Page 20 of The KING Review

Me:

I guess you don’t know yet, but I’m the emotionally volatile one

Professor Daddy:

Who told you that?

Me:

pretty much everyone

Professor Daddy:

I’m not telling you that. Emotional sensitivity isn’t a bad thing, Neve.

I quirk a brow. “Tell that to my parents,” I mutter under my breath.

Me:

thanks daddy

Professor Daddy:

See you at four.

I’ve never been to the labs at the university yet, but it’s exactly what I expect. Sterile, white, and clean, the tang of soap in my mouth when I step into Lab C.

Grant is already there, waiting. I take my chance to be a little rude and stare before he realizes I’m here. He’s sitting in the chair with a laptop and a second monitor, but he’s looking at some kind of literature review.

He’s wearing a burgundy button-down and dark jeans with boots. Fuck me, he’s gorgeous. His hair is pushed out of his face, tousled like he’s been running his hands through it all day. His beard is, as usual, neatly trimmed, dark auburn like his hair, with those sexy little streaks of silver, the same as he has at his temples.

He’s leaning back in the chair, a little relaxed but still alert. I clear my throat from the doorway because I don’t want to startle him too badly, but he still jolts when he registers my presence.

Grant spins in the chair, then shoots up to standing. “Miss Hart,” he says, sounding almost breathless. “Thanks for coming. Shall we get started?”

“Yes.” I sound breathless, too.

Grant gestures to the chair beside his—another small, basic thing on wheels—and I drop myself into it obediently.

“Do you know what these sessions entail?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, dropping my bag by my feet and unclipping the roll top so I can grab my binder, pencil case, and notebook. “They’re kind of ‘fake’ therapy sessions, a simulation designed to replicate actual therapeutic sessions in a low-pressure environment.”

“That’s right,” he confirms. “Do you have any questions for me, before we begin?”

“I don’t think so,” I say, setting my notepad on my lap, then glancing back up to him. I flash a smile. “Shall we get started?”

He blinks at me, but doesn’t speak.

I look back at him. “Unless you want to let me know what you treat yourself to for a small victory?”

Grant’s brows fly up, and he chuffs a surprised sound. “No,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”

My lips quirk as I look down at my lap, shifting slightly in my chair. I’m not immune to the effect he has. The guy is pure impact.

I know I’m not the only one. I’ve seen the way other women in his classes look at him. I’d like to say that I’m not jealous, but I am. I know that’s stupid. I don’t have any claim on him.

But I want to.