Compliments (9 page)

His chair and his expression freezes. “Harrison?”

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear there was a bit of jealousy in his tone. “He’s the one that asked me to attend, remember? Of course I had to talk to him a little bit.”

“I know, but you didn’t, like, spend time at dinner with him?”

“Well, no, not really,” I answer, confused. “Why?”

His brow furrows, and I see conflict in his eyes. “He’s not a good professor. He … I just don’t like him.”

I don’t want to dismiss his concerns, but Harrison came to my rescue and to me, that spoke volumes about the kind of man he is. At the same time, I haven’t spent the last four-plus years in a highly competitive environment without picking up on certain realities. I know even the most beloved of faculty has critics.

“I respect that, but I don’t think you need to worry. He’s been very nice to me. He even helped me out when my car got towed.”

He pivots around at me and stares wide-eyed, as though I just declared that I had my head sown back on. “Your car got towed?”

“I couldn’t find any place to park near Woo’s place, and I ended up under a no parking sign,” I explain.

Hawk runs his hands through his hair. “And how exactly, did he ‘help you out’?”

I crinkle my nose, trying to hash out the implication I’m certain he’s making.

“I don’t get what your problem is,” I say instead. “He really saved my butt last night. Not only did he drive me to pick up my car from the towing service, I’ll have you know he also paid the impound fee.”

Sputtering, Hawk tries to retort, “You were in his car with him? Alone!?”

“No, we asked along Hyun Kim as well, and Chair Woo rode shotgun.” I leap to my feet, my hands waving in the air. “Of course I was alone with him in his car. I was stuck, my car was gone, and he was nice enough to offer to drive me into a shady part of town at an even shadier hour. Forgive me if I took advantage of his generosity.”

Leaping to his feet, he matches my flailing tit for tat. “It’s not your taking advantage of anything that worries me, it’s—”

He snubs his words with grinding teeth. I can’t believe how flush his cheeks are, not unlike when we were kissing on my bed. My expectant eyes and a twitch of my chin invite him to continue whatever accusation he was about to make, but instead, a heated huff of frustration pushes out from his mouth. Hawk rounds the chair and slides past me, reentering my studio and grabbing his coat from where it fell on the floor.

He turns in the doorway, hesitating. “I know you have to take his class, but trust me, you don’t want to be that bastard’s pet student. I’ve got to go. Good night, Robin.”

“Hawk, wait—”

The door seals off the conversation, and I’m left hanging in confusion. There’s more to this, I know it, but for some reason Hawk is unwilling or unable to tell me. I don’t think asking Harrison point blank is a good idea, either. How do you ask a prospective faculty advisor why your kinda-sorta secret boyfriend hates them so much without things getting awkward? There has to be someone, though, who knows something. Someone without a social life that won’t lead to rumors, yet ingrained in the department enough to know the basics.

And just like that, I have a plan.

121
½

Betsy’s eyes go wide when I drop a sack on her desk, blocking her screen filled with a page from Wikipedia I suspect she may have been editing.

“What’s that?” Her nose wrinkles.

“Lunch. You should eat something more than a few carrot sticks and a handful of almonds.”

Betsy clears away the obstruction and continues to hack away at her keyboard. “I’m lactose intolerant, and I know how you suck down yogurt, so I doubt I’m going to be able to eat whatever your peace offering contains.”

“Peace offering?” I cross my arms over my chest and bite my bottom lip. “Were we at war, Betsy?”

“Maybe not at war, but I’m open to détente. I get it, you’re jealous. Not that I blame you. It must be a change for you to be in a place where you’re not the most exceptional
female
math student.”

I should get an award for the way I’m able to keep my eyes from rolling. If it wasn’t for the gumdrops someone might confuse for breasts, I’m positive few of the other students would even notice she’s a woman. In Betsy Wade’s world, business casual translates to sweat pants or corduroys, topped off by non-descript tees or paisley-patterned sweaters. Which is kind of a shame. If one relaxes their eyes and bites their tongue, they might notice that beneath the frumpy exterior, Betsy has the potential to be very attractive. Why she buries herself behind a wall of blah is beyond me. As it stands, she certainly doesn’t seemed concerned with her lack of feminine attributes.

“I don’t know that much about you,” I say truthfully, “but I’m willing to bet if you and I talked a little bit about something other than the schedule for watering the plants on the windowsill, or rules for the volume of ear buds, I’ll have plenty to be jealous of.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.” Betsy’s hands stop, but her eyes remain fixed on the screen. Then she sniffs a bit and lowers her gaze to the bag. “What is it?”

“Falafel, hummus, and veggies on a wheat pita.”

I can see desire fill her eyes. “That does sound better than my potato soup.”

For a moment, she hesitates, then snaps the bag and pulls it close for further inspection, before removing the tin foil-wrapped sandwich. She bites, and the smell of lemon juice and garlic permeate the air. Betsy closes her eyes and chews slowly. When she opens her eyes again, she invites me to sit with a dip of her chin.

“I’m not really that stuck up, you know.”

“I didn’t say—”

“But you thought it,” she remarks, cutting me off. She takes in another mouthful, but doesn’t bother to chew too much before talking again. I sample my apple. “That’s what I wanted you to think. I’m not really that obtuse. I know everyone thinks I’m some lame, geek girl who can’t socialize. Truth is, I just don’t like to suffer fools, and most of the people in this department
are
fools.”

Grabbing a juice box from next to her monitor, she sucks it dry.

“I know what you mean,” I stutter. “But we’re talking now. Let’s experiment with social interaction. I barely know anything about you. You’re in your second year here, right?”

“Yup, and I’m not hanging around to get a PhD. Who needs one of those unless you want to teach someday?” She eyes me suspiciously. “Do you want to teach some day? You don’t look like the academic type to me, but then again, you’re doing that whole Outreach Program thing.”

“As a job, I need the money.” I wave my apple in front of me. “Otherwise, no, definitely not. However, it’s making it hard to find an advisor. They all seem to want the guys who are going to stick around and get a doctorate. Did you, um, have problems finding an advisor last year?”

Betsy snorts a laugh, making her glasses bounce on her nose. “Please, they were all competing for me. The chair’s annual dinner was practically a banquet held in my honor.”

If this were anyone else, I’d be overwhelmed by arrogance, but sadly, I suspect it’s true. Prof. Ferris told me when she assigned me to the office that while a little rough around the edges, Betsy was one of the best students admitted to our department the previous year.

I feign astonishment. “Wow! Really? I was invited to that, too, but I’m still scared I’m going to have problems finding someone I can work well with. And who will have me.”

Gnawing a mouthful of falafel, Betsy asks, “Well, what about you? Who will you have? There’s got to be someone you’d like to work with?”

“Lamertus is my target.”

“That sucks. He doesn’t like students born with the defect of having ovaries. There’s been at least one exception I’ve heard of, so who knows?”

I take a bite of my apple and chew past my words, throwing out a bone and hoping she’ll nip. “Or Harrison, but I hear he might not be a good choice.”

Much to my dismay, there’s no reaction to that open invite, and somehow she’s almost managed to power through the whole sandwich I made for her in just the minute or two we’ve been talking. I know once Betsy’s done, she’ll dive right back into … whatever it is she does.

“Any of them are good enough for you,” she says. “I chose my advisor based on who had the best connections in industry, and could help me find a good position. Not that I would have any problem with that, of course, but everything helps.”

Sucking drops of hummus and olive oil from her fingertips, she turns back to her screen. “That sandwich wasn’t bad. I guess there is an upside to sharing an office with you after all.”

The paper bag crumbles as Betsy compresses it into a ball and tosses it toward the garbage bin in the corner of the room, missing it by a few inches. Even though I came up with the whole “feeding the beast” thing as a scheme, I’m still a little put off by her inability to utter a simple word of thanks. With a sigh, I rise from my chair at the same time she does. Betsy leans down to fetch the bag from the floor just as I land back on my side of the office at my desk.

“Oh, no. Let’s not leave any garbage on the floor,” she says. “Goodness knows we don’t want Hawk Stephens angry with us.”

My fingers freeze over my keyboard. “What?”

“Hawk Stephens, the night janitor,” she explains in a big voice meant to make me feel very little. “He’s a total hottie, but fallen from grace. He used to be a student here, believe it or not. Actually, I think he still might be, but not for much longer from what I heard. Rumor is they’re trying to get his ass thrown out of Manderson.”

While I’m biting at the bit, I try to appear ignorant and surprised. “Oh? Why is that?”

“Jesus, Robin, I thought everyone knew about that.”

I shrug. “I’m still pretty new, and I don’t talk to many people.” I mentally reassure myself that a fact I don’t know, which even Betsy thinks is common knowledge, means nothing. “What happened?”

“Hawk took a swing at Harrison and nearly knocked him out cold. Bastard probably deserved it, but, yeah, Hawk … He’s bad news all around. I’m surprised they let him come back to be the janitor while his case is waiting to be heard. Guess they wanted him to have a little preview of what his life would be like, post-screw up.”

“Why would he do that?”

Betsy shrugs, and I can see she’s losing interest in keeping up a conversation. “Who knows? Do you know he got an award for his teaching in the Outreach Program, only to get booted out of it when that whole thing went down? I overheard one of the secretaries say he has too much of a hot head to trust him around children.”

There might be a thin line between arrogance and confidence, but Betsy’s so far across the border into the land of conceit she’s become a naturalized citizen. Still, at least she’s got the scoop. Suddenly, Hawk’s hate for Prof. Harrison makes a little more sense.

Even though I’m dying to go back to Hawk with what I’ve learned, I need some time to figure out my approach. Is it true that he’s suspended for hitting a professor? Did he have a good reason for doing it? I can’t imagine the same man who went so far to help me out has it in him to draw that kind of ire. At the same time, I can’t picture Hawk Stephens, the same man who coached me into developing what’s turning out to be a pretty good Outreach teaching routine, and who I would really like to be kissing senseless right now, as the kind of person who flies off the handle at anyone.

All through Harrison’s class that afternoon, I find myself watching each little mannerism and movement, trying to sense if there’s something obvious I’m not picking up. About twenty minutes into class, I think he notices. While one of my classmates is explaining the thought process behind his answer on an assignment, we lock eyes. Harrison’s expression is full of contemplation, but I only give him a half-smile and turn away, abashed. When class ends and he asks me to stay a minute, I prepare an apology in case I freaked him out.

He beats me to speaking. “You get home okay the other night?”

“Oh, yeah. And thanks again for giving me a lift. I feel real badly about you paying the impound fees, though. I’m going to pay you back, I just have to wait until next week.”

“
Pssh
, I told you, I felt responsible,” he says with a wave of his hand.

“I don’t like owing people. Please, I appreciate the gesture, but I would feel much better if you’d let me give you back the money.”

He sets his briefcase on his desk and files a book in. “I understand. And I admire your stance, but maybe you’d be willing to consider paying me back in a different way?”

A sick twist of my stomach, irrational and illogical, is difficult to subsume. “How, exactly?”

Prof. Harrison seems to sense my reticence. With a coughing laugh, he leads us into the hall and toward his office. “Nothing improper, Miss Lewis. Maybe I should have been a little more careful about joining in on your innuendo.”

“I ... I didn’t mean …”

“Of course, you didn’t.” Three doors away from the classroom, he fishes out a set of keys and opens his office. “I was only kidding. No, here’s what I mean.” He gestures to the visitor’s chair as he sits down behind his desk. “As it turns out, I’m preparing a keynote address for a lecture in a couple of weeks down in Miller’s Valley. I need someone to do a read through on my talk, double check for any errors, see if anyone else in the recent months has said something contradictory I might have to argue against. It’s basically proofreading and fact checking, but you’d be surprised how often I overlook the little things.” He leans forward and adds, “They say the inability to deal with the basics is a sign of genius.”

When he winks, I crack a smile.

He sits back in his seat and continues, “In any case, a second set of learned eyes is always a good idea in any sort of professional presentation. Normally I’d hire a student for something like this and pay an hourly rate, but we can consider it a barter exchange. I know how tight money is when you’re a grad student. Maybe we can both assuage your sense of owing me something and keep your bank account in the black at the same time.”

I find myself fidgeting with the fringe on my sweater. “I don’t know. I have a pretty heavy course load, plus my job with Prof. Ferris.”
And I want to have enough time to spend with Hawk, too.

Harrison muses for a moment, then swivels his chair to look out the windows. “Tell me, Miss Lewis, any further prospects for an advisor yet?”

His words catch me at the quick, surprised how he just throws the fundamental conflict of my current predicament out like that. “No commitments as of yet.”

“Still holding out hope for Lamertus?” Grinning, he turns back around. “Or have you considered working with me any further?”

“You said you weren’t making an offer,” I remind him.

“I’m not. I’m exploring your thoughts on a possibility.”

I squirm under his amused gaze. “It’s not that I have anything against working with you, sir, I just...”
I need to know why my boyfriend took a swing at you, and why he refuses to talk about it. Care to enlighten me?

“Are you talking about the rumors regarding me and Hawk Stephens?”

I can sense my pupils dilate in shock. I’m not certain how to respond, but luckily he fills the silence.

“What I’m about to tell you is in confidence, Miss Lewis. There’s even a gag order in place forbidding both sides to talk about it. However, since you’re in a position where knowing the facts of the matter will help you feel at ease enough to work with me, I’m going to share. Truth is, I caught Mr. Stephens cheating,” he states plainly, and I feel my stomach ball up. “I’ve heard a few different theories going around, but that’s what happened. When I confronted him, he took a swing and gave me a pretty sore chin for a few days. To tell you the truth, I don’t hold the hit against him. Good men with great ambitions make grand gestures, and grandiose mistakes. The chin is fine, but the cheating is a character issue, one I’m not so easy to overlook. I hope you realize,” he leans forward, and without realizing I do the same, “I’m not supposed to discuss this with anyone. But, because I’d really like a chance to woo you into my group, I don’t want you scared off by rumors and boogeymen.”

“But, I …”

Prof. Harrison’s look turns steely, and I can practically hear his inner thoughts racing, wondering if telling me will turn out to be a mistake.

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable about me,” he says, “but I would like to see if we’re a fit. Also, I think you’d get a lot out of it. Even if you don’t end up in my group, having a strong recommendation from me to one of my colleagues will make it easier for you to catch their eye. Besides, you should know that Lamertus will also be attending this conference and be at my talk. I’ll make sure to give you a special thank you, telling how valuable your assistance was.” He leans back in his chair, threading his hands behind his back and stretching out his legs. “Assuming you do, in fact, decide to take me up on my offer.”