“Oh please,” Philip said. “I’ve known Bernard almost as long as I’ve known Edward. You think I can’t recognize his long-winded verbal diarrhea masquerading as historical interpretation? It’s not even analysis. He’s just paraphrasing.”
Martin shook his head. Not that he disagreed, but criticizing him when he wasn’t there seemed unfair.
“Your chapters, though.” Philip leaned back in his chair. “Very interesting. One might almost say insightful.”
Well, don’t hurt yourself with the praise, Martin thought. What he said was, “Thank you.”
“Edward said you were an astute young man generally. He was sorry to see you go.”
This time, Martin’s thanks were genuine, if a little bit stammered.
Philip smiled, warmer now. “Professor Emeritus, that’s what they call me now. I’m sure Sebastian told you I’ve retired.”
“He did, sir, yes.” Martin couldn’t help but notice that, even after the night before, Philip still called Seb by his full name.
“Watersmith was our home for a long time, though. The new dean of the history department, Angela, you’ve met her?”
“Angela Friedman?”
“Yes.”
“No, I haven’t.” Like everyone, Martin knew of her, but they’d never had a conversation.
“I could speak to her. If you like. Obviously, Sebastian might not understand, but I know how much work you’ve put into getting as far as you did. It would be a shame to see it end there. There’s a position opening up in the spring. Primarily research, with one course to teach a semester. Officially, we’d have to post it, but Watersmith has always relied heavily on the recommendations of its faculty, both current and...” The lion smiled his toothy smile. “Former. A few good words from me could...”
* * *
“Don’t you fucking trust a single thing he says to you.” Seb tugged on his bowtie with such force the whole thing unraveled. He cursed and kicked at the dresser. The mirror behind it rattled. “I knew I should have gone with you.”
Martin came forward, his hands trembling as he raised them. They were steadier than Seb’s, though, and he had the bowtie redone in seconds. “I told him I had to think about it.”
“Well, you think yourself into a ‘no.’ He never gives anything freely.”
“It does seem a little weird, given that we’ve just met.”
“He’s testing you. It’s what he does. He tests people, looking for weaknesses.”
“Looking for the sick antelope at the watering hole?” Martin slumped.
“You’re not an antelope.” Seb leaned in to kiss him. Why the hell were they here again? Kissing Martin would be a much better use of a day than dealing with his dysfunctional family and their perpetual chess game, and it could be done at home.
“He knew. About me. About why I left.” Martin’s eyes dropped to the floor.
Seb swore. He pressed their foreheads together and wrapped a hand around the back of Martin’s neck. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. If he thinks it makes you weak, he doesn’t know you at all.”
Someone knocked on the door.
“Jesus, I am going to put a fucking bell on you,” Seb snarled.
“Everything okay in here?” Oliver had also changed, going for his lawyer best in a designer suit. Silver cufflinks peeked out from the edges of his sleeves.
“It’s fine,” Martin said. “We were just coming.”
“Dad offered Martin a job.” Seb ignored the startled look Martin gave him.
“It’s a trap,” Oliver said, face serious.
“That’s what I said.”
