Page 9 of Mostly My Boss
“You are so weird,” I told him then started to walk so he was forced to move.
“I’m eccentric. There’s a difference.” He backed out of the row and let me pass him on the steps. “But I’m not an asshole…well, not most of the time. I hope. And I’m not someone who’s just offering money so I don’t have to work at school. That’s not what this is about.”
I stopped nearly at the top of the steps and turned. “You’re not?”
“No.”
I didn’t buy it. “You’re telling me you’re not some rich alumnus’s kid who’s only here because it’s really, really important to Daddy? And you figured you could pay me like I’m some sort of fucking secretary? What gave it away? My Keds or the canvas bag?”
“What? That you’re on scholarship? Well, it was everything really… But that’s not why I’m asking.”
“Fuck you,” I said, feeling my cheeks turn red even as I tried to outpace him. But he was super tall and barely had to walk to catch up with me.
“No, come on. I’m sorry. Like I said, I’m not an asshole most of the time.” He maneuvered himself in front of me, giving me no option but to stop.
“I don’t need your daddy’s fucking money.” I hated how completely untrue that sounded.
“Right. Got it. Pride and stuff. All good. But it’s not my dad’s money. Yes, I’m the son of an alumnus, but if I promise you I’m paying with money I earned, would it be less about me being a rich prick?”
“You work?”
He grimaced. “I really don’t know if you can call it work when it’s just right there, but yes. It was earned on my initiative. Does that count?”
I wasn’t even really sure why I was offended. He was weird. He had a seat fetish that was way more out of control than mine. He wanted to pay me a hundred bucks for notes that I was going to take anyway.
I thought about the thirty-two-dollar used economics text.
“Fine,” I said, holding my hand out. “It’s a deal. Cash up front before I email the notes. Starting with the next class.”
He smiled and shook my hand. “Awesome. That’s great.”
His fingers were long and his hand was narrow and hard. It nearly swallowed my own.
“I’m Ethan. Ethan Moss.”
“Julia Whitford,” I mumbled, pulling my hand back because it felt like we’d been touching too long.
“Perfect. We have deal.”
“Yep,” I said, then started to move around him. Only he walked backward in front of me, so we were still facing.
“What?” I asked, clearly not able to shake him loose if he didn’t want to be shaken loose.
“How much of an asshole would I be if I offered you another twenty to get to class early so you could save my seat?”
I held my arms outstretched wide. “This big. This big of an asshole!”
“But you’ll do it.”
I was typically early to class anyway and twenty bucks was twenty bucks. I smiled. “Sure.”
“Julia, this is the start of what I think might be an amazing partnership.”
I doubted it. I did not want the first person I knew at Harvard to be the weird guy.
3
Harvard
