Page 88 of Damsel in Disguise

A soft hum escapes me. It’s really good.

“Good?” he asks, finally lifting his own mug.

“You should’ve been a barista,” I rasp, wincing inwardly at how hoarse my voice sounds.

“I wish,” he murmurs with a flicker of longing—almost gone for me to catch it properly.

I don’t know what to do with it. So I say nothing.

“Bad cold?” he presses, testing boundaries just to see how far I’ll let him go.

“I don’t like discussing personal matters,” I reply firmly, keeping my voice steady despite the dryness scratching my throat.

A smirk curls at his lips while he takes another sip of his coffee. “I believe we crossed that line the morning you woke up at my place.”

I choke on the coffee, coughing as a bit spills onto the desk.

The words hit harder than they should. It sounds so wrong although he didn’t specifically phrased it as ‘his bed’.

I set the mug down quickly, trying to catch my breath.

A paper towel appears in his hand. He offers it to me.

I take it, wiping both the stray drops on my skin and the desk, forcing myself to recover.

“You alright, Miss Keinston?”

“Yes,” I clear my throat softly. “I’m okay.”

He sets his mug aside and leans back in his chair, posture relaxed but eyes still fixed on me with that same intensity.

“So,” he continues smoothly, “where were we?” a brief pause. “Ah, yes. You still owe me an answer.”

I frown slightly. “What answer?”

“Did you forget the conversation we had at my residence?” he pauses. “You were meant to provide me an answer after the last lecture, if I’m correct. I assume my conduct may have discouraged you from doing so.”

Out of everything that’s happened between us over the past few days, that conversation nearly slipped to the back of my mind. But now that it settles back into place, it’s heavy and unavoidable.

“I’m not joining whatever cult you’re involved in,” I say flatly but with enough finality, not caring that my heart is for me to speak so many words with no breaks. “Whatever academic thingy I help you with is already a lot on my plate.”

A low chuckle leaves him. “It’s a research organization,” he corrects, though there’s clear amusement in his eyes with a subtle touch of mischief. “One that I’d put more importance on than this ‘academic thingy’.”

“Whatever it is, my answer is still a no… until you start telling me who you really are,” I hold his gaze, unflinching.

His lips curve again—that same infuriating, knowing smirk I love—now hate—so much.

For the first time, I’m having this irrational urge to wipe it right off his face. Stitch it shut if I have to. Anything to stop that constant, controlled amusement he wears like armor.

“Let me guess,” I lean back slightly, my arms folded as I tilt my head. “You’re about to say it’s ‘for my safety’,” I deepen my voice to mimic him. “But we both know I’m more than just being fine,” I continue, letting the mockery bleed through.

Professor Hertley doesn’t interrupt. He just sits there, sipping his coffee, watching me like I’m a clown rather than someone challenging him outright.

“Tell me your highlight of the week,” he asks out of nowhere.

The abrupt shift throws me off balance.

My lips part slightly, but no words come out. I don’t like the direction he’s directing me to. Not one bit.