When class ends I linger as students file out.
“Want me to wait for you?” Natalie asks.
“No, it’s okay. Thanks.”
She squeezes my arm. “Let me know if you need anything.”
When the last of the students have gone, Brent shoves some papers in his canvas satchel and starts to leave, like he’s in a hurry. Can’t wait to get away from me, apparently.
“Brent? Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Grades are final. And approved by Professor Stanwick.” He won’t look at me.
“It’s not about the paper,” I say, although I should fight for a better grade. I’ve never written a D paper in my life. For now, though, I decide to talk to him like an adult, and also look over my paper carefully later so that I can see if what I did was maybe worse than I thought. I have been distracted lately. “I just wanted to see if everything is okay. Between us, I mean. We haven’t really spoken since the luncheon and I feel bad about how it ended.”
He chuckles. “I highly doubt you feel bad about how that day ended. Seems like you upgraded your date the first chance you got.”
“Brent,” I begin. “That’s not how it was. I did get a little nervous when you tried to kiss me.” My face is burning and my insides are in complete turmoil. I do not want to be having this discussion but if I can clear things up from that one afternoon, the rest of the semester will hopefully go smooth. “I guess I was a little taken aback. I didn’t know things were going to get so out of hand.”
“You mean with your bodyguard boyfriend?”
Without thinking—and sounding like a kid—I say, “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“God,” Brent says. “That’s even worse. What are you even getting out of that?”
I don’t intend to talk to Brent about Jackson so I try to steer things back on course. “Look, I came up here to say I’m sorry about whatever happened at the luncheon. I don’t want things to be tense between us. I just want to move forward. Professionally.”
He zips up his bag, his eyes on me like he’s carefully preparing what he’s about to say. I brace myself. “You know, Emily,” he begins in an overly casual tone of voice, and I know it’s going to be bad. “I never took you for a social climber. Trying to claw your way out of the middle class and into a Stepford wife? I’m not sure the bosses over at CEF would like it too much knowing one of their employees was dating their biggest donor. Makes things a little complicated, don’t you think? Do you two have an arrangement? You sleep with him and he gives you money? I mean, money for the fund. Right”
“So it was you who told them I was seeing Jackson,” I say, surprised even though I shouldn’t be. I’m totally disgusted at what he just said to me. “Jules knows. You didn’t get me in trouble. And I’m not clawing my way to anything. What I do in my private life is none of your business. I wish you could separate that from class and not try to take some petty anger of yours out on my papers.”
“Look, I don’t know if you went to that lunch with me so that you could gain favor in class,” he says, “but it doesn’t work like that. I treat everyone in class the same. If you can’t handle getting a better grade then I suggest you think about what you’re even doing in this program.” He moves toward the door. “I have office hours. And Emily? Maybe you should really look at yourself and what you’re doing. Don’t try to blame others for your shortcomings. It’s not professional.”
With that he leaves the classroom. I’m stunned. I never would have guessed that Brent Fuller would turn into such a world-class dick.
He’s not worth the drama. I decide to put him out of my mind, and just be more careful in class.
A few days later I have a brilliant plan—it’s a risky plan but I think it’ll work out.
I’m at Jackson’s, lying on a couch in his office reading a book while he does some work at his desk. When I tell him how comfortable the couch is—it’s super soft and plush—he admits he’s never even sat on it. I groan and tell him for the thousandth time how wasteful he is. He doesn’t seem to mind my teasing, but he also doesn’t seem interested in downsizing. I think he’s too used to big spaces.
“Hey, Jackson?” I say. I’m nervous about asking him, but my dad used to say, “The worst they can say is no.” They’re the same words I used when I marched into Jackson’s office that first day. All he could say was no to donating, and after that nothing mattered. Except that after that, everything with him mattered.