Forbidden Heat (Firework Girls #1) (20 page)

I nod my head. And even though he couldn’t see or hear my answer, the phone goes dead.

I sit there for one full minute, staring at the TV in silence. Scenes from the movie we were watching flash mutely across the screen.

Jack turns off the TV.

I continue starting at it.

“What happened?” Ashley asks gently.

“The dean called him in and he confessed to everything,” I say dully. I’m still staring at the TV, but I see Ashley’s hand go up to her mouth. “He’s suspended pending an investigation, but he’ll probably lose his job.”

“An investigation?” Sam says. “Does that mean the dean’s going to talk to you?”

I shrug my shoulder. “I don’t know.”

We sit there in silence a minute longer. I sigh and lean my head back on the couch, looking at Sam.

“Maybe this is how you guys will end up together,” Chloe says sadly and uncertainly. “Maybe he can go with you now.”

I swing my eyes to her. “So he can resent me for getting him fired from his dream while I’m living mine?”

She bites her bottom lip.

I drop my head in my hands. “God, this is awful. I can’t let them do this to him.”

“I’m not sure there’s anything you can do about it, honey,” Jack says gently.

I look at my phone again, then stand suddenly and head for the side table by the door. I grab my keys and my purse.

“Uh, where do you think you’re going?” Jack says. “You’re in no condition to drive.”

“I’m not going to just sit here.”

Jack stands and pulls his keys out of his pocket. “Alright then. Tell me where you want to go.”

I stare at him, ready to argue, but I see the look on his face. I know when Jack means business.

“Fine.” Seconds later, my shoes are on and we’re out the door.

By the time Dean Jennings opens his door to find me standing on the front porch of his two-story French colonial in the middle of the night, I’m starting to wonder if coming here was such a good idea. How, exactly, is this going to help?

Dean Jennings sees me standing there and says nothing. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t tell me to get the hell off of his porch. He just looks at me like I’m the biggest disappointment he’s ever laid eyes on.

Jack’s waiting for me in his truck. I could turn around right now and Jack could take me home.

Instead I look down at my feet. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“It’s midnight.”

I hear the disappointment in his voice.

He’s right. It is midnight. And I’m no longer the girl he thought I was. And I’m here to save Shane’s job. “Please,” I say.

Dean Jennings leads me into the den just off the entryway, turning on a lamp and leaving the door open. It’s a comfortable room with dark wooden bookcases and desk, and a pair of soft, high-backed chairs. He gestures for me to sit and I do, fiddling with my fingers.

He sits across from me, not smiling.

He’s never looked quite so intimidating to me before.

“Well?” he asks. “Are you here to deny everything?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Well that’s something at least,” he says harshly. “How could you do this?”

I cringe and press my lips together.

“I understand,” he continues, “that if anyone has the lion’s share of the blame here it’s Professor Brooks, but I have to say. I thought you knew better, Isabella.”

I nod and look down. “I’m sorry.” I take a deep breath. “Listen, I... I know I’m in no position to ask for favors...” I peek at him.

He slowly raises one white eyebrow, raising my nerves right along with it.

“But,” I press on, “I’m really hoping you’ll let Shane keep his job.”

“It’s Professor Brooks to you, young lady, and you don’t get to tell me what to do with my professors.”

“Yes. I... I understand that.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, I... just wanted you to know that he...” God, this is going to be harder than I thought. “... wasn’t trying to seduce me. He tried to keep things professional.” I take a deep breath. “I’m the one who crossed the lines.”

The look on his face is killing me.

“But it wasn’t...” I’m rushing ahead, trying to explain, “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“I should hope not.”

“It’s... I’m in love with him.” God, the first time I admit this out loud and it’s to the fucking dean.

He exhales sharply and runs a hand through his snowy hair. “You know, Isabella, sometimes young girls in situations like this think it’s love when it’s really something else.
Especially
for the professor.”

I can’t ignore the sting of that. The truth is I
don’t
know how Shane feels about me. He’s never said he loves me. But this isn’t what Dean Jennings is trying to say it is either. Shane wasn’t on the prowl for me.

“The bottom line is this,” Dean Jennings says. “Professor Brooks abused his authority over you.”

“Look, if he were fifty or something, fine. But he’s only four years older than me. He was a senior here when I was a freshman. Even you have to see this isn’t the case of an older man taking advantage of a young girl, and he did
not
abuse his authority as a professor. I can guarantee you that.”

“You can’t guarantee shit, Isabella!”

This shocks me into silence.

The dean sighs and rubs his eyes.

This isn’t going how I wanted it to go at all. I don’t want Shane to lose his job. He can’t. He loves working here and living here and he can’t lose all that because of me.

In desperation, I try another tack. “You know who did this, don’t you?” I ask. “The person who took the pictures?”

Dean Jennings looks at me dully. He looks completely worn out.

“Justin Kirby,” I say.

The dean’s eyes go hard. “You’re sure?”

“I saw him do it.”

“Well,” he says, bustling, “that’s neither here nor there.”

“How is it that that asshole, who actually
does
prey on women,
sees no consequences for his actions but Shane’s the one in trouble?”

With some frustration himself, Dean Jennings says, “I know Justin Kirby’s reputation, but I’ve never been able to get any proof and believe me, I’ve tried. I can’t do anything without proof.”

“Well you don’t have any proof against Shane either.”

“Professor Brooks,” he corrects me.

“Can’t you overlook this too? Those pictures aren’t proof.”

“He
confessed,”
Dean Jennings says, his voice rising.
“You’ve
confessed,” he says gesturing sharply toward me. “What do you really expect me to do about that?”

I take a deep breath, holding my ground. “Have you told anyone that he confessed?”

The dean is scowling at me.

“Does anyone know but you?” I press.

“No,” he says finally.

“Then let it blow over. Please. Eventually everyone will forget about those pictures.”

“Let it blow over,” he says lowly, “and pretend I don’t know one of my professors is banging one of his students.”

I cringe against his crude verbiage and look down. “If we stopped?” I ask quietly. “Then can Sh— Professor Brooks keep his job?”

Dean Jennings let’s out a humorless laugh. “You’ve always been a persistent one, haven’t you? You’re going for any angle you can think of.” Frowning, I look down at my lap. “I’m surprised you haven’t gotten around to offering a nice, healthy donation to the college’s fund to make this all go away.”

A thick silence settles about us as I slowly look up at him.

I press my lips together, barely containing my glare of disgust, but in that moment I know I would do it. Hell, I’ve already compromised myself by sleeping with my professor and asking a personal favor from the dean in order to get everyone out of trouble. I’m already asking for special treatment, the one thing I’ve always said I never wanted. What difference does it make if I write a check on top of it all?

But I’m angry at him for asking. Inexplicably, in spite of
my
recent shortcomings, I’m more than willing to judge him for his.

“Is that what you want?” I say lowly.

He gives me a disgusted look. “Don’t insult me on top of everything else,” he says. “That was meant to be sarcastic.”

There’s a noise in the hall and we both turn to see the dean’s wife come down the stairs and onto the landing. She looks into the room. “Sorry, dear. I didn’t realize you were with a student.”

“I’m sorry for disturbing you, Mrs. Jennings” I say.

“Not at all. I hope everything’s okay, Isabella.” She gives me a sweet smile I don’t deserve and leaves us again. We watch her ascend the stairs in silence.

Dean Jennings stares at the empty doorway for a moment and sighs. He gets up and goes to the mini fridge in the corner. He opens it, grabs a beer, looks at the beer a moment, then puts it back and shuts the door.

“Okay, here are the options. One. Professor Brooks is fired and gets the hell off my campus. Two. Professor Brooks gets to keep his job and find ways to make me happy about that, but you both agree to publicly deny any wrongdoing.”

I’m nodding slightly.

“
And,”
he says, holding up one finger, “starting
this instant
you agree to
zero
contact. No goodbyes. No nothing. You’re just done. Understand? If either one of you try to contact the other in any way, you’re both out.
Which is what should be happening anyway and don’t ask me why I’m even considering doing this for you.”

I blink at him, terrified to do even so much as say thank you.

That is, if Shane agrees.

I honestly don’t know that he will.

“I’ll contact Professor Brooks and see if he’s willing to get on board. I’ll let you know which way this is going to go down. Now get on home, Isabella. If you don’t mind, it’s been a long day and I’d like to go to bed.”

I stand obediently, a little stunned with everything he’s just said. I want to feel relief, but I don’t know if we’re out of hot water or not. Hiding our relationship was one thing, but will Shane be willing to lie about this if someone else asks him about it?

But he has to. He has to agree. If only I could talk to him and persuade him myself. But what would I even say?

“You may want to tell him...”

“I don’t think I need your help knowing what to say, Miss Maddox.”

I’m unceremoniously ushered to the door. Only when I’ve stepped onto the porch do I think to turn and say, “Thank you, Dean Jennings.”

He only gives me the same disappointed look he wore when I got here, and closes the door.

When I get in the car I fill Jack in and we ride the rest of the way home in silence. I keep my phone in my purse, trying to resist the temptation to call or text Shane. Did I really just promise no contact? For how long? Until I graduate? Forever? The dean can’t demand that of us forever, surely, but the six weeks until graduation seems just as long.