Page 8 of Directing You
Chapter 4
Hazel
My morning was a nightmare.More than a nightmare. I had my cell phone pressed against my ear and was on the phone with my best friend. “I’m telling you, she wasn’t in her office like she usually is,” I hissed into the phone, talking with Rosa, who was a full-time psychology student here. “Any idea where she could be?” Laura Dercy, the head of our department and my boss here at the school, required a venti Frappuccino daily—otherwise known as a bucket of sugar. And yet she still managed to maintain her lithe dancer body despite that daily sugar intake.
Rosa snorted in my ear. “Just leave it on her desk. Who the fuck cares if it melts? If she’s not there to claim her coffee, then she missesouton her coffee.” Rosa paused, clicking her tongue. “Better yet, drink the damn frappe and tell her someone must have stolen it.”
I groaned. “I’m serious. She could literally fire me, and you want me to drink her damn coffee?”
I’d barely just rolled out of bed after my late night at the club. The crowd had gotten even rowdier after Noah’s friend left, and I didn’t manage to get home until after two thirty.
So, it made sense that in my still-half-asleep haze, I’d tugged on the first pair of jeans from off my floor that didn’t smell bad before I rushed out the door and grabbed the two iced Americanos, one macchiato, one flat white latte, and of course, Ms. Dercy’s venti Frappuccino. I could barely handle my class load along with my two jobs, and I was just taking the minimum credits per semester. I don’t know how the hell Rosa kept up with her class-load that was twice my size, not to mention her internship. At this point, me being in this undergrad program felt like a waste of time. If I was being honest with myself, I had long since given up the musical theater dream. And if the school ever discovered the reality of my night job, I had no doubt that I’d be kicked out and never invited back. Even as a part-time, minimum-wage employee of the school, I still had to sign that insane integrity clause of theirs. Like this was the fucking Renaissance age and I was going to be branded with a scarlet A if caught dancing in my pasties.
“Do the professors even reimburse you for those coffees you get every day?”
“Yes.” Well, usually. “But that’s not the point, Rosa. I’m on freaking probation right now. They don’t let you stay in the program below a 2.5 GPA.”
I loved Rosa, but she didn’t understand how badly I needed this job. It wasn’t even necessarily about the pay (because my hourly rate was laughable), but I also got faculty rates on classes, which meant they werealmostaffordable on my dancer’s income. That discount was the real reason I kept this job. I was the assistant to the department, and one of my most “important” duties was bringing coffee to the professors before their classes at the beginning of my shift. Ms. Dercy was only one of several coffee deliveries I had before my classes, of course, yet she was also always the hardest to track down.
Rosa snorted. “That probation is a whole lot of bullshit.”
I sighed, rushing down the hall and peeking into a couple of the other offices and classrooms to see if I could find her. “It’s not bullshit. My GPA dropped to 2.6 when Professor Lewis gave me that F in History.”
“Yeah,” Rosa sneered. “He gave you an F because you wouldn’t fuck him after your oral exam.”
I swallowed hard, my cheeks burning and sweat pushing through my pores. I wasn’t sure if it was our conversation or the running around, but either way, I was greasy and sweaty and not cute at all. As much as I wanted to blame Professor Lewis—and yeah, he was a dick—I had to take ownership, too. “No, he failed me because I fell asleep in class while everyone else gave their oral exams and slept right through my own turn when he called my name to go.”
“Yeah. And youkeptthat failing grade because you have integrity and wouldn’t take his ultimatum to fuck him to give you a makeup day,” Rosa said, and I could almost picture the way her dark brown eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared when she got mad. “You are one of the few students here who hastwojobs…plus a full class load. And one of those jobs keeps you out until three in the morning. You’ve got to cut yourself a break.” She paused. “You should have reported him.”
I stopped in the middle of the hallway, taking a deep breath and letting it out on a sigh. “Maybe. But it’s too late now.” Ihadstarted to tell Dercy about what happened with Professor Lewis. But before I could get very far, she launched into a thirty-minute lecture about how she stuck her neck out for me to get into Professor Lewis’s class and how disappointed in me she was. How I was so talented, but I don’t apply myself, blah, blah, blah. Frankly, after being spoken down to for half an hour, I didn’t think Dercy would even listen to what I had to say about Professor Lewis.
But Rosa wasn’t wrong. To this day, I wish I had spoken up. However, it didn’t change the fact that I’d failed that class all on my own. It didn’t matter that Jenna had missed her finals day and was granted a makeup in the same class. It didn’t matter that Professor Lewis was a raging asshole. He’d left after last semester anyway, going with his wife on some national tour, so hopefully I never had to see him again.
“The new professor is starting today, right? Taking over for Professor Lewis’s wife, teaching your musical theater class?” Rosa said. “Maybe Professor Dercy is in there? Didn’t you say she likes to observe classes?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, pulling the phone from my ear to glance at the time. “Shit. Class already started,” I hissed. “Gotta go, Ro.” I hung up and sprinted for the door at the end of the hall, clutching my laptop to my chest, and grasping my cell phone in one hand while holding the Frappuccino in the other.
I shoved through the door, nearly plowing into a man just on the other side.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I’m so sorry…” I froze as my eyes lifted to the professor’s, and my words caught in my throat as I stood there wordlessly. Choked. Panicked.
“You.” The word brushed through my lips on a whisper, and I definitely didn’t intend for it to sound as accusatory as it did.
The man from last night—Noah’s friend—was standing in front of me at the head of my classroom. Was this a joke? Was I on some sort of hidden camera show that Noah had orchestrated? I immediately glanced around the room for some semblance of evidence…cameras or a microphone…
He took a beat, looking just as shocked and horrified as I did before his mouth snapped closed. He moved around me, shut the door, and locked it.
“You,” he repeated me, seeming to pause for a moment longer than I was comfortable with, “are late. You made it by the skin of your teeth. Normally the door would be locked by now.”
I swallowed, and his eyes dipped to the venti frozen beverage in my hand, his brows jolting up. “Good to know your priorities are in order, though, and you got your coffee.”
Shit.Shit, shit, shit.My gaze combed the room—and there, sitting in the back, was Ms. Dercy. I paused, waiting for her to come to my rescue…to tell him I wasn’t late because I had to buy a venti cup of pure sugar for myself, but that it was actually for her. Thatshewas the reason I was late. Because if she had just returned one of my numerous text messages asking where she was, I wouldn’t have had to traipse around the goddamn building looking to get her the stupid coffee she ordered this morning.
But she didn’t come to my rescue. Her hands folded in her lap, and she slowly crossed one leg over the other.
I cleared my throat. “Yes, Professor. It won’t happen again.”
His jaw twitched and he pointed at a seat. As I crossed the room, the fucking kiss-ass of a bitch Jenna Duncan snickered against the back of her hand. I paused, glaring at her for a brief moment before I slunk into a free seat, opened my laptop, and cursed my bad luck. What in the hell washedoing here? What sort of bullshit kismet was this? The man I almost went home with last night also happened to be my professor? I glanced over the top of my laptop at him. If I thought he was crisp and put together last night, it was nothing compared to today. His exquisitely fitted charcoal-gray dress pants were fitted against his lean hips and a blue Hugo Boss shirt clung to his chest and biceps. Muscles I’d had my hands on last night pushed against the high thread count, and the shirt tapered perfectly, hugging his trim waist.
