Chapter Seven
1622 Words
Aria’s hand hovered for a second on the cold metal handle, trying to think of possible responses that would save her ass and scholarship, should the conversation steer towards her inappropriate relationship with Professor Jason. Then, she turned the handle and stepped inside.
Dean Hargrove’s office was bigger than she expected. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined the walls, filled with neat rows of academic journals and leather-bound volumes. A large window looked out over the campus quad, winter-bare trees clawing at the sky.
The room smelled faintly of paper, furniture polish, and old coffee. Behind the heavy oak desk sat the man himself. He was in his late sixties, had a silver buzz cut, his broad face lined more by worry than age. His tweed jacket matched the chairs, and half-moon glasses perched low on his nose as he looked up from a file.
“Miss Jenkins,” he said as he gestured toward a leather chair. “Please, sit.”
Aria perched on the edge, her back straight, fingers clenched around her notebook. Her heart drummed in her ears. Was there a handbook for how to sit when you might be about to lose everything?
Hargrove flipped a page and glanced at it before meeting her eyes. “You’re in your first term of the English Literature Masters, correct?”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice sounded small. “Under the university’s scholarship.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Indeed. A full ride is no small thing: tuition, stipend, research support. I remembered reading your journal on Victorian narratives. You argued that women in those stories reclaim their power not in one grand gesture, but in a series of small, risky choices. That is impressive.”
Aria swallowed, heat rising in her chest. “Thank you.”
He steepled his fingers as the corner of his mouth twitched. “I trust you believe what you write.”
She stopped breathing for a split second. Small, risky choices. Like f*****g your professor on the eve of your Masters. She forced a smile. “I try to.”
He leaned back, regarding her with a thoughtful expression. “The scholarship committee has high expectations. Not just academically, but in terms of engagement. We expect our scholars to gain real experience, not just sit in the back of lecture halls. Research, teaching, public presentation… these are part of shaping you into a leader in your field.”
Aria nodded slowly. “Of course, sir. I understand that and I am willing to do whatever it takes to keep this scholarship, sir.”
“Good.” He tapped the file. “That’s why I’ve decided to assign you as a teaching assistant.”
Her heart jolted. She hadn’t expected that. A T.A. position meant experience, access, a line on the CV that could open doors.
“A teaching assistant?” she echoed.
“Yes.” He adjusted his glasses, scanning another line. “Typically, we assign T.As in the second year, but you’re ahead of the curve.” He paused, as if weighing his next words. “I want you working under one of our strongest faculty members. Someone who can challenge you.”
Aria’s stomach tightened in anticipation. Her mind raced through names, Vasquez, Kline, Ramirez…. anyone but—
She heard the door behind her.
“Come in, Professor,” Hargrove said.
She didn’t have to turn to know who it was. The cologne she recognized too well, clean and dark and annoyingly intoxicating, filled her nose. Her pulse pounded in her throat. Slowly, she twisted in her chair, turning to face him.
Professor Jason stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He wore a charcoal suit today, the fabric hugging his broad shoulders, the tie a deep navy that matched the flecks in his eyes.
The moment his gaze fell on Aria, he froze. There was a tiny hitch in his controlled facade, but she felt it like a shockwave. His pupils flared, then narrowed. His jaw clenched, flexing a muscle near his cheek.
“Professor Anderson,” the Dean continued, oblivious. “This is Miss Aria Jenkins. One of our most promising scholarship students.”
Jason cleared his throat, voice tight. “Yes. I recognize Miss Jenkins from my seminar.”
Aria forced herself to stand. Her legs felt like overcooked spaghetti as she accepted the small nod he gave her. “Good morning, Professor,” she said, the word tasting dangerous in her mouth. “It’s… nice to meet you officially.”
“Likewise,” he replied, and if she didn’t know better she might have believed the polite distance. But she had felt that mouth on her skin, heard that same voice groaning her name against her neck. Focus, Aria!
Hargrove clasped his hands. “So, I’ve decided to assign you a second T.A. for the rest of the school year. Miss Jenkins will be joining Mr. Park.”
Jason’s head snapped toward the Dean. “A second T.A.?” he repeated, surprise cracking through his composure. “With all due respect, sir, that’s… unusual. Ethan and I have the courses and marking load under control.”
Aria’s heart stopped. Second T.A. under Jason? And for the whole year? Her palms became sweaty.
The Dean waved a dismissive hand. “Unusual, yes. Unprecedented, no. You are handling two sections of Advanced Theory and an upper-level seminar. Our scholars deserve exposure to our top professors.” He gave Jason a pointed look. “You’ve built an excellent record here, Professor. Consider this both recognition and responsibility.”
Jason’s lips pressed thinly. For a moment, their eyes met, and in that tiny space, everything unsaid rushed through: the way his hands had gripped her hips, the deal they had made, and the fact that they were now being shoved into the same small orbit on purpose.
“Yes, sir,” he said finally, voice carefully neutral. “If that’s your decision, I’ll… see to it.”
“Good.” Hargrove turned his attention back to Aria. “You’ll assist Professor Anderson, and also observe some of his lectures and occasional meetings. I’m certain it will be excellent practice. Many of our scholars even go on to teaching roles.”
Assist him. She nodded slowly, trying not to picture herself in his office again on the table instead of behind it. “I appreciate the opportunity, sir. I won’t waste it.”
“See that you don’t.” His gaze softened a fraction. “From here on, your time is valuable. Stay focused, Miss Jenkins. This is the kind of experience that can change the course of your career.”
She murmured her thanks and stood up. As she turned, Jason stepped aside to let her pass, the sleeve of his jacket brushing her bare forearm. Heat shot up her arm as she bit down on a gasp.
“Miss Jenkins,” Hargrove added as she reached the door. “One last thing.”
She looked back.
“Discretion and professionalism are crucial in any teaching role,” he said. “Students talk. Staff talk. Don’t give anyone anything to talk about.”
Her throat went dry. “Of course, sir.”
Outside the office, the door clicked shut behind them, leaving her and Jason alone in the quiet hallway. The muffled hum of campus life drifted up from the stairwell.
She kept her eyes on the floor. “So,” she said, forcing lightness into her tone, “What now, Professor?”
“As long as we stick to our deal, we can work together just fine. Clear?” His voice was cold.
“Got it,” she replied, trying to sound just as formal.
“Good,” he said as he started to walk away. “We’ll go over your duties after class tomorrow. Meet with Ethan. He’ll show you the ropes.”
With that, he turned the corner and was out of sight.
As she walked slowly, Aria’s mind raced: the Dean’s warning and the look on Jason’s face. She could barely keep her p***y from pulsing every time she saw him, and now she was going to be working closely with him?
Students milled around, some rushing to class, others sprawled on benches with headphones on. The world spun on, oblivious to the dilemma she was in.
She veered toward the coffee kiosk almost without thinking. The line wasn’t long. Tyler stood behind the counter, his blond hair flopping into his eyes as he worked the espresso machine with practiced ease. He looked up and his face lit with genuine warmth.
“Heyy,” he said. “You okay?”
She laughed nervously. “Not really?”
He slid a cup toward her. A heart swirled in the foam. “On the house,” he said. “You look like you need it.”
Aria smiled despite herself. “Thank you.”
They talked for a little while, and Aria let herself linger in the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way he made her feel like a person and not a problem to be solved. Then, she straightened up, taking another sip of her latte.
“I should go,” she said.
Tyler leaned on the counter, grinning as his dimples deepened. “Listen, if you ever need to rant about anything, you know I’m here till six.”
“Sure. Thanks, Ty!” She waved as she walked out.
Did she like him? Yes. He was really sweet, but she was fresh out of an eight-year disaster and tangled up in something dangerous with her professor. How long would she be able to keep up this charade when fate had just made things a lot more complicated?
- Writer
