Page 41 of Ashes and Lilies
Dr. Stephens tilted his head. “What makes you think that?”
“Because she was his student and had a long-standing relationship with him,” I told him. Boy, things on the criminal justice side must be in dire straits these days. “Since Mr. Weaver was murdered after he started looking into Professor Hamway’s house, she probably heard he was asking around, and knows someone related to them.” I sat back and took a sip of my coffee. “I would check her further for connections with the Cole family, butI’mnot the professional.”
I should charge a consultation fee.
“Interesting.” Dr. Stephens steepled his fingers. “See,asthe professional, that is exactly what I have been looking into.”
“Oh.” I lowered my drink. Well, that sucked.
“Don’t let Gregory get you down, baby girl,” Damen said, placing his hand over mine. “That was fabulous. You’re a natural.”
I blinked at him. “What?” I asked.
Why was he beaming? And why did my chest feel so warm at the sight?
“You should study with us!” Damen said. “I’ll be working toward my tenure starting next semester.”
My blood cooled. “You want me to take psychology?” I asked, and at his nod, the light feeling in my stomach returned to normal. “I think not,” I said, sipping my coffee.
Damen’s forehead wrinkled, and he sat back, seemingly surprised at my swift rejection. “How come?”
I put my cup on the table and touched my forehead. “I don’t think,” I began, trying to find the words. There were too many reasons to list. I started again, “I don’t agree that putting a label on people and forcing them to talk is helpful.”
“Bianca…” Damen’s expression was cautious. “No one here is going to lock you away. What happened in the past was wrong, but things are different now.”
I looked down and studied what remained of my light brown beverage.
Maybe I could get another.
“Psychology is a vast field with multiple specialties,” Damen said. “Gregory and I are consultants, not therapists.”
I glanced past Damen—toward the middle of the restaurant. Where was our server?
“Why do you call Dr. Stephens by his first name?” I asked him. “It’s not very polite.”
I ignored Mr. Weaver, which wasn’t difficult since he watched us without commentary, and noted Dr. Stephens and Damen exchanging glances. I hoped that they’d let the subject drop.
Finally, Damen crossed his arms on the table and answered, “I don’t call Gregory by an honorific because things aren’t like that between us,” he explained. “While he holds a doctorate and is my mentor, he is also someone I’ve known my whole life. On top of offering his guidance, he enjoys cooking and organizing clutter. Usually, he and Miles can be found in the kitchen. When he’s visiting, he’ll keep tabs on visitors. He’s like a motherly—”
Oh my God.
“You’ve turned him into your butler!” I pointed at him, appalled. I knew Damen had a hero complex, but this was going too far. I would bet my left breast that he also had a secret lair under his mansion. “I can’t believe you. Even Proxies deserve respect! Do you make him serve you tea, too?”
What nonsense. Dr. Stephens was mine.
“It’s not like that.” Damen’s cheeks darkened as he grabbed my finger. “And you shouldn’t point at people. You’ll take someone’s eye out.”
“That’s not why you shouldn’t point at people,” Dr. Stephens interjected, leaning back in his seat. “But no, Miss Bianca, I do not serve them tea. That’s something Mr. Miles enjoys doing—he’s quite nurturing.”
He was that, wasn’t he? So delightful.
“But he’s not the best at cleaning up after himself,” Dr. Stephens noted.
Was that so? “He will be now,” I promised, already drawing his future chore chart in my head. All I needed was a dry-erase board and some markers.
“While you ruminate on how you’re going to make the Montrone brat’s life miserable, also keep in mind your other responsibilities,” Mr. Weaver cut in. “Me.”
I glanced at him.
