Chapter 7- Inconvenience

MIA

The rest of the lecture goes by in a blur.

I can't focus. I can't think. All I can do is stare at the back of his head and wonder how the hell this happened. The man that gave me the most amazing night of my life is apparently my professor.

Jesus Christ.

Every word he says goes in one ear and out the other. I scribble nonsense in my notebook, pretending to take notes. But my mind is a hurricane. How is this possible? Of all the schools. Of all the classes. Of all the professors.

I don't remember walking out. I don't remember leaving the building. I'm suddenly standing on the sidewalk, the cold air hitting my face, and I realize I'm free.

I need to go home. Change. Head to the bar. Tell Charlotte what happened.

I flag down a cab. Slide into the backseat. The driver asks where to. I give him Charlotte's address. The drive is short. Probably because I spend the entire time staring out the window, thinking about him. The way he looked at me when he saw me. The way he walked past me like I was nothing.

I get home. Charlotte's apartment is empty. She's already at work. I take a quick shower, the hot water doing nothing to calm my nerves. I change back into my uniform—black pants, white button-up, the bar's logo on the chest. I grab my bag and head out.

The bar is a five-minute walk. I don't need a cab. The streets are familiar. West 4th Street. MacDougal Street. The usual crowd is already out—tourists, locals, students. The city hums around me.

I push open the door to the bar. The warm air hits me. The usual sounds—clinking glasses, laughter, jazz. It's 6:55 PM. Five minutes before my shift.

Rose is behind the counter. She's a tiny girl with dark curls and a perpetually tired expression. She's been working the afternoon shift.

"Hey, Rose," I say, grabbing my apron from the hook. "I can take over. You can go."

She smiles gratefully. "You're a lifesaver, Mia. It's been a long day."

She clocks out and leaves. I tie my apron around my waist and grab a tray from the counter.

Charlotte is at the end of the bar, loading drinks onto her own tray. She's wearing her usual uniform, her blonde hair in a messy ponytail. She looks up and grins when she sees me.

"Well, well, well. Look who it is. The future CEO herself."

"Don't call me that."

"Why not? It's true." She picks up her tray. "How was school? You survived your first day?"

I pick up a glass, pretend to wipe it down. "Interesting."

"Interesting?" She raises an eyebrow. "Interesting is not something people say about school. They say exhausting. Stressful. Hell. But interesting?"

"I don't know. Something happened."

She pauses. Her eyes narrow. "What kind of something?"

I pick up my tray. Rose's order is already up—four martinis, three beers. I balance the tray on my palm.

"I'll tell you when we're both free."

I walk away, serving the drinks to a table near the window. The customers barely look at me. I smile anyway. The usual routine.

Charlotte meets me back at the counter a few minutes later. She's finished her table. She leans against the bar, arms crossed, waiting.

"Okay. Spill. What happened?"

I look around. The bar is busy. No one is paying attention to us.

"You're not going to believe this."

"Try me."

I take a breath. "You know the guy from that night? The one I had the one-night stand with?"

Charlotte's eyes go wide. "The Greek god who fucked your brains out?"

"Yeah. Him." I pause. Let the words hang. "He's my professor."

She stares at me. Blinks. "What?"

"He's my professor, Charlotte. For a mandatory course. General Studies. He walked in and there he was. The man who—" I lower my voice. "—you know. It's him."

"No way."

"Yes way."

"Holy shit." She's grinning now. "That's insane. That's the craziest thing I've ever heard."

"I know. I nearly passed out when I saw him. I was trying so hard to be invisible. I was hiding in the back. And then he came up the stairs. And he saw me. He looked right at me."

"What did he do? What did he say?"

"Nothing. He just... looked at me. Then he walked past me. Like I was a stranger."

Charlotte's grin falters. "That must have hurt."

"It did." I swallow. "I mean, I know we're strangers. That's what it was supposed to be. But seeing him look at me like I meant nothing..."

"Because you're supposed to mean nothing," she says gently. "That was the deal. No strings. No feelings."

"I know. But it still stung."

She reaches out. Squeezes my arm. "This is going to be very awkward."

I laugh. It's hollow. "Yeah. Very awkward."

"Just power through it. Act like nothing happened. Nobody has to know that you two fucked. Even if the tension between you is thick enough to cut."

I look at her. She's grinning again. That mischievous glint in her eye.

"And if you play your cards right," she adds, "you might get to fuck him again."

My thighs clench involuntarily. I feel heat rise to my cheeks.

"Charlotte."

"What? I'm just saying. It could happen."

I pick up another tray. Pretend to organize the glasses.

"Even if I wanted to—which I don't—it's against the rules. He's my professor. He could lose his job. I could get expelled."

"Rules are made to be broken."

I shake my head. But I can't stop thinking about it. About him. About how good he made me feel.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," I say.

Charlotte laughs. "Fine. But you know where to find me when you change your mind."

She walks away to take another order. I stand there, watching her go. The day's events settle in my stomach like a stone.

Fuck.

— — —

ALEXANDER

The day's classes ended a while ago.

I'm still sitting in the parking lot of Kingston Business School, my hands resting on the steering wheel of my black Porsche 911 Turbo S. The engine is off. The silence is heavy. I'm waiting for Dean to get me feedback on the Scofield girl.

I run a hand over my face. There's no way I could have calculated such an outcome. Of all the students in all the business schools in New York, she ends up in my classroom. The woman who asked me to fuck her. The woman I spent an entire night taking apart. The woman whose name I didn't even bother to learn.

Mia Scofield.

I start the engine. I need to go to the Morreti Estate. Apparently, I'm supposed to have a "family dinner." I'm sure it's another excuse for my mother to announce another blind date. Or parade another "suitable" candidate in front of me.

I drive through the city. Past the familiar streets. Through the gates of the estate. The guard nods as I approach.

"Master Alexander," he says.

I nod back. Drive through.

The estate is massive. Old money. Stone and ivy and sprawling lawns. The driveway is long. The house looms at the end of it like a monument to everything I hate.

I park. Kill the engine. My phone buzzes.

I glance at the screen. Dean.

Has he gotten her intel?

I open the message. It's just a text.

"You up for blowing off some steam? The next meeting with the Jaeger group is in two days."

I sigh. He's not talking about her. He's talking about business. The Jaeger group is a client. A big one. I should be excited about the meeting.

I'm not.

"Not sure," I type back. "I'll let you know."

I pocket the phone. Step out of the car.

The front door is heavy oak. I push it open. The foyer is grand—marble floors, a sweeping staircase, a chandelier that probably costs more than most people's houses. Everything is pristine. Everything is cold. Everything is exactly how my parents like it.

I make my way to the dining room. My footsteps echo on the marble.

My parents are already seated. My father, Amon, is at the head of the table. His gray hair is slicked back. His suit is immaculate. His face is carved from stone. My mother, Slone, is to his right. Her posture is perfect. Her silk blouse is cream-colored. Her hair is in a sleek bun. She looks at me like she's already disappointed.

"You're always late," my father says. "When we ask you to be here by eight, you should be here by eight."

I glance at my watch. "It's 8:25."

"Still late," my mother says. Her voice is clipped. Sharp.

I pull out my chair. Sit down. "I'm tired. Can we get this over with so I can go home and rest?"

My mother's lips tighten. "We're waiting for one more. She's running late."

I freeze. "She?"

My father ignores me. "Are you still playing professor?" he asks. His tone is dismissive. Condescending.

"I'm not playing," I say. "It's a job. I'm teaching."

"You have a duty to this family," he says. "The—"

He says legacy. I can feel it coming. The word is on the tip of his tongue. If he says legacy, I'm going to lose it. I'm going to stand up. I'm going to walk out. I'm going to—

"—legacy has to be upheld," he finishes.

I open my mouth. The words are ready. I'm about to snap.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Mother. And Father."

The voice cuts through the room. It's familiar. Desperate. Annoying.

I look toward the doorway.

Natasha Randall.

She's standing there. Her black dress is designer. Her jewelry is expensive. Her smile is perfect. Her blonde hair falls in waves over her shoulders. She looks like she just stepped out of a magazine.

And the fuck is she calling my parents "Mother" and "Father"?

The fuck is going on here?

She walks toward the table. Her heels click on the marble floor. She takes the seat beside me. Closer than I'd like.

I look at my mother. Then at my father. Then back at Natasha.

"What is she doing here?" My voice is flat. Controlled.

"Natasha is our guest tonight," my mother says. "I thought it would be nice for you two to spend some time together."

"Nice," I repeat. "You thought it would be nice."

"Is that a problem?" my father asks.

I don't answer.

Natasha leans slightly closer. "It's good to see you, Alexander. It's been too long."

"I can't say the same."

Her smile falters for a second. Then it's back. Perfect. Flawless.

My mother clears her throat. "Let's eat. We have much to discuss."

The servants start bringing out food. I stare at my plate. My appetite is gone.

This is going to be a long night.