Page 71 of Under the Weatherman
“Yes.” The pen rolled between Kate’s fingers. “I’m aware. I’ve come to rely on you though. Like I said, I wish I could clone you.”
Elizabeth sucked her upper lip between her teeth, and I could see her sorting through every possible response.
“Too bad you can’t put her on salary,” I said, without thinking. Both women turned to look at me, matching arched eyebrows. “I mean, you know,” I hedged, feeling like I’d just stepped in a pile of elephant dung, but I figured what the hell and finished my thought. “It sounds to me like she needs to change roles, move into a more permanent position. Maybe as a full-time assistant, she could help balance the load.”
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open, and I was sure I’d overstepped. Kate’s eyes narrowed, and she set the pen down. “Well, it was nice to meet you. Evan, right?”
Fuck. I’d probably just made things worse for Elizabeth. “It was nice to meet you, too.”
As we left Kate’s office, Elizabeth grabbed my elbow and hurried me through the hallway until we reached the exit, then doubled over laughing. “I cannot believe you just did that.”
“What?”
“So casually asked Kate to give me a promotion.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “I’ve been working up my courage to ask her to make me a full-time editor for months.”
“It sounded to me like you’re the one with the power. She clearly wants to keep you, but she seems afraid you’ll leave her in the lurch. Wouldn’t a full-time job be the obvious solution?”
Elizabeth shook her head, laughing. “I wish I could think like a man, sometimes.”
“It isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be.” Elizabeth snorted, and I loved seeing her light up with laughter. Taken by a whim, I held out my hand, surprised when she took it. “Now, take me on a tour of this new library.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Elizabeth
“The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?”
Measure for Measure
“It’s completely different,” Evan said, gaping as we entered the brightly lit atrium, just outside my favorite reading nook—an ornately appointed room that looked straight out of a British estate.
“When were you here last?”
He blew out a breath. “Obviously years.”
We’d made the full tour, and I figured he’d take off now. “I’m gonna stay here to work on the pages Kate’s sending me.”
To my surprise, he followed me in and took a seat across from me. I worried he’d grow bored, whisper to me, nag me to leave, or just get up and go himself. But he surprised me by reaching into his backpack and unearthing a fat tome, which he proceeded to open to about a third of the way through.
I mouthed, “What are you reading?”
He placed a finger over the page, then tilted the cover toward me, proving his obsession with fantasy romance. I had a million questions, but I needed to focus on my editing.
As I went to grab the attachment Kate had just sent, I saw she’d written:Don’t get your hopes up, but I’ve set up a call with the provost to talk about funding a new position.
I pressed my lips together to hold in a squeal, glancing quickly at Evan, sitting there unaware of the monumental change he’d instigated in my life. I didn’tneeda hero to swoop in and play savior, but I’d spent so much time in my head, drafting emails, practicing to Chelsea, and then never confronting Kate, and Evan reminded me that sometimes, you just have to ask.
At least now I’d have an answer one way or the other. If she said no, a door would close, but I could make plans based in reality.
For now, I cracked open my laptop and spent the next hour marking up chapter four ofTextual Awakenings: The deferred sexuality ofTristram Shandy, a riveting study on the metaphorical nature of sex as writing, writing as sex. Reading about rhetoric as foreplay and narrative as seduction made me weirdly horny.
I peeked over at Evan, studying his expressions as he read. There was something so enchanting about working with quiet company, even though we weren’t talking. And a guy intensely reading a book messed with my libido in a bad way.
God, he was easy to look at with that textured blond hair, those long eyelashes, and that pretty mouth. If he’d chosen a career as a model or a boy band singer, I’d have bought the magazines and pinned his picture to my wall. Hell, I wasn’t above doing that with the photo from the station website.
Those dark frames didn’t help. I knew he didn’t need them, but he seemed to think nerdy meant invisible. He had no idea how those glasses morphed his hotness to a whole new level. My inner cavewoman desperately yearned to lift them off and fling them across the room as I straddled him and dragged my fingers through his too kempt hair.
A whisper caught my attention, and I scanned the room, suddenly aware that I wasn’t the only one ogling the sexy professor. Maybe the students had seen him on the evening news the night before. His phallic display had probably gone viral on social media. If I was going to keep hanging out with him, I’d have to get used to the gawkers rubbernecking his beauty.
