Page 20

Noel

Well, Gram won the auction, therefore she’s the one having “an evening with an Eagle.”

The phone in my hand rings unexpectedly and I almost drop it. Colby is calling me. I hate it when people do this. I tap the phone screen to answer, but only so we can finish this conversation and he’ll quit texting me… and Mel… and Andie.

“What, Colby?”

“Good morning, Dr. Woodcock.” He enunciates the last half of my name that way he always does.

I exhale a deep breath through my nose and rest my backside against my desk, crossing my legs at the ankles. “You really like my last name, don’t you?”

“Not as much as I like mine.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, I can hear the smile in his deep voice. “I could give you my last name, you know.”

“Colby,” I warn, losing my patience.

I hear him sigh through the phone. “You Woodcock women are impossible. Gram refuses to schedule our evening out, telling the publicist to contact you… but guess what? You won’t schedule a time either. You two sure know how to disintegrate my man card.”

Glancing up at the high ceiling in the lecture hall, I shake my head. “I think your man card was swiped one too many times and disintegrated itself.”

His deep laugh filters through the speaker. “You know, I don’t do this often, but I’m willing to offer you unlimited swipes to my man card.”

I groan loudly.

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop.” I can hear him take a deep breath. “You know we’re supposed to take pictures of our evening for the Children’s hospital, right? What am I supposed to do, photoshop someone in the photo?”

A twinge of guilt hits me. But more than guilt, I’m annoyed with Gram. She should’ve let one of those other people win, someone who really wanted to go to dinner with Colby. This isn’t Colby’s, or my, fault.

“My birthday is Friday… you wouldn’t make me go to dinner alone on my birthday, would you?”

I purse my lips, knowing I’m stuck going to dinner with him or I’ll come across as a huge jerk. “Fine.”

“Yes!” He exclaims, causing me to hold the phone away from my now ringing ear.

“Text me the details. And don’t call me again.”

“I’m glad you’re as excited about our date as I am,” he teases.

“It’s not a date,” I say, then hang up before he can argue.

“What’s not a date?”

I jump in surprise at the sound of a decadent British accent. Lifting up off my desk, I glance at the doorway and see Dexter Hawthorne resting against the doorframe. His vest today is a brown tweed with wooden buttons, paired with matching trousers. This man could make anything look good… actually, Dr. Hawthorne in Legolas cosplay? Say less.

“Oh, ha. It’s nothing.” I look down at my feet and tuck a curl behind my ear. Wait, why am I doing staring at my feet? I’m a confident, well-educated woman, I will meet his gaze and square my shoulders, I don’t care how closely related this man might be to Prince William.

He shoves off the doorframe and takes a step inside the lecture hall. “I stopped by to speak with you about a few students trying to transfer from your class to mine.”

I sniff haughtily. “Let me guess, the hockey scholarship guys?”

“How did you know?” His eyebrows pinch together.

I grab my purse and pull it over my shoulder. “They talked to me about extending deadlines for the research paper.”

“Ah.” His perfect mouth pulls into a smirk. “And you wouldn’t work with them?”

I stand taller, not wanting to back down. But I don’t want him to think I’m mean either. In my most relaxed voice, I ask, “You think I should extend my deadlines for athletes?” I pause. “But what about the other students? It doesn’t seem fair.”

He bows his head slightly, agreeing with my point. “No, I agree. It’s simply that the D1 scholarship students follow an extremely rigid training program, you could go a smidge easier on them,” he says.