Page 2 of Tempting the President
I make a face even as my pulse quickens. Why are all of Eina L. Haze’s heroines basically Charlize Theron with different hair colors?
I mean, seriously.
Raven has “legs for days” and “knows three forms of martial arts.” In the last book, the heroine was an ex-military helicopter pilot who could “drop a man with one precise strike.” Before that, it was a fearless photojournalist who’d survived warzones and “moved like a jungle cat.”
And here I am, five-foot-four on a good day, with my most impressive physical achievement being that I once managed to jump rope for five consecutive minutes without dying.
These women are tall; I’m...well, almost tall in the right shoes. They’re athletic; I can climb a flight of stairs without needing oxygen therapy, and that counts, right? They know how to fight; I technically know how to use pepper spray. I’ve just never actually had to do it.
I sigh and turn the page, wondering what exactly it says about me that I can’t stop reading these books even though the heroines are nothing like me and—
“Dr. Stuart, there’s a gentleman here to see you about Annie Steele.”
I jump so violently that my Kindle goes flying, and I have to perform an undignified lunge across my desk to catch it before Kassie sees what I’m reading.
Technically, I’m “doing research.” Behaviorally, I’m hiding smutty motorcycle club romance novels inside academic journal PDFs like a teenager with contraband.
“Does this gentleman have an appointment?” I ask Kassie, who’s hovering in my doorway looking like she’s just seen a ghost. Or possibly a really attractive ghost, based on the pink flush creeping up her neck.
“He says it’s urgent family business.”
Family business?
Annie Steele is one of my best students. Quiet, thoughtful, the kind of girl who actually reads the assigned textbooks instead of just googling “Freud summary” five minutes before class. Which, let’s be honest, is more than I can say for ninety percent of my students.
“Is Annie in some kind of trouble?”
“I don’t think so, Professor. But he’s very...” Kassie pauses, clearly searching for the right word. “Insistent.”
The way she says “insistent” makes me think she really means “terrifying” or possibly “capable of making grown women forget their own names.” I’ve dealt with pushy parents before, though.
“Send him in, please.” I quickly shut down my Kindle and slide it into my desk drawer. Professional psychologists do not get caught reading scenes where tattooed bikers corner innocent professors in office doorways. Even if said scenes are disturbingly similar to the situation I’m about to face.
I have approximately fifteen seconds to straighten my blouse and run a hand through my hair before the man who enters my office makes me forget how to breathe properly.
He’s tall—six-two at least—with broad shoulders and the kind of physical presence that makes my not-particularly-spacious office feel suddenly claustrophobic. Dark hair, dark eyes that miss nothing, and a mouth that’s currently curved into a smile that’s equal parts amusement and assessment.
But what really steals my breath is the confidence. He walks into my space like he already owns it, like my office is just an extension of whatever territory he’s claimed as his own.
“Dr. Stuart.” He doesn’t offer his hand, just studies me with an intensity that makes me feel like I’m the one being analyzed. “Patrizio Steele. Annie’s brother.”
Brother, not father. Which makes sense, now that I look at him more closely. There’s a family resemblance in the cheekbones and the dark hair, but he’s too young to be her father unless he started extremely early.
“Mr. Steele.” I stand, partly out of professional courtesy and partly because I feel at a distinct disadvantage sitting while he looms over my desk. “What can I do for you? Is Annie alright?”
“Physically, yes.” He sits without being invited, crossing one ankle over his knee in a posture of casual authority. “Academically, I have concerns.”
“Annie is one of my best students.” I sit back down, folding my hands on my desk like a shield. “Her work is consistently excellent, and she participates meaningfully in class discussions. I’m not sure what concerns—”
“I’ve been reading her thesis.” He cuts me off without hesitation, reaching into a leather portfolio I hadn’t noticed before and extracting a sheaf of papers. “Her *real* thesis, not the sanitized version she’s been submitting to you.”
“I don’t understand.” My brow furrows as I reach for the papers. “Annie’s been very thorough with her—”
“Read it.” He pushes the document across my desk. “Page three should be particularly enlightening.”
I try not to show how much I dislike being interrupted, picking up the papers with a professional smile that feels increasingly strained. “What exactly am I looking for, Mr. Steele?”
“Evidence that my sister is using your class to explore subjects that might be considered...inappropriate for her age.”
