“Yeah, but when did you go to law school?” he continues, clearly trying to deduce my age by my résumé.
“I didn’t go to law school,” I corrected him. “I took the LSATs, but I never enrolled.”
“Oh,” he says, leaning back in his seat.
“Is that going to be a problem?” I ask, hoping that’s not the case. Despite all my reservations about the house and his family, I need the money.
“No,” he says quickly. “Let’s just see how it goes.”
“I got a good score,” I tell him.
“I can use all the help I can get,” Frankie responds. “It’s just that my dad is giving me a hard time.”
“He’s pretty demanding?” I guess.
“You can say that again,” Frankie agrees. “So, they don’t really do books anymore. I can give you my login information if you want to go over the course material at home.”
“That would be great,” I say, relieved.
“But I’ve got an assignment due this evening, and it would really help if we could go through it together,” he continues.
“I’m all yours,” I say, scooting my chair closer so I can see his screen.
He looks at me with one eyebrow raised, as if I’ve said something sexy. I shake my head. He’s not a bad prospect, but this is all business. I promised to help him with the coursework, and that’s exactly what I plan to do. I don’t have time for a fuck buddy, and I’m too much of a wreck emotionally to even consider seeing someone now. I’ve got a whole lifetime of crap to sort out relating to my dad’s death. I wouldn’t be any good to anyone.
I watch as he maneuvers to a college app, and then opens the coursework. I read quickly, figuring out that the assignment has to do with one specific case.
“Can you look up this case?” I ask, pointing at the citation on the screen.
He flicks over to another tab and calls up Westlaw. I watch as he deftly enters the specifics in the search bar and all the literature on that case pops up. We spend a moment skimming through the titles before I select the file I want to see.
“How do you know that’s the one?” he asks.
“I’ve been through enough of these questions to know,” I say.
“So what should I look for?” he wonders.
“Just the one that saysfull text,” I respond.
He opens the file, and I spend the next fifteen minutes reading through it. He splits his focus between me and the screen, which is a little irritating. Every time I catch him looking at me, I nod back to the computer. Finally, he gives up, apparently losing interest in what we’re supposed to be doing.
“So why didn’t you decide to go into law school?” he asks.
“It just didn’t seem like the right move,” I answer, trying to figure out how to answer the question on his assignment. I’m not putting a lot of effort into the conversation, but I’m not shutting it down either.
“Why not?” He continues. “You said you got a good score.”
“I wanted to be a teacher instead,” I explain.
“No shit,” he exclaims.
“Watch your language,” I scold him.
He gives me a funny look, and I can tell he’s trying to decide whether I’m serious or not. I laugh, proving that curse words don’t bother me that much. What really bothers me isn’t Frankie at all. It’s this mansion, and all the invisible people who work in it. I gaze out the window and see nothing but trees in the background. They have their own little oasis here, and I know it costs a fortune.
“Do you want to take a break?” Frankie asks.
“We’ve barely gotten started,” I object. “Let’s at least finish the assignment.”
