Chapter 4

A little later, Dr. Ford walked the woman to the elevator himself.

He pressed the button for her, and when she reached up to straighten his collar, he did not move away. His expression was softer than anything I had ever seen in his office, with no trace of someone who had just been dumped online.

I laughed under my breath.

So being blocked on NearU meant nothing to him. Of course it didn’t. The woman he was taking to the foundation dinner had already arrived, and I was only the anonymous girl who kept him entertained after midnight.

At least we had never exchanged real names. Otherwise, the next seminar would have been a public execution.

I forced myself back to my laptop. My love life could implode, but my proposal still had to survive.

At three in the afternoon, Dr. Ford messaged through the department system.

Maya, Professor Reed is here. Bring your proposal to the conference room.

I took a breath, buried everything else, and walked down the hall with my laptop.

Dr. Ford was already seated in the small conference room. Beside him sat a man I had never met before.

“This is Professor Daniel Reed from Northlake University,” Dr. Ford said. “He’s the external reviewer for the joint project. Maya, walk him through your research design.”

I looked at the man across the table and lost half a second.

Daniel Reed was nothing like Ford. Ford was sharp, severe, and impossible to relax around. Reed was quieter, but his presence was harder to ignore. He wore a dark shirt beneath a clean-cut jacket, his sleeves turned back just enough to reveal long fingers and a spare silver watch. He looked composed in the way some people looked dangerous without trying.

I pulled myself together and opened my slides.

Once I started talking, my nerves settled. I explained the research question, sample design, control variables, and model assumptions. Ford had tortured this proposal through enough drafts that I knew every weak point and how to defend it.

When I finished, Dr. Ford gave a small nod.

“Much clearer than the last version.”

Then he turned to Reed. “What do you think?”

Reed did not answer immediately.

His eyes moved to the side of my hair.

“Your hair clip is unusual,” he said.

My heart jumped.

I had been rushing that morning, so I clipped my hair back with the deep-blue enamel hair clip I had shown my anonymous boyfriend two weeks ago. The photo I sent him had only shown my ear, a loose strand of hair, and that clip.

I lifted a hand to touch it and kept my voice casual.

“Just something I bought online.”

Then I glanced at Dr. Ford.

He had no reaction. He was only waiting for Reed to comment on the proposal.

Of course. He had a foundation dinner tonight with that woman and her family. Why would he remember one faceless photo from an anonymous chat?

Reed finally looked back at the file.

“The proposal is strong,” he said. “The question is focused, the methods are clean, and the logic is unusually clear for a graduate project.”

Ford looked relieved.

So did I.

Those sleepless revisions had not been for nothing.

Then Reed added, “She knows exactly what she’s doing.”

My ears warmed.

It was the kind of praise that should have sounded purely academic, but the way he looked at me made it feel as if he had recognized more than my argument.

Ford noticed too.

“Well,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “that’s rare. Daniel Reed almost never compliments anyone.”

Reed gave him a cool glance.

Ford ignored the warning. “I think the last person you praised this directly was that anonymous girl you wouldn’t shut up about. Wait, no. Didn’t she dump you this morning?”

My fingers froze on the edge of my laptop.

That anonymous girl?

Reed’s gaze shifted to me. There was something faintly wounded in his eyes, which made no sense at all and still managed to make me feel guilty.

Ford seemed ready to continue, but Reed cut him off.

“One more word, and I withdraw from the project.”

Ford immediately leaned back.

“Fine. Forget I said anything.”

As we packed up, Ford glanced at Reed’s watch and added, “Remind me to stop asking you for shopping links. Claire liked the tie bar too much, and now she thinks I have taste.”

Reed’s expression did not change.

“Then stop copying me.”

I did not pay much attention then.

I packed up my laptop and left as soon as the meeting ended, my pulse still unsteady.

Not long after I returned to the lab, Ford messaged again.

Are you free tonight? Professor Reed has a few questions about the implementation details. He suggested discussing them over dinner near campus.

I typed back coldly:

No.

A few seconds later, another message appeared.

This is still part of the review. If Reed signs off tonight, your proposal can be submitted with your name on the pilot team. That also makes you eligible for the Boston conference slot next month.

I stared at the screen for three seconds.

Send me the address.

That evening, I arrived at the faculty club near the university art museum.

It was not flashy, but it was expensive in the way academic donors liked: low lighting, wide tables, no music loud enough to interrupt conversation, and tall windows overlooking the campus clock tower.

Daniel Reed was already waiting by the window.

When he saw me, he stood and pulled out my chair.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m late.”

He looked at me, his eyes calm and unreadable.

“You’re not,” he said. “I came early.”