Page 1 of Tour Wars
CHAPTERONE
Emilia Flores had twenty minutes to pull herself together. Twenty—no,nineteen—minutes to cool down, fix her appearance, and get in the right headspace before her first set of job interviews. Three interviews back-to-back, all for teaching posts at prestigious colleges. No easy feat, especially when she was still reeling from a panel session that had gone wildly off the rails.
Why had she ever thought she liked academic conferences? Right now, this one felt like the seventh circle of hell.
As she entered the women’s restroom, she recoiled at the reflection that greeted her in the mirror. Her long dark hair had come loose from her braid, leaving messy wisps straggling around her face. Little remained of her artfully applied makeup except a smudge of mascara under one eye. And the beads of sweat glistening on her forehead made her look like she’d just returned from a five-mile run.
All because she’d lost her temper during that disastrous panel session. When challenged by her rival, fellow archaeologist TJ Mayer, she hadn’t responded with calm professionalism. Instead, she’d disputed his claims in a heated exchange that sent her blood pressure soaring.
Grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser, she moistened it, wiped off the smudge, and blotted the sweat from her face. She undid her braid and ran her fingers through her hair, only to remember she’d left her hairbrush in her hotel room.
“Dr. Flores?” A timid voice caught her attention.
She whipped around in frustration. With so little time to spare, she didn’t have the bandwidth to deal with any distractions. Standing behind her was a petite young woman who looked college-aged, with curly black hair and light brown skin just a touch darker than hers. Around the woman’s neck was a lanyard that read Viviana Orozco, Penn State University. No doubt an undergrad, possibly attending her first big conference.
Emilia replaced her frown with a welcoming smile. Even at age twenty-eight, she could still remember how it felt to be so young and inexperienced. And she was always happy to see more Latinas pursuing archaeology.
“As much as I appreciate the title, I’m notofficiallyDr. Flores yet,” she said. “I still have to defend my dissertation.” If all went well, she’d finally be done with grad school in a few months. “Was there something you wanted to ask me?”
“I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your presentation on the collapse of the Late Bronze Age in the Mediterranean. Your paper was the best one there.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to hear that.” Up until the last twenty minutes of the panel, Emilia had felt the same way. Like she was crushing it. Until TJ had derailed her.
“Once I’m done with college, I was thinking of pursuing a PhD in archaeology like you. My parents said I’d be wasting my time because it’s so hard to get a teaching job. Is that true?”
If Viviana hadn’t seemed so earnest, Emilia might have laughed at the question. It wasn’t just hard. It was nearly impossible. But it wasn’t something she had time to explain.
She reached into the front pocket of her briefcase and pulled out a business card. “I’ve got to rush, but my email address is right here. Send me your questions, and I’ll answer them once I’m back at Yale.”
Viviana smoothed her hand over the embossed card. “Thanks, and…um…this is just my opinion, but I think the last guy on the panel was totally disrespectful. He acted like he was trying to show you up. I don’t blame you for getting mad at him.”
Emilia took a deep breath, not wanting to succumb to the anger she’d shown earlier. During her talk, she’d presented archaeobotanical evidence—ancient seeds and pollen grains—to prove that the fall of the Bronze Age in the Mediterranean had been brought about by drought and famine, mainly due to climate change. Given that she’d written her dissertation on this exact topic, she knew the material inside and out. She always felt confident presenting it.
But when it was TJ’s turn at the mic, he didn’t just counter with his own theory; he claimed it was superior to hers. Rather than blame the collapse on natural disasters, he insisted a marauding group of invaders, known as the Sea Peoples, had triggered the devastation.
Wasn’t that just like a man to blame everything on warfare?
If the panelist had been anyone but TJ, she might not have responded as forcefully. But whenever he provoked her, all her self-control went out the window. As a result of their argument, the session had run overtime, she’d gotten overheated, and now she was woefully behind schedule.
“It’s all right,” she said. “That sort of thing happens in academia all the time. I’ve got to run, but it was nice to meet you. Good luck with the rest of the conference.”
With a quick wave, she dashed out of the restroom and headed down the hall, but speed walking in heels wasn’t in her skill set. As the heel of her right pump twisted under her, she stumbled and smacked into a wall, bruising her elbow. Wincing in pain, she took a minute to get her bearings, only to be accosted by a sarcastic male voice.
“Em. I didn’t realize I’d thrown you that much off-kilter.”
She grimaced. TJ Mayer. The same jerk who’d attempted to upstage her on the panel session. Who’d aggravated her all last summer when they’d worked together excavating the site of Troy in Turkey.
“I’m fine,” she snapped. “Just in a rush, that’s all.”
“Headed for your first interview of the day? Georgetown, right? Mine’s with Cornell University. I figure I’ve got a decent chance since I spent a summer digging at Sardis as part of a joint excavation between Harvard and Cornell. Never hurts to use my Harvard connections.”
Of coursehe would mention Harvard. If she had a dollar for every time he brought it up—anddismissed Yale as second-rate—she’d be halfway to paying off her student loans. Equally vexing was his insistence that his hometown of Chicago was culturally superior to hers in Milwaukee. Sure, his city had more museums, but she’d pick Wisconsin over Illinois any day, especially when it came to sports.
As if it wasn’t bad enough that he was her academic rival, what irked her even more was that she found him attractive. Though he wasn’t as jacked as a lot of her dig buddies, he had a lean, muscular frame—a runner’s build—and his height matched hers almost exactly. Last summer, his light brown hair had been a shaggy mess, but he’d had it trimmed since then, and it curled, ever so slightly, at the back of his neck. Sealing the deal were his vintage glasses, which drew attention to his warm brown eyes. Why did guys with old-school glasses always get her hot and bothered?
But even if he was hot, he was a giant pain in the ass.
“I’ll go with you since I’m headed that way,” he said. “If you want, I could toss you a few practice questions. Or vice versa. Couldn’t hurt, am I right?”
