Page 24 of Pink Ink

Dirt and chips of stone stick to my long boots, and my pantyhose are so soaked that they’re glistening against my black dress. Not to mention the water dripping from my scarf and coat is bound to make every cleaner in this university hate me.

Whether or not Shaw noticed me clomp inside bringing the outdoors with me will remain a mystery. I subtly glower at him as I unpack my things, andChristif it isn’t infuriating how effortlessly handsome he is. Couldn’t he be horrifically disfigured? Or at the very least have bad teeth?

The man encompasses the very essence of suave, and I want to push him into a pool to make him lose his composure. But I bet he’d glide out, soaking wet, looking more godly than Poseidon himself.

Because winning the genetic lottery wasn’t enough, he’s nailed the hot professor look too. I never thought I’d be attracted to a man in a knitted vest, but it’s doing things to me that Maddox Shaw shouldn’t be.

Life is so unfair. Why must natural selection be so cruel?

As more students trickle in, I pretend not to notice Shaw while I stare blankly at the graphs for my psych class. Nicole’s away sick, so I’ll need to face Satan alone.

My face suddenly heats with awareness. Unlike in the library, this feels like a searing burn, the kind that comes from being in the center of a bull’s-eye.

The dark, foolish part of my soul is telling me to raise my chin and look Shaw dead-on. The practical part of me—the part that holds the occasionally dormant survival instincts—tells me to ignore him.

It’s the mature choice.

But I still want to look at him because he’s damn easy on the eyes. Every woman here is swooning; it’s in the flutter of their lashes and the overly enthusiastic way they say, “Good afternoon, Professor Shaw,” and it mortifies me that I’m one of the ones heating up just thinking about him in his stupid fucking vest.

It makes me hate him more.

Attractive, smart, and arrogant. The traits of a man who isn’t worth my time. Regrettably, it’s an honor and a privilege to be taught by said man. So shutting up and ignoring him is, unfortunately, therightchoice.

Class starts, and all of us hang on every word he says. It’s enrapturing to watch him teach. What he lacks in practical film skills, he makes up for in theory—andmandoes he know his theory.

My brain is fried from information overload by the time class ends. I’ve learned more in the past two weeks than I have in the entire year Professor Bradford was teaching us. I take my time packing up,because I only have a couple of assignments to work on for once, and a video I need to upload and deliver to a client. Nothing is burning—except the stats formula for psych I still don’t understand. In my books, that’s called a moderately relaxing night. I might even spoil myself and rewatchMidsommarwhile researching the insignia I found in the library.

“Miss Sinaga, a moment.”

Shaw’s voice freezes my insides.

This can’t be good.

Taking a deep breath, I shoulder my satchel and try not to seem so begrudging about finishing my day with verbal abuse. I might have the sleep and caffeine levels to tolerate his bullshit, but there’s only so much one woman can take.

If he mentions anything to do with my mother, all bets are off. I’m going for his jugular and writing a scathing complaint to the dean. Hell, get a couple of drinks into me, and I might start buddying up with all the critics giving him a hard time—yes, I did spend far too long searching him up online the other night.

For a second, I’m self-conscious about how I might look when there isn’t a single part of him that’s out of place. Then I realize that I don’t give a shit. He has luxuries that I can’t afford and priorities that aren’t in the same tax bracket or realm as mine.

If he’s got a problem with my appearance, he can choke on it. I wasn’t put on this earth to look pretty for someone else. Especially not him.

I stop beside his desk, not-so-patiently waiting for him to reorganize the books and folders he referred to throughout the class. My stomach swoops when his gaze flickers to my legs for the briefest moment; I’m convinced I might have been imagining it.

Shaw’s attention fixes on me, and a small part of me simultaneously dies and comes alive. He’s even more attractive up close. More imposing. The natural light filtering through the windows casts dark shadows beneath his jaw to make him seem all the more intimidating, yet alluring,the way a sailor is distantly aware that his ship is about to crash as he drifts closer to the siren.

Holding eye contact is crippling. It’s like he wants to dissect me and work out how I tick. It’s exhilarating all the same. He opens his mouth.

Let the degradation commence.

“I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”

What?Are my ears deceiving me? His shoulders are lowered, the creases around his eyes soft. His voice is more like warm honey than the sting of a wasp.

“She was a lovely woman and well respected within the community.”

I suck in a sharp breath. “You’ve met her?” I think I need to pinch myself.

“Once.” Maddox nods. “At an awards dinner. Mora was telling people to keep an eye out because her daughter is an up-and-coming director.”