Dear Professor(95)

He needed Darcy, and he wasn’t ashamed of that.

It was a clouds-opening-to-let-the-sunlight-in-epiphany kind of moment, one that solidified that he’d made all the right choices, despite the outcome from them.

He had hope that all would be okay in the end.

His phone ticked over the answering machine, and the familiar, British-accented voice of his old friend and colleague, Stan Rosenbaum, filled his office.

“Jordan, sorry to miss you, old friend. I was calling to let you know that one of the gentlemen signed up for the UK trip in three weeks has had to step back. I know you asked before you got the job there in Chicago. There have been some minor discoveries about the sixteenth century, particularly in Wales, that might be of interest to you. It’s a long shot, but you’re welcome to join us. I can give you a few days for a decision. Give me a ring on…” He trailed off, leaving his number.

Jordan stilled. His eyes cut to the phone.

What was that they said about one door closing for another to open?

The thought of traveling again brought a smile to his lips—and perhaps this was for the best.

But it wasn’t just him he had to think about now. And, for once, he didn’t find himself minding that at all.





I pulled my covers up higher. Ever since I’d returned to Dalton House yesterday, my emotions had ranged from downright pissed off to some pretty severe self-loathing.

My entire future was hanging in the balance, and in essence, I only had myself to blame for it.

While there was a good deal of responsibility in Jordan’s court, I had to accept that the majority of it would have been shouldered by me. After all, if I’d never become a cam girl in the first place, he never would have had grounds to blackmail me.

God, it was such an ugly word. Blackmail. I hated it. I hated that whatever it was we had would always be blighted by how our relationship had begun.

Well, perhaps blighted was a strong description.

Haunted?

No. That’s even stronger.

Whatever it was, it’d always be there. If I were one of those motivational quote posters on Facebook, I’d be thinking, Well, everything happens for a reason! or something equally as uplifting. Maybe things did happen for a reason, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.#p#分页标题#e#

“I can’t believe you’re having sex with him,” Jenna stage-whispered.

“Please, say it a little louder. I don’t think the whole house heard you,” I muttered, ignoring the emotional lump in my throat.

“What happens now?” Bella asked, stroking my hair. Her tiny frame was curled up next to me on my bed, while Jenna was sitting cross-legged at the end.

I’d had no choice but to tell them. They had known that something was wrong with me the second I’d walked through the door. Probably because I’d been fucking crying.

I shrugged and picked at a loose thread. “I’m suspended for the week. He resigned. Other than that, I have no idea.”

“What about Harvard?” Jenna asked, biting her thumbnail. “Will it go on your record?”

Again, I shrugged. “Probably. Harvard was only a pipeline dream anyway, Jen. Something I had to try. The chances of it were very small. But…I don’t know. Jordan took all the blame in the hope that my record won’t be affected.”

“Jordan,” she mused. “So strange to hear you say his name like that.”

“Like what?”

“All…soft.”

Bella nodded. “It’s just…different, you know? Like when you’re in a pet store and you’re looking at puppies. You say, ‘Aw,’ every time, but there’s always that one puppy that makes you say a different, better kind of, ‘Aw.’ Maybe he’s your puppy.”

My eyes slid to her. “Sure. He’s my puppy.”

“Wouldn’t he be her ‘aw’?” Jenna questioned.

“No, her puppy. The puppy is what makes her say, ‘Aw.’ She says his name differently because of who he is, like you say, ‘Aw,’ differently because of who the puppy is.”

Jenna paused. “You’re right.”

“Guys. Stop with the fucking puppies.” I rolled onto my side, tucked right into my covers. “My life could be falling apart and all you’re concerned with is whether or not he’s a fucking ‘aw’ or a fucking ‘puppy.’”

They both stopped talking immediately. They could decide that all they wanted, but apart from a text message from him last night wishing me sweet dreams, we hadn’t spoken.

I figured he was giving me a little space. I hoped that was what was happening, at least.