It’s funny because when I was with Will, I never wore lingerie. He was more of a pull-down-your-sweats-just-enough—go-ahead-and-leave-your-top-on kind of guy. I told him once that it felt nice when our skin touched, and he just scoffed at the idea. I’ll be curious as to how many articles of clothing Wyatt deems necessary to remove. I’m hoping all. In fact, I might even make it a requirement. Rules are rules.
I step into the lecture hall and make a beeline toward Baya, but Professor Nicholson cuts me off at the pass.
“How’s your little project coming along?” She crimps her lips while taking me in from head to foot. Her arms are crossed tight, and she looks a touch more anxious than usual. She’s dressed just a tad more exciting than a nun. I’d cut back on the mock turtlenecks if I were her. It depletes the air of authority and makes it look as if she’s on her way to a ski weekend. There are innumerous ways to look Professor Chic without having to sacrifice fashion.
“It’s coming along great! Baya and I have already purchased a ton of inventory, and just this last weekend we loaded our first few pieces on eBay.”
“Mmm.” She grazes me with another disproving glance from top to bottom.
“Oh, I made this.” I tug at my skirt—a patchwork made exclusively of velvet and imported Italian lace. “It all came from Goodwill for a grand total of five bucks. I chopped and sewed until my fingers bled. I could easily list a piece like this for ninety dollars.”
“Nice spread, but you’ll need to think bigger.” Her gaze dips to my cleavage, and she openly smirks.
“Oh, um”—my fingers fumble to my neckline—“I actually have an appointment this week to check out options for expanded labor.” It’s true. Wyatt said he found a few facilities where they might be interested in picking up a contract with Baya and me.
“I’m sure you’ll use your youth and charm to seduce them into getting your way. Girls like you always do.” She offers a conciliatory pat.
Will walks in and blows me a kiss before I can react to her odd statement. A look of disgust rides over my features as he struts on by. He’s wearing his basketball jersey, flaunting it from under his jacket. I distinctly remember him telling me how girls couldn’t keep their hands off of him when he wore a jersey.
Looking back it’s as if every move he made was just another stepping stool toward getting himself laid. Ironically not by me.
“What’s the face for?” Professor Nicholson swivels her head in his direction.
“That’s my ex.” I shudder when I say it. “Anyway. I’m just thankful this class is big enough for the two of us.”
Her penciled in brows rise above her glasses. “Life in the corporate world is all about working with difficult people. I’m afraid Mr. Richie’s partner just dropped the class, and he’s in need of a new team.” She takes a full step back, looking toward Will. “Mr. Richie?”
“No, no!” I hiss in a panic. I can see the abomination coming from a mile away. Clarification: three feet.
“You’ll be joining Marley and Baya on their class project. Since their business is already underway, I’m afraid you’ll need to abandon your web application service for the time being.” She looks back at me with a bleak smile. “Although—it might have been more lucrative than recycled chic.” There’s a resolute boredom in her eyes as she examines me once again, followed by a budding look of nausea as if my looks alone have left a bad taste in her mouth.
Will smears a greasy smile to his face.
“Look—I don’t think I can do this.” Let me put this another way, I CANNOT FUCKING DO THIS! Only I don’t actually say that last part in fear of putting my pristine GPA in jeopardy.
“Oh, come now. Doing it is your favorite thing.” She gives a little smirk, and a breath gets caught in my throat. “You’re wearing your own creation for goodness sakes. This will be a thrill for you. Think of it this way, you’ll get to dominate a man for change.” She leans in with something just this side of hatred percolating in her. “Maybe you can draw up a legal form to disclose the details in which you’d like to do so.” She walks away giving me the side eye.
What the hell?
My feet carry me numbly toward Baya who already has an array of sketches set out on the table.
“Sorry,” she mouths, glancing briefly to my left as Will makes his way over—with glee, I’m sure.
“Not half as sorry as I am. Say, you think she’s pretty nice, right?” I twitch my head toward the professor.
“She’s totally cool.” Baya shrugs at the professor’s obvious misstep.