Page 21 of The Cyrano Situation
Tell me about it. My department would make an excellent psychological case study. Want to talk about it?
Did I? The thought of explaining Hart's behavior meant explaining... everything. The text coaching, the late nights in his office analyzing Jules's messages, the way Hart had gradually stopped offering advice as I'd grown more confident.
It's a long story. Probably boring to anyone not directly involved.
I doubt that. But I'm here if you change your mind. Complicated people are kind of my specialty. I teach contemporary and 19th century British literature, after all.
I smiled at that, about to reply when a knock at my door made me look up.
Hart stood there, looking uncharacteristically hesitant.
"Got a minute?" he asked.
I nodded, setting my phone down. "Of course."
He came in but didn't sit, hovering awkwardly near my desk. "I wanted to apologize for snapping in the meeting. That was... unprofessional."
"You didn't snap," I said automatically. "You just... spoke firmly."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Firmly, then. Still. Not my best moment."
I studied him, trying to understand what was happening behind his usually expressive eyes. They seemed guarded now.
"Is something wrong, Hart? You seem..." I searched for the right word. "Different."
He shrugged, a forced casualness that didn't suit him at all. "Nothing's wrong. Just busy. Big publicity push for the Nguyen launch."
"Right," I said, not believing him for a second. Hart thrived under pressure. I'd seen him coordinate three major book launches in a single week without breaking a sweat.
An uncomfortable silence stretched between us.
"So," he finally said, gesturing vaguely at my phone. "Things are good with Jules?"
"Yes," I said cautiously. "We're... communicating well."
"That's great," Hart said, with a brightness that sounded strained. "Really great. I'm glad my... advice was helpful."
"It was," I assured him. "I wouldn't have known where to start without you."
He nodded, eyes landing on the now-cold coffee cup he'd brought me hours ago. "You didn't drink your backup coffee."
"Oh," I looked at it guiltily. "I meant to. I just got busy with the meeting and then—"
"It's fine," Hart cut me off, waving a dismissive hand. "You don't need me bringing you coffee anymore. You've got your fancy beans now."
There was something in his tone I couldn't quite place. Something that made me feel like we were having two different conversations.
"Hart," I began, not sure what I was going to say but feeling like I needed to say something.
My phone buzzed loudly on the desk, Jules's name lighting up the screen. Hart's eyes flicked to it, then back to me.
"You should get that," he said, already backing toward the door. "Sounds important."
"It's not—"
"We'll catch up later," he said, and then he was gone, leaving me staring at the empty doorway.
I picked up my phone, reading Jules's message:
