Jen rolls her eyes but doesn’t give my comment oxygen.
“I want us back to being Australia’s pre-eminent choice of university for studying Ancient Egypt,” she says instead, with pursed lips. The obvious subtext being Martin Collins is not going to get us there.
“No pressure, then.” This is exactly what I need. I came home to be nearer to the family. I also need a challenge to keep my mind occupied, or I’m worried I’ll sink beneath the surface of my grief and guilt. How I’m going to balance my career with trying to be more present with my family, I have no idea. But coming home is the first step.
“None at all.” Jennifer’s smile in no way gives me the impression she’ll be taking it easy on me. But I’m up to the job.
We spend a couple of hours talking through Jen’s plans for the department and brainstorming opportunities and challenges. One of the things that’s most important to me is being able to continue my dig in Amarna. I have a good relationship with the Department of Antiquities in Egypt, and so far, they’re open to me transferring the concession I secured while in the UK, as long as I keep Cambridge in the mix. Which is no problem since their big budgets never hurt.
It's nearly midday by the time we’re winding up.
“Okay, let’s do a walk around the department and show you the new digs. Then maybe we can grab a bite of lunch.” I see some Korean fried chicken in my near future.
Most of the offices are missing their occupants, and most are as cluttered as Jennifer’s. You can give an ancient history professor a sleek new office, but you can’t make them embrace the minimalist look.
As we circle back to the bank of lifts we pass the utilities room. The massive copier/printer stands with all its doors and flaps open, torn and blackened paper scattered around it like the rubbish the wind collects against the Pyramids of Giza. A very shapely arse points directly at the door, its owner headfirst in the gaping copier. I have no more than a second or two to register a vague sense of familiarity before Jennifer speaks.
“Oh, Sadie. I’m glad you’re here. Ethan, this is Sadie Montgomery. One of our most promising PhD students. And the only one who seems to be able to tame this beast.” Jennifer pats the top of the printer with what could be fondness. The shapely arse drops, and its owner turns on her knees. “Sadie, this is Professor Ethan Carter.”
And there I am, once again staring down into the big grey eyes of the woman I fucked six ways to Sunday and sent home in an Uber barely a week ago. The big grey eyes that gazed up at me as her cheeks hollowed around my dick. The big grey eyes that rolled back in her head when she came on my cock. And again on my tongue.
I’m screwed.
Chapter Four
Sadie
Shit. It’s him. The guy that’s been giving me hot and sweaty dreams since he sent me home in an Uber. He’s the new professor Jennifer’s been raving about. The one she taught as an undergrad and supervised through his PhD.
How the hell have I never seen a photo of him? How the hell did I not know who he was when he walked into the pub that night? Did I not ask his name? My mind races, sifting through my memories from the bar. I called him Solo Man because he came in alone. And I didn’t even realise it at the time, but I never told him mine. It didn’t come up. Which is weird in itself. The only excuse I have is that my mind was hormone addled. I’ll give myself a good talking-to about personal safety once I’m not in this eerily familiar position in front of my recent one-night stand.
I gaze up at him, frozen for what feels like multiple millennia, although it can’t be more than a few seconds. Because Jennifer is still rambling on about my PhD thesis and how it might dovetailwith his work in Amarna and some other rubbish about the copy machine. Finally, I shake myself out of my catatonic state, scramble to my feet, and step towards him, hand outstretched.
“Nice to meet you, Professor Carter.”
As if we’ve rehearsed it, he follows my lead, steps forward, and takes my hand in a firm grip. The warmth and strength sends a shot of adrenaline—and sensory memory—straight to the place I need it least with Jennifer standing there watching us.
“Nice to meet you, too, Sadie. I’m looking forward to hearing about your plans. And please, call me Ethan.” I suppress the full body shiver the contact has sparked and attempt to shake his hand like a normal functioning adult.
He’s got one of the best poker faces I’ve ever seen.
Unless he doesn’t remember me. No. I was there. You don’t forget a night like that. I know I’m not mistaken about who he is. The smell of his spicy body wash and the feel of the callouses on his hands have haunted my dreams. It’s him alright.
“Okay, let’s go and grab some lunch,” Jennifer suggests, thankfully oblivious to the undercurrents in the cramped and overheated utilities room. He follows her into the hall with no more than a brief glance over his shoulder to imply he remembers what we did together.
I’m still standing there, gapping like a fish, when fellow PhD student, and my favourite person of all time—let me just wipe the sarcasm off that—Riley Hall, races into the copy room. We’ve been frenemies since we first laid eyes on each other when I transferred to this uni to do my master’s. I tried with her. I really did. But she’s just so vacuous.
“Who was that?” she squeals in a stage whisper, sticking her blonde head back out into the corridor and watching Ethan and Jennifer get into the lift.
“Who was who?” I live to irritate Riley, and playing dumb gets her every time.
With a cartoon-esque roll of her eyes, she sighs and waves her hand towards the lifts.
“That. The long drink of water getting in the lift with Professor Stone.”
“Oh. Him. Dunno.” If she wants the tea, she’s going to have to get someone else to spill it.
“Don’t give me that. You know everything around here. Oooh. Was it the new professor? Ethan Carter. Was it?” Her eyes light up like a couple of implausibly blue fairy lights caught between two hairy black caterpillars.
