‘No,’ I murmured. ‘That won’t work.’
I shut my laptop decisively. No. I’d thought – for a moment – but no.
Only 1 in 4 university workers have secure jobs, the sticker on the lid said.
Only one in four, and I – Sadie Shaw, a girl who came from nothing and nowhere – got the job. Not the Shakespeare bro. Not Dr Jonah fucking Fisher, scion of a scholarly dynasty.Me.
It had been a nice thought, but if it was that easy, everyone would be doing it.
I rolled my desk chair over to my bookshelf so I could distract myself by finding some new romance reading for Chess. Once I moved into whatever Hobart share house I ended up in, she was going to have to give up her love of physical books and get herself an e-reader. I was going to be spending so much money on rent that there wouldn’t be a single cent left over to pay for posting print books regularly from Tasmania.
I picked upThe Devil in Winterby Lisa Kleypas for a second, but then swiftly discarded it. Chess usually liked historicals – she could suspend her disbelief better – but given her hatred of both fake dating and problematic paperwork, there was no way I could give her a book which was a—
I stopped.
For a long moment, I sat there in front of my bookshelf, hand still resting on the cover of the Kleypas book, the last faint scent of Jonah’s cooking in my nostrils, in the thrall of a truly cursed idea.
I opened up my laptop again. All my tabs were still there, as was the PDF of my contract, thepartner hofpartner hirehighlighted in blue.
I wasn’t seriously considering this.
No.
I wasnotseriously considering this. Chess would kill me, then laugh hysterically at me, then lock me in her spare bedroom for between fourteen and twenty-eight business days until I came to my senses.
Plus, I didn’t even like the man! One civil night versus fifteen years of arguments didn’t exactly even the scale.
I slammed my laptop shut again.No.
But there were those union stickers, sitting there, taunting me, full of whole new subtexts now I finally had a permanent job.Casual academics are always the first casualties (you class traitor).
And then there was that desperation in his voice, that note I’d never heard before, when he’d been talking to his sister about how he might give up on academia so he could move to Hobart to help her.
I bit my lip hard, worrying it between my teeth until I could taste blood.
It had been hot, that day we interviewed. Way hotter than it should have been. Walking from the campus gate to the lecture theatre had been like walking through a fan-forced oven.
Somehow, though, Jonah’s fingers had been even hotter, shaking against my scalp as he gently pushed that stray bobby pin back into my hair.
He’d been so nervous.
If he hadn’t been – if the stakes hadn’t been so astronomically high for him – would we even be in this situation now? Would he be the one panicking over the cost of renting in Hobart, or – or…?
I closed my eyes and repeated Chess’s words to myself.We’re not letting in impostor syndrome. We’re not letting in survivor’s guilt.
‘I deserve this,’ I whispered to myself.
But I wasn’t the only one who did.
I picked up my laptop.
‘Come in!’ Jonah called, when I knocked on his door.
He looked shocked to see me, but he modulated it down to surprise quickly. ‘Hi,’ he said, tucking his hands into his armpits. He was wearing navy pyjama pants and a grey T-shirt that had been through the wash so many times it was halfway to transparent, the faint shadow of his chest hair just visible beneath it. ‘Happy new year, Shaw. I’ve been meaning, um, I’ve been meaning to congratulate you. I’m sorry it’s taken so long. I don’t want you to think I’m a bad sport, it’s just—’
‘Shut up,’ I said, forcing my eyes back up to his face. ‘Oh. Okay.’
The fact that he did what I said without even the slightest protest almost broke me.
