Page 13 of Love Under Snowfall

He’d be rid of that woman. Once he handed out Miss Miller’s failing grade, she would no longer be in his class and would cease to be an unwelcome distraction.

He licked his lips and stared unblinking at the screen as he opened the spreadsheet listing the midterm scores.

Chapter seven

Benjamin

Benjamin’s day was ruined. Ruined!

He traced the lines of the Excel spreadsheet four times to make sure he’d read the right grade attached to Francesca Miller’s student ID number. There was no mistaking it. She’d gotten a C. A score only slightly above dismal, but passing nonetheless.

Four more weeks.

He still had an entire month with that woman in his class, sitting in the front row with her hair—the color of golden honey—pulled into a sleek bun, sitting up straight with her shoulders back. Trying to look professional in her well-fitting blouses and painted-on leggings. A single eyebrow cocked, challenging him,mockinghim, as she responded to his barrage of questions. She was such an unnecessary distraction and Benjamin had been so hopeful to be rid of her. Jesus, he’d even beefed up the midterm in hopes that it would be way over her head.

I blame the rest of the students. If they had done better, she would have been lower on the graded curve and out of my class.

He sat there grumpy, fully aware that his mood was childish. Why did he react like this when it came to that woman? She wasn’t rude. Definitely wasn’t stupid. He supposed her effort was commendable. Keeping up with the flow of each class didn’t seem to be a problem for her anymore. She was attractive and in anyother context, he would have happily flirted with her in a bar or some other gathering. She had a petite little body, except for her rear, which was full and swayed seductively when she walked. Benjamin closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. He imagined sliding his hands over her round, perky bottom and—

No.

NO!

Hewantedher.

That was his problem. He wanted to get his hands on Francesca Miller. Well, not just his hands.

This is bad.

She’s a student, and he’s her professor. Never was there a more cliché scenario than him lusting over her. Or—god forbid—acting on that lust. Aside from being tacky, it would also be unprofessional. He could lose his job. She could lose her scholarship. And all for what? A tumble or two in the sheets? Not worth it. No, Benjamin had to nip this in the bud immediately.

But how was he supposed to do that? She wasn’t going anywhere before the end of the quarter, so he was stuck with her for another four weeks. Benjamin’s head flopped back as he let out a frustrated groan. Two classes per week—aside from Thanksgiving week—which meant only seven classes. Fourteen measly hours in total. Surely, he could behave like a grown man forfourteen hours. He was one hundred percent capable of resisting the urge to throw her over his shoulder and march down the hall to his office—

“Enough!” he roared at himself.

Hunger pangs scratched at his stomach. He shook the carton in his hand, forgetting it was already opened, and sloshed some of the chocolate drink onto his shirt and tie. He recoiled, looking down at the mess he’d made. His once immaculately white shirt displayed brown splatters, stains that would never (no matterhow much bleach he used) ever come out. The plastic shake cap sat beside his keyboard, taunting him with its uselessness. He grumbled and momentarily contemplated chucking the carton across the small office but thought better of it, opting instead to down the necessary calories.

After depositing the empty into the waste bin, he sat with his elbows on the desk and forehead in his hands, grabbing fistfuls of his hair. This was ridiculous.

Two quick raps on the door startled him from his pathetic cesspool of annoyance. Before he could call out that whoever it was should go away, Dean McCaffery popped his head inside, looking surprisingly cheery considering his usual demeanor.

“Goooood morning, Benjamin. A moment.” He didn’t wait for a response but instead stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. Taking a couple steps forward, he bent slightly at the waist so he could lay both hands on the desk.

Benjamin was in no mood.

“What do you want, McCaffery?” he asked bluntly.Come to gloat, I assume?

“I wanted to see if you had a chance to look at Miss Miller’s midterm score.”

Bingo. Here to gloat.

“I saw it just now,” he ground out around clenched teeth.

The older man wore a smug smile. “Then I believe we should applaud ourselves.”

“And why is that?”

McCaffery rested a hip on Benjamin’s desk and held up his arms in a grand gesture. “Because with my eagle eye selection and your magnificent ability to educate, we have pleased the powers that be.” He meant the board members and wealthy donors who gave to the college. Usually, they were one and the same.

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