A trio of women slide up, all of them variations wearing chunky glasses, scarves, and sweaters. The leader, an older woman with a tight gray updo speaks first.
“Dr. Williams,” she extends her hand. “I haven’t had a chance to introduce myself. Dr. Elaine Frank. I teach the marketing classes. Ian says you’re from Texas?”
I nod, shaking her hand. “Born and bred.”
She doesn’t blink. “My sister lives in Dallas now. Is that the area you’re from?”
“No, more northwest.” I swirl the wine, pretending like it hasn’t been ten years since I touched alcohol. It never was my forte, and after what happened on that boat all those summers ago…
Definitely not.
Another woman jumps in. “You know what they say about Texas women. Big hair, bigger secrets!” The laugh that follows is jarring.
But I join in, because that’s the safest thing to do. But also, who the fuck thinks that about Texas women?
The conversation then skids into a ditch of campus gossip—who’s sleeping with whom, who’s sabotaging what committee, who has a meltdown in the parking lot last semester, and the lowkey gang activity everyone is pretending doesn’t exist. I listen with half an ear, nodding at the right moments, while my attention triangulates on the door.
Itfeelslike someone important might walk through.
And sure enough, that’s when Calvin Bradford enters, accompanied by a man I don’t recognize—maybe early 40s, darkhair, and baseball hat. A massive hound walks on the leash beside him in a service dog vest. Bradford is wearing his usual, denim, black shirt with a flannel, and black cowboy boots. He doesn’t scan the room so much as he possesses it, every step intimidating.
Andfuck.
His eyes find me in less than a second.
I freeze, my heartbeat suddenly louder than the crowd.
“Whoa,” Ian drawls, catching the line of my sight. “Calvin Bradford is making a public appearance. Thatneverhappens.”
“God, he is so hot,” one of the women mutters under her breath.
“And entirely unavailable,” another adds. “I tried to strike a conversation with him at his daughter’s orientation. Ugh,worthless. He’ll stare right through you.” She flips her perfectly curled blonde hair over her shoulder.
And for a moment, I feel more insecure than ever.
I watched him get off tomypictures, but I have nothing on the bombshell talking about getting turned down. Why the hell would he have some sort of interest in me?
Unless it’s purely based on suspicion.
“He’s got the mysterious thing going for him,” Elaine chuckles, as I tune back in. “But to me, he just seems like the type to stay away from. He screams bad news.”
“Is that so?” I say, voice neutral. But my heartbeat is still so loud that I’m sure the women next to me can hear it. Ian appears completely unamused, glaring at him.
“He was in the Marines,” says Elaine, her tone going soft. “Came back when his grandpa was on his death bed and runs the biggest acreage in the county now. There are some rumors that he has some sort of veteran mental health nonprofit, but I’ve never seen much with that. I do see that he rotates his seasonal help pretty steadily.”
“Maybe people just don’t want to work for the asshole,” Ian grumbles.
I risk a glance. Calvin is sitting at the bar beside his buddy, the two of them lost in conversation with two water glasses in front of them. I glance around, noting multiple people glancing in his direction.
But no one approaches.
Ian refills his cup with the bottle at our table, and offers me a top-off, but I wave him off.
“Not a big drinker?” he says, with the faintest note of judgment.
I shrug. “Not really. My adoptive dad had a bit of a drinking problem.”
He grins, thinking it’s a joke, and starts in on a story about the time he got blackout drunk at a faculty retreat and woke up in a canoe. I tune it out, focusing instead on the way the air changes as Bradford peers my way.
