Page 10 of Solo

“You’re welcome. Thanks for saving me a seat.”

“Well, I couldn’t have you standing for the entire meeting in those ridiculous heels you wear.” I grin, then take a sip of coffee.

“Just because it’s cold outside doesn’t mean I can’t be fashionable, Drew Markham.” She huffs with faux indignation.

And she is fashionable. From silky, golden-blond hair, to tan skin, to perfectly manicured nails, Tessa Morgan always looks as if she’s just stepped off a runway.

I started teaching at Shepherd just after my fiancée—scratch that—ex-fiancée bailed on our relationship. Tessa was a good friend when I needed one. And she still is.

“I got your email about Kate Brenner,” she’s saying now, dropping her voice so our colleagues won’t overhear. “No, she hasn’t come to see me about you. Or anything else, for that matter. What makes you think she might file a complaint against you, anyway?”

“She was late to class and I wouldn’t accept her homework. Things got a little heated.”

She raises perfectly arched blond eyebrows over perfectly shaped green eyes.

“How heated?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Just enough that I wondered if she’d gone crying to you after class.”

“Well, tell you what, how about I call her in for a chat? I can feel her out on it—”

“Stop right there,” I interrupt, shaking my head and holding up a hand.

“What?” she asks innocently. “Really, I don’t mind facilitating for you—”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you don’t mind,” I accuse with a knowing smile.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her tone is indignant now and I notice a couple of adjunct professors glancing our way.

“Just that I know you, Tessa Morgan. You’re dying for a reason to get Senator Brenner’s daughter in your clutches. A chance to get a little dirt on our local celebrity.”

“Hey!” She gives me a playful shove. “I’m her advisor. It’s my job to facilitate things like this.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Drew!” she hisses at me under her breath.

“Am. I. Wrong?”

She glares at me before finally rolling her eyes.

“Fine. Fine. You’re right. I’d love a chance to talk to Kate. She’s been at Shepherd for more than five years and the only time I ever see her is when she stops in once a semester so I’ll sign off on her schedule. She’s very mysterious, that girl. I’d love to know what she’s hiding.”

“Uh-huh.” I smirk. She raises her hand as if to smack my arm again, but I’m saved by the arrival of the dean of music, Maureen Clevenger. She bustles in, wearing her trademark no-nonsense suit and her trademark no-nonsense expression. Lagging behind her is her frazzled assistant, Mary. They take the two seats at the head of the table, which have been left vacant for them.

“Good afternoon, everyone. So sorry to be running late. And sorry for the cramped quarters. They’ll be finished installing the new carpet in the main conference room sometime tomorrow. In the meantime, I promise to get through the agenda as quickly as possible so those of you who are standing don’t have to do so for very long.”

Between full-time, part-time, and adjunct professors, there are about two dozen of us on the music staff at Shepherd, and today we’re all crammed into the small meeting room next to Maureen’s office. Every square inch of the oval table is accounted for, and the overflow professors are standing in clusters along the walls.

“I’ve got several items on the agenda, so let’s just get started. The first item is final exams. I know we haven’t even gotten to midterms, yet, but I want to avoid the confusion we had last semester. Please submit your proposed schedule for exams and your preference for room assignments so Mary can start work on the master schedule,” she says, with a nod in the direction of the fortysomething-year-old woman next to her. “No harassing Mary for special favors. Period. Everybody understand?”

We all nod. Last semester was a disaster with students in the wrong rooms on the wrong days because half the faculty was fighting over early time slots so they could get out of town for the holidays. Clearly Maureen’s not having that this time around. And, clearly Mary is under the impression that we’re all going to swarm her, based on her terrified expression and darting glance.

“Excellent,” Maureen says, ticking off an item on her meeting agenda. “We have about half a dozen senior recitals coming up, starting the week after next. Mary will get an email out to each of you sometime today. Drew and Barry, you’re excused from adjudicating those because you’ll have your hands full prepping for graduate oral exams at the end of the term.”

We all nod our understanding and Maureen checks a second box.