Page 2 of Tour Wars
“Keep your distance,” she muttered. “You’ve already done enough damage.”
“All I did was present my own research. My evidence is solid, and you know it. From the analysis of the bronze artifacts and other lithic material found in Cyprus and Greece, I—”
“Just stop. Like I haven’t heard about your damn Sea Peoples a dozen times already? Today was even more painful than usual. Not only was I forced to listen to your outdated theories, but then you had the balls to single me out for criticism to make yourself look good.”
He crossed his arms. “If you can’t handle a little competition, then you’ll never survive in academia.”
Jerk. He was baiting her, like he always did, no doubt hoping to push her over the edge again. “I can handle anything, but your attitude sucks. You just wanted to mess with my head so that I’d screw up my interviews.”
“That’s not why I did it. Actually, I—”
“Save it. I’m going to be late.” She was about to make a hasty exit, but he placed his hand on her arm.
“Hang on. You have something on your face.” He leaned in closer and brushed his finger across her cheek. Just the slightest touch, but it made her nerve endings tingle.
She wanted to push him away but couldn’t make herself move. Only after he withdrew his hand did she regain the power of speech. “What the hell?”
“Sorry. Shouldn’t have touched you without your permission, but you had a smudge on your cheek. Maybe pen? Or…mascara? I didn’t want you to go into your interview that way.”
How had she missed it? She’d probably made matters worse when she cleaned up in the restroom. But her unexpected reaction to his touch only added to her discomfort. “Thanks. I have to go.”
She didn’t spare him a backward glance as she strode down the corridor. All she cared about was getting to her first job interview on time.
I just want this to be over.
In all her years of grad school, she’d never missed the annual conference put on by the American Institute of Classical Archaeology. This year, it was being held in Philadelphia, which meant she’d been able to save money by taking the train from Yale University, less than four hours away. Since the conference always took place in January, it was the ideal time to catch up with her colleagues between summer dig seasons. In addition to the social aspect of the meetings, she enjoyed attending panels on groundbreaking research and debating topics like the impact of racism and colonialism on the field of archaeology.
But with her doctorate so close at hand, this year’s conference took on a whole new urgency. Namely, the painful prospect of finding a full-time job in her field. Even if a lot of colleges now conducted their first-round interviews via Zoom, some still hosted them in person at conferences like this one. After applying to dozens of places, she’d lined up six interviews for the upcoming academic year. Though the teaching jobs wouldn’t start until August or September, the sooner she secured one, the sooner she could relax.
Maybe she’d get lucky, like her friends Stuart and Olivia. They’d gone through this hellscape last year and emerged with tenure-track teaching positions. But she suspected the odds weren’t in her favor.
As she approached the wing of the hotel where the interviews were taking place, she paused and gave herself a quick pep talk.
You’ve got this. You’re a kick-ass archaeologist with tons of field experience, you speak four languages, and you’ve published three papers. Go in there and give them hell.
Even if TJ had thrown her off her game, she wouldn’t let him get to her.
* * *
Emilia satat the hotel bar, drinking her second mojito of the night. To say her interviews hadn’t gone well was putting it mildly. When the first hiring committee had asked about her long-term research goals, she’d floundered. She’d been awkward and anxious, nothing like the image she usually projected in the field or the classroom. By the time her second interview rolled around, she was a hot mess.
As would be expected with a gathering of archaeologists, the bar was packed. On her left, raucous laughter from a noisy group made her bristle with irritation. The four guys clustered together didn’t appear to have a care in the world. All male, all white, all smug as hell. If she had to guess, she’d say they were full professors secure in their jobs.
At least she wasn’t drinking alone. Her friend Dusty Danforth perched on a stool beside her, sipping a glass of white wine.
Though Emilia had met dozens of archaeologists during her seasons in the field, she regarded most of them as colleagues. She’d always struggled with letting people in, which was why she only had a handful of close friends. Dusty was one of them. Like Emilia, she was an archaeologist by training, but she’d left academia last year and had no regrets about it. She’d come to the conference to support her boyfriend, Stuart Carlson, who was giving a presentation on recent archaeological discoveries at the site of Troy.
Dusty nudged her. “Stop moping. I’m sure your interviews weren’t that bad.”
“They were abysmal. I kept choking up. Like I couldn’t remember a damn thing I’ve ever written. All because TJ pissed me off when we were on that panel.”
“What happened between you two? When we left Troy last summer, you were getting along. When did you turn into enemies again?”
At Troy, Emilia and TJ had spent most of the summer squabbling, but they’d bonded while playing matchmaker between Dusty and Stuart. Then, after they teamed up to take down their scheming boss, they’d become allies.
Their truce had lasted less than a month.
“Once the academic year started up again, we were back at each other’s throats,” Emilia said. “It doesn’t help that we’re always competing for the same opportunities, and he’s usually the one that gets them. It’s so unfair. Do you remember when he got accepted to be a panelist at that big archaeology symposium in DC?”
