue is inside me, it’s the only thing that matters.

  My phone vibrates, and I hope it’s Sawyer, but it’s not.

  Mom: We need the car back tonight.

  I haven’t heard from the insurance adjuster, so I call them. By the time I get through to the person on my file, I’m opening the door of our apartment.

  “Olivia, we just received a valuation for your car.”

  “Valuation. You mean how much it’s going to cost to fix.”

  “The car is totalled. Not worth fixing. I can tell you how much we’ll give you for it.”

  The door clicks shut behind me as they name a figure, but my ears are buzzing so much I barely hear.

  My beautiful car is toast.

  The good girl side of me is ashamed. Even though it was Adam who crashed the car, some small part of me knew this was going to be a crazy night.

  But the rest of me chafes against my mom’s demand that I give them back the car in its entirety.

  I worked for that money.

  “Olivia? Does that sound reasonable? We can cut you a check tomorrow.”

  Which my mom will try to confiscate.

  I start to say yes, but nothing comes out.

  My fingers grasp for my necklace—the one I gave away in a moment of inspired insanity.

  The one Sawyer got back for me.

  Some rules are meant to be followed, especially if they protect us and those around us.

  But life has too many contingencies, and not many rules are equipped to handle them.

  Doing what’s right doesn’t mean saying yes.

  “Actually,” I start, “it was in new condition. And it had upgraded trim.”

  The man on the other end pauses. “I see.”

  “Plus there were snow tires on it. Expensiv
e ones.”

  He clicks away on his computer. “We can do an extra twenty-five hundred.”

  I savor the small victory as I make arrangements to get the check and hang up.

  I’m going to need it after I show up at home without the car.

  In Manhattan, I get off the Amtrak and take the subway.

  I let myself in the front door and nearly trip over boxes.

  “What’s going on?” I call as I step out of my boots and unfurl my scarf. I head for the kitchen where my mother appears in the doorway.

  “Doing some fall cleaning. Your father’s at the office.” She brushes past me to look out the front living room window, her tailored black pants and a white silk shirt hugging her body.

  “Did you bring the car?”

  I frown. “The car is totalled.”

  Mom starts to brush the hair behind her ear, then stops. “Excuse me?”

  “We were doing a school thing, Adam was driving and…it doesn’t matter. They’re cutting me a check, which I’m going to cash. I’ll take the amount I earned from it, and the extra I negotiated, and transfer you the rest.”

  I expect her to fight me but her shoulders slump. She turns and heads down the hall for her room.

  I follow her there and pull up when I see the costumes lying across the bed, from her performances. “What are these doing out?”

  Maybe she’s looking at them, remembering her career as a dancer. The same one she wanted for me, that I couldn’t deliver.

  “I’m auctioning them off.”

  “For charity?”

  “For us.”

  I drop onto the bed next to a tutu in a garment bag. “It’s that bad.”

  She heads for her closet and pulls open the door.

  From here, I can see empty hangers. “Where are all your clothes?”

  “They went first,” comes the tight voice. “I sold them before the costumes.”

  Damn.

  She’s not only asking me to sell the car. Evidently, this is one in a line of sacrifices.

  I get up and pad toward the closet, finding my mother kneeling inside, a hand pressed to her face.

  “What does Emma think of all this?”