Page 14 of The Professor's Indecent Obsession

She is mine.

And as she disappears into the bathroom with a sleepy smile tossed over her shoulder, I grab my phone again.

Gideon Marks.

I’m going to find out exactly who the hell this man is.

Chapter Six

Callie

The restaurant is all glass and gold, like a beacon to the extremely wealthy clients that frequent its dining rooms. I hover just outside the entrance, half-hiding behind a planter overflowing with something green and manicured, and try not to let the nerves win.

My dress is the best one I own. Slate blue, vintage-inspired, a little frayed at the hem if you look too close. When I’d left my dorm room twenty minutes ago, I’d thought I looked pretty enough not to stand out too much in a place this nice.

But now? Watching sleek-haired women in expensive heels and designer tailoring float through the restaurant doors without a second glace, I feel like a paper doll in a world made of silk.

I cross my arms over my chest, my signature move whenever I’m feeling self-conscious, and try to stop thinking about Roman. It’s useless, though. He’s everywhere. In my body that still aches in the sweetest ways, in the best places. In my head,his voice playing on a loop. And in my heart, which seems to have lost all sense of timing and logic.

The way he looked at me this morning was devastating. Hungry and raw, but also soft and awestruck, like he couldn’t believe I was real.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

What if this isn’t real? What if this is just sex to him? A fling. A spark that will fizzle as fast as it caught fire.

What if I’m just a novelty? What if he saw my filthy stories and thought I’d be willing to let him do anything to me? And all I’ve done is prove to him that he was right.

The thought hits harder than I expect. I blink fast, throat tightening. I shouldn’t care. I barely know him. But I do care. Stupidly, deeply, recklessly.

I take a breath. Try to pull myself back to the present. Focus on why I’m here.

My agent said this meeting was important. That he’s got real movement happening on the manuscript. “Big five kind of movement,” he promised. And tonight’s dinner is part celebration, part strategy session. At the nicest restaurant in town.

It’s nice of him, I guess, bringing me somewhere this fancy. God knows I couldn’t afford it myself. I’ve been living on cheap coffee and microwave rice bowls for the past two months, scraping the bottom of every budget just to pay for all the fees that apparently come with getting a book published. My bank account has been in the negatives more than once this month since I sent the manuscript out, and every time I look at the red numbers, the anxiety claws a little deeper.

But Gideon has promised big things. Once my book has been accepted by a publisher, all my money worries will be gone. All the debt, all the stress, all the panic attacks that keep me awake night after night, they’ll all be a thing of the past.

Or at least, that’s the hope.

“Callie!”

I turn, and there he is. Gideon Marks, grinning widely like a politician, already moving in for the hug before I can fully register him.

He smells like something expensive; sharp and spicy, aggressively masculine; and there’s just… too much of it. Like he stood in a cloud of cologne and spun around until he was coated head to toe. His smile glints too white, and the gold rings on his fingers catch the light like they’re trying to make a statement. Everything about him is just slightly too much.

“You look absolutely ravishing,” he says, holding me by the shoulders as he pulls back to get a look at me. His eyes skim over my body in a way that makes my skin crawl, and I fight the urge to step away.

“Hi, Gideon,” I say, aiming for cheerful. Polite. I press a smile to my lips, even though my nerves are tangling tighter by the second. I wish I knew why I always felt this way around him. “Thanks for meeting me here.”

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss a chance to see you, Callie.” He winks, then offers his arm like we’re at some kind of gala. I take it because I don’t know what else to do.

Inside, the maître d’ seats us at a private table near the back, all low lighting and velvet booths. Gideon slides in across from me, already waving down the sommelier before I can even get my napkin in my lap.

“I’ll take the 2016 Côte-Rôtie,” he says smoothly, not glancing at me once. “Something bold for a bold night, am I right?”

I nod, even though I’ve never heard of it. The wine list looked terrifying, and now I’m grateful he’s promised to pay for everything tonight.

“So,” he says, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers like he’s settling in for something serious. “Big, big thingshappening, Callie. That manuscript you gave me? It’s gold. Pure, emotional, marketable gold. I shared it with a friend of mine who works with a few major publishers, and he went fucking wild for it. He said there’s nothing out there quite like it.”

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