“Oh, I’ll be accepted,” Riley calls after me with a smug smile as I walk away.
Not if I can help it. Which, it turns out, I can’t.
Since I’ve already had two shitful conversations today, I decide to make it a trifecta and corner Jennifer in her office.
“I’m sorry, Ethan. If Riley applies—when she applies—you’ll have to accept her,” Jennifer says when I express concern that Riley wants to come on the dig.
“Amarna’s not even her area of study, and based on her grades, I’d be reluctant to take her even if it was. Why on earth would she want to go?” I pace in front of Jen’s desk, and she watches with an amused grin.
“If I had to guess, I’d say her father is putting pressure on her, and if he wants her to go, then she’s going. Anthony will make sure of it. Rob Hall donates a lot of money to this university.”
“Ah. His baby girl wanted to study Ancient Egypt, so we’re stuck with her?” Which doesn’t explain Riley’s apparent lack of real interest.
“Not exactly. Rob and his father are both doctors. Riley is an only child. There was an expectation she’d go into medicine too. But she didn’t get the grades.” That does explain it though.
“I see. So she has no actual interest in Ancient Egypt; it was just what she could get into. And we're expected to coddle an, at best, average student through a PhD?” I slump at the meeting table in the corner.
“Pretty much. I'm afraid this is the reality of academia these days. We need the money.” Jen shrugs, although I can see it chafes at her that a subject we're passionate about is something Riley settled for. “Which means we’re stuck with her, as you say. And she's not that bad.”
The look I give Jen can leave her in no doubt about my opinion.
I didn’t want to do this, but desperate times and all that.
“Jen, Riley has made it very clear she has a … personal … interest in me. Which is not reciprocated, by the way. I’m uncomfortable with her being on the dig.”
“Oh, come on, Ethan. Are you telling me you’ve never been hit on by a student before?” Jen raises her eyebrows at me and can see by my expression that I have. “Just what I thought. You’re a grown man. Just say no. No means no, regardless of who says it.”
Somehow, I don’t think Riley got that memo.
Chapter Twenty
Sadie
The look on Ethan’s face when I shut down his apology nearly broke me. It felt mean. Cruel. And not like me at all.
But if I’ve learnt one thing in my life, it’s that you have to take care of yourself. Opening myself up to Ethan again is way too dangerous.
After I’ve left him on the path and stomped back to the Ancient History building, I’m tempted to message Bella. But the last thing I need right now is her putting doubt—or is it hope?—in my head.
When I got back from Bangalay and told Bella about what happened between Ethan and me and our subsequent argument, she was both elated and disappointed.
“Woo hoo! This is progress. You went back for seconds,” she’d cheered.
“Well, there won’t be thirds. There won’t even be friends,” I shot back as I whipped off the clothes that smelt of Ethan, preparing for a shower.
“You guys are as bad as one another,” she said, following me down the hall of our apartment. “But I predict this story isn’t over yet. By the way, I googled him. Hot AF.”
“Not helping,” I muttered as I slammed the bathroom door in her face.
She’s always been my ride or die. I’ve never doubted it, but I suspect there’s more than a little part of her that’s joining Team Ethan.
Meanwhile, all I can do now is suck it up and bury myself in work.
In the weeks that follow, I walk a strict line. I’m professional. Businesslike. Scrupulously organised. But that’s it. I’m determined not to let my personal feelings—whatever they may be—affect either my work with the students or my PhD. And those feelings change daily, sometimes hourly.
Technology becomes my best friend. I email Ethan any results and questions or concerns about students, rather than discussing it in person. I text rather than call. I sit at the very back of the hall in lectures and wait till he’s out of the room before moving to the front. I stick religiously to the topic at hand during my thesis meetings, which I usually manage to arrange in the meeting room rather than the closer quarters of Ethan’s office. I don’t need to be trapped in his personal space, surrounded by the evidence of his work and travels, and with the delicious smell of his body wash reminding me of what he can make me feel.
When Ethan calls a meeting in his office to talk about teaching plans for the first semester next year, I make sure his other tutoring assistant is present as a buffer. I don’t think I imagine the look of disappointment on his face.
