Page 96 of Digging Up Love
CHAPTER 35
QUENTIN
One heel of Quentin’s boots hammered a staccato rhythm on the linoleum. The astringent scent of industrial cleaner bombarded his senses. He brushed a hand against his nose, put it back in his lap. An urgent summons from the chair of his department had him rushing off the dig and racing back to Chicago without even stopping for gas.
After a frenzied attempt to find parking for the stupid souped-up truck, he’d wound up paying a hefty fee on one of the campus lots. He’d detoured to his own office just long enough to throw on a spare button-down over his tee.
Across the desk, Lawrence’s scowl created deep canyons in his forehead. The late-afternoon sun fought a losing battle against the shuttered blinds behind him. “You’re off the dig.”
A pickax slammed down on Quentin’s cranium and split it in two, though in a detached way he realized he’d seen this coming. Predicted the end before he’d ever set foot in Hawksburg.
“May I ask why?” He pushed the words past lips gone numb and clumsy.
“You really think I’m going to let the university’s name get dragged through the mud?”
An absurd image sprang to mind, the brick sign at the entrance to campus being hauled up out of the dig by a winch, mud glopping off the masonry like it had off Alisha’s braids in March ...
Pain gripped his chest, deflating his lungs. “I don’t see what’s changed, sir. It was bound to get out sometime.”
“I suppose that’s true, but it never should’ve happened in the first place.”
His eyebrows pinched together. “But if we hadn’t excavated, those fossils would still be in the ground. What could possibly be gained from leaving them in situ?”
“The fossils?” Lawrence shook his head, thin lips pulled back over nicotine-stained teeth. “I couldn’t care less about the fossils at this point, Harris. Your conduct is the issue here.”
Did he just say he didn’t care about thefossils? Quentin hadn’t drunk any water since breakfast; maybe he was hallucinating. “My conduct? In the interview?” But he hadn’t given away any important details, nothing to spark controversy or undue attention.
“The interview? You think I called you in because of theinterview? We already hashed that out Monday. I’m talking about you turning the dig site into your own personal love nest.”
Oh. Ohno. Quentin slumped down in his seat, worrying the skin at his cuticles. The timing stung like pressure on a fresh bruise. For Lawrence to find out about Alisha now ...
Lawrence glowered at him. “Are you really going to play dumb?” He twisted his monitor around, and Quentin’s stomach bottomed out like a plane in freefall.
A photo filled the entire screen. Alisha sprawled on top of him in the grass, their mouths pressed against each other in a grainy yet excruciatingly explicit lip-lock, the dig laid out behind them in a tableau of infamy. The headline read,ANOTHER MASSIVE BONE IN HAWKSBURG?
Quentin’s foot shot out in a panic reflex and collided with the trash can under the desk. He bent down and yanked it toward his chair, because very likely he was going to puke. Or pass out. Or both. Nausea rolled over him like a wave. His hands and feet seemed miles away. The chair shifted under him, and he fumbled for a grip on the armrests.
This was a nightmare. Showing up to defend his dissertation naked would pale in comparison.
A quick and flirty kiss. Just a peck, really. But out of context, it looked like field-site foreplay. And the cherry on top of the crap sundae? In the foreground, his hoodie lay in the grass where he’d tossed it that morning, the distinctive forest-green and gold of the CNU logo in plain view.
Watching his face, Lawrence lifted a pencil with the whisper of a leer. “The university sweatshirt’s a nice touch. In case no one knew you were one of ours, they do now.”
“I didn’t—”
“Didn’t what?” Lawrence tossed the pencil on the desk and sat back, crossing his arms. “Invite a member of the public onto the dig site? Use your fifteen minutes of fame to get laid?”
“I didn’t invite her there.” The words escaped a jaw clenched tight. “She lives there. It’s the homeowner’s granddaughter.”
Lawrence dug his middle fingers into his temples. “You have got to be kidding me. Just when I think this cannot get worse. Do you think they’re going to take kindly to you seducing their granddaughter?”
He made it sound like some sort of lurid affair. “It wasn’t a seduction. It was a kiss.” And a whole lot more, but he didn’t need to bare his soul to Lawrence.
“A kiss. On the dig site. With the homeowners’ granddaughter.” Lawrence shook his head, a lank lock of gray hair falling over his brow. “You’re up for tenure next year. Almost six years you’ve been with us, and not so much as a negative student eval. Then you get handed the find of a lifetime, the perfect opportunity to distinguish yourself. Andyou blow it to pieces over a woman. Unbelievable, Harris. The level of moronic self-sabotage is frankly astounding.”
Any defense he had dried in his throat. The stark assessment rang in his ears, pinging against his skull. He’d jeopardized everything, risked it all. For nothing.
“Who took this photo?”
