Chapter 17
Scarlett
Idon’t breathe until the door shuts behind me. I sag against the wall in the faculty hallway as air rushes from my lungs.
Holy shit. That was intense. I press a hand to my stomach, trying to hold everything steady.
After a few breaths, I force myself to move. One foot in front of the other.
I need to figure out how to breathe around the fact that the professor who I had a one-night stand with just tried to throw me out of his class.
I walk, hoping that being singled out by Dr. Cormac O’Rourke wasn’t obvious to my classmates. Though I’m sure my very red face is enough to start the Pharm class speculating and gossiping.
I stop at the end of the hall and brace both hands on the cool wall, pressing my forehead against it. “Get it together, Scarlett.”
Then I remember the text about the apartment. I take out my phone and hit call.
The property manager picks up on the third ring. “Loft Properties, this is Kay.”
“Hi, this is Scarlett Ford. I got a text that I’ve been approved for the studio on First Avenue?”
“Oh. Yes.” There’s a beat, and my stomach drops, thinking the apartment is gone already. “You need to sign the lease in twenty-four hours and bring a certified check for first and last months’ rent, plus a security deposit of five thousand dollars.”
“Five thousand?” I squeeze my eyes shut. Holy crap. “Right. I will be there in an hour.”
An hour to figure out where to get all that money.
“Great,” Kay says, sounding chipper. “Just so you know, I do have someone else who wants this place. I told him I would call at the close of business tomorrow if I don’t have a signed lease by then.”
“Understood.” My voice cracks, and I hang up before she can hear me trembling.
I open my banking app, knowing there isn’t the ten thousand dollars required for the rent and security deposit available in there.
When a dangerously low number limps onto the screen, my mouth goes dry.
In my haste to activate the loan, I didn’t request that the money be paid to me first. The tuition check went to Hamilton, who then issued a check to me to cover room, board, and book expenses. I got the check, but it hasn’t cleared.
“Damn it.” I lower the cell, and my stomach growls loud enough that a passing student glances at me.
Great. Add hunger to the humiliation parade.
I pull in a deep breath, hold it, and let it go slowly.
Okay. New plan. Stay calm. Stay—
“Scarlett?”
My head jerks up.
My father stands at the far end of the hall, a folder tucked under one arm. His brows lift in surprise to see me pacing at the entrance to the faculty hallway, and he starts walking toward me. Fast.
“Oh,” I blurt. “Hey, Dad.”
His gaze sweeps over me, clocking my flushed cheeks and worried eyes. Then his gaze flicks down the hallway behind me.
I glance back over my shoulder, and oh my God.
Dr. O’Rourke has his arms folded across his chest, watching us. Broad shoulders filling the doorway of his office, he stares, his expression is unreadable. My father follows my gaze.
No. No. No. No.
I turn away from him, the tension ready to explode in my chest. I’m not sure how long I can take this.
Stepping directly into my father’s line of sight of Dr. O’Rourke, I sputter, “I, um, I need to talk to you about something.”
“I’m on my way to a meeting,” Dad says.
Ice hits my bloodstream, and I swallow hard. “It’ll just take a moment.”
“All right,” he says, studying me like maybe he’s expecting me to already say this was a mistake. “What is it?”
I take a breath and pull every frayed piece of myself together. “Can I borrow ten thousand dollars?”
His brows lift. “Ten grand? For what?”
I exhale. “Hamilton’s check for the remainder of my tuition expenses hasn’t cleared for some reason, and I need to put down a security deposit for an apartment today.”
“Problem?” Dr. O’Rourke asks over my shoulder.
I jump at the sound of his deep voice. Like, just the tenor has hidden hieroglyphics of our sordid night together. No words needed.
“Dr. O’Rourke, excuse me.” My father pulls me toward him, protective and mechanical as his brows knit together. “I’m having a private conversation with my daughter.”
“And she’s in my class,” he says, his arms folded. “I just spoke to her. Perhaps it’s not appropriate for me to be teaching your daughter, since you know…”
You. Know?
He certainly does not know.
“I taught Dr. O’Rourke at UCLA,” my father says proudly. “Dr. O’Rourke, I have confidence you’ll be fair and impartial with my daughter regardless of our history.”
“Oh,” I say, putting together the comment Dad made when he met with Cormac and Darragh back in August.
“As far as your situation, Scarlett…” My father bristles, not wanting one of his professors to know he is hurting for money. “I thought you were applying for campus housing?”
“I’m an MS-3, Dad,” I remind him through gritted teeth.
Crap, now I’ll lose that apartment, and I’ll have to settle for student housing with roommates. Embarrassing at my level.
Dad opens his mouth to argue more, but an administrator down the hall calls out, reminding him about the meeting he’s late for.
“I’ll be right there,” he shouts back.
For a moment, he looks from me to his former student, now my professor. I have no idea what look is on Dr. O’Rourke’s face, but I’m trying my best to act like I just met the man two hours ago.
“I’ll call you later, Scarlett.” My father leans in and kisses me on the forehead.
I imagine he’s giving my professor a warning with his eyes. Christ, can this be any more complicated?
Dad stalks off, and I turn to my professor.
I hold my breath as we lock eyes. He gives me a cool, neutral, professional smile that sits on the surface of his skin. Underneath, I feel heat.
“I need to go.” I turn to walk away.
Dr. O’Rourke closes a hand around my upper arm. “Where? You moved out of the hotel.”
“That was a month ago. Did you think I’d just live off some stranger and…” The words die in my throat.
“Stranger?” he says, all coy.
“Generous stranger.” I pull at my collar, getting heated at how close he is.
He is as handsome as I remembered. Even more in his hot professor jacket and tight jeans. Acting possessive of me and not trying to push me away like he was five minutes ago isn’t helping me hate him.
“Where is this apartment you want?” he asks.
“You heard that?” My throat swells with awkwardness. “No. I can’t tell you that. It’s…inappropriate.”
“I can find out,” he says wryly.
“It’s on First Avenue,” I answer, not having the energy to argue anymore.
His gaze cuts down the hallway. I glance that way, too. The crowd has thinned out. Shaking his head, he takes out his phone, and next, he’s speaking.
“It’s me. I need a ride. I’m at Hamilton. South entrance. Five minutes? Thank you.” He puts the phone away. “Let’s go.”
“Go where? Who did you call?”
He leans into me. “I’m walking away. You’re going to follow me, and I’ll explain in the car.”
“Car? Another Uber that will run me over?”
“That was a taxi.” His eyes narrow on me. “Follow me. Or…”
“Or…”
“You will regret it,” he says low and husky.
When he spins and cuts down a wing that leads to the south entrance, I want to head in the other direction. I feel something I shouldn’t when I’m around that man. Never mind lust and craving. It’s a loss of control.
I want to know what’s lurking under his skin. It’s a pull I’ve never felt before, and before I know what I’m doing, my feet are moving in his direction.
At the end of a quiet hallway, beyond a set of double glass doors, a black SUV is parked on the street.
The south entrance is cut off by an overpass and a one-way street, so there is hardly any traffic.
Not a soul on the street. The door to the SUV is open, and my professor curls one finger to beckon me inside.
Damn it.
I hop in and sit in the captain’s seat next to him, glad it’s not a bench seat. The air conditioning soothes my heated skin.
I point to the guy driving. “You have a chauffeur?”
“Yeah. He works for friends of mine.” Cormac leans forward. “I can trust him.”
I nod. “Because we shouldn’t be in a car together.”
When the vehicle pulls out, he smiles and leans back, crossing his legs. “We can be in a car together. There’s nothing going on here. I don’t want anyone to know I’m going to fix your apartment problem.”
My fingers ball into a fist. Not out of anger, out of stress. “How do you plan to do that?”
“You’ll see.”
It looks like I don’t have a choice. The SUV just took the turn, headed downtown.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
“You’re my student, and as you pointed out, you need my class to get back on track. And you were also right to point out, I’m already a doctor, and it’s my responsibility to be the bigger person and get over what I’m feeling.”
“What are you feeling?”
His eyes blaze at me. “You don’t want me to answer that. I just can’t have you worrying about a roof over your head.”
“I have a roof over my head.” I clear my throat. “I’m staying with a friend. On her sofa,” I clarify so that he doesn’t think I’m staying with a male friend.
He might hunt down the guy.
Christ, I can’t even mention Pierce. I can’t have my professor starting a war with the Langstons.
“A friend’s sofa is not where a medical student should be sleeping.”
“You went to UCLA, huh?” I ask to change the subject.
I try to calculate how old I was when my family lived in L.A. That will only remind me of the difference in our ages, and that I was a teenager when this man was in my father’s class, talking medical school girlies out of their panties.
“Yeah, my father was wealthy,” Cormac says, almost sounding guilty. “I didn’t have to worry about tuition or a place to live. Consider this is me paying it forward.” He looks away. “Although I don’t understand how your father is the dean and he can’t take care of you.”
“My mother was sick for a long time. She died last year. It drained his finances.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He turns back to me. “My mother was very sick, too.”