Accounting had its downsides, but at least I wasn’t fielding questions about professor office hours that don’t seem to be posted anywhere or musical room assignments for professors who forget that I do not, in fact, know my way around this campus just yet. I hate feeling overwhelmed because when I’m overwhelmed, I act like a bitch. And in those moments when I’m feeling particularly bitchy, Leo decides that is the exact right moment he should talk to me.
I’m elbow-deep in a game ofmatch the syllabus PDF to the online coursewhen I hear his summons from his desk across the pod. Hecouldpick up the phone on his desk and call. He could also get off his entitled ass andwalkto ask me a question. But, no. He yells for me like his personal housemaid, at his beck and call.
“Victoria!” he shouts. “Got a second?” Of course, yourmajesty. I have all the seconds for you. I am certainly not in the middle of sorting fifty bajillion classes worth of syllabi for four other professors.
I stand and walk into his office to find him sitting with his elbows propped on his desk, fingers steepled under his chin. The smirk on his face suggests he knows exactly how annoyed I am to be summoned like the help.
And the worst part? He lookspleasedabout it.
His office smells like coffee and sarcasm, like it’s been marinating in his smug for years. Papers are spread across the desk in what I can only assume is his version of organized chaos. A Rubik’s Cube sits near the edge—half-solved, just like him.
I force a polite smile. “What do you need, Professor Euler?”
He raises an eyebrow like he’s debating whether or not to correct the formality. He doesn’t. Just leans back like a man with all the time in the world.
“Copies. Calc exam. I need thirty.” He slides a stack of papers across the desk and pats the top like it’s the 1950s and we’re in the Mad Men era. Sure, dude. Would you like to tack on a‘thank you, sweetheart’to the end of that?
I step forward and take the papers, flipping through the pages as a reflex. I’m not even trying to be difficult—I just can’tnotdouble-check things. It’s hardwired into me, like hitting the lock button on my key fob three times or shampooing my hair twice before using conditioner. A compulsion.
“Looks clean,” I murmur, mostly to myself. But then—on page three—I stop. My brows draw together.
“Wait.”
Leo tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “Problem?”
I tap the question. “Yeah. This integral’s set up wrong.”
He pushes back from his desk and comes around to stand beside me, arms crossed, shoulder nearly brushing mine. I don’t step away, even though the heat rolling off him is annoying. Or maybe it’s me. Either way, I hold my ground.
He peers over the page like I’ve just accused him of plagiarism.
“No, it’s not.”
“It is,” I say, not bothering to soften it. “Your u-substitution doesn’t simplify the integral. You skipped a sign change, and the bounds don’t align. If someone solves it as written, the final answer’ll be off by a factor of two.”
There’s a beat of silence. Not just a pause—a beat.That subtle moment where something shifts in the air and both people know it.
He’s still looking at me. Not the paper.
Then, flatly, “It’s correct.”
This smug asshole. I slap the exam against his chest, holding it there to let him know I’m not backing down. “I have two degrees in accounting. Took AP Calc my sophomore year of high school. I know how to spot a sign error. This one’s textbook.”
“It isfroma textbook,” he counters, that infuriating note of logic-meets-ego threading through every word.
I scoff. “Which doesn’t make it right.”
His jaw works. He opens his mouth like he’s about to deliver a lecture, but nothing comes out. Instead, he snatches the exam from my hands—almost defensively—and flips to the equation in question. His eyes scan it fast, then slower.
I wait. Because I’m right. And I want him tofeelthat.
His fingers tighten at the top of the page. His posture stiffens. For a second, I think he might rip it in half.
Then, grudgingly, “I’ll fix it.”
“I’ll wait,” I say sweetly, stepping back.
His eyes lift to mine. And for the first time since I got here, something flickers behind that cocky exterior. Not irritation. Not condescension.
