Chapter 4
Four
ELLIS
It’s strange how you can pass a building every day and hardly give it any thought.
Weston University’s administration building is a towering, brick structure located at the edge of campus, right beside the staff lot where I park my car every day. I must have walked past it on my way to and from Montgomery Library thousands of times by now, without ever doing more than offering it a passing glance.
In the ten years I’ve been employed here, I’ve only stepped foot inside three times. The first was to meet with human resources when I was first hired as an associate librarian, fresh out of graduate school. The second was when my mentor, Marian, retired and I was appointed head librarian. I was invited by the former president to discuss my vision for Montgomery’s future. The third was just after President Sutton was appointed. She took it upon herself to sit down with all the school’s senior leadership, looking for institutional problems dismissed by the previous administration.
All three occasions were brief and forgettable. Apparently, having no significant experiences to associate with the place led me to all but ignore it. At least until I received my summons for a meeting with President Sutton—set Friday morning, nearly two weeks after the party at her home—which may or may not spell the end of my career at Weston.
Suddenly, after years of ignoring it, the building was all I could see. Walking to my car or to Montgomery, it loomed in my periphery, an elegant, ivy covered reminder of how fragile my place here has become. Sitting in my office— trying to work—my eyes seemed magnetized to the corner of the window where a small part of the roof was visible.
It’s saying quite a lot that the impending meeting wasn’t the only thing distracting me this week.
Even now, as the last minutes before the meeting tick down and I walk over the groaning, ancient wood floors in the building that’s followed me like a spectre all week, my mind returns to her .
Grimacing, I force my attention back to the problem at hand. As I turn down the hall leading to President Sutton’s office, now more than ever, I need to focus . Unfortunately, I have no idea how I’ll convince this woman that I’m worthy of a little more patience when nothing about my situation has changed.
My wife is still gone. I still can’t find a nanny. Even if I could find a daycare with an available place for Zoe, I haven’t come into a miraculous inheritance which would allow me to afford it.
How has my life boiled down so low?
I’ve made it a habit to avoiding thinking about my ex-wife whenever possible. It’s the past. Miranda made the choices she did, and even if I’m still cleaning up after them, there’s no point dwelling on it. I have my daughter to consider, and I don’t want to be the angry, bitter man who is too stuck in the past to appreciate what he has now .
At moments like this, though… I am bitter and angry.
I did everything right— everything I was supposed to—and where did it get me? Instead of staying in the small village where I grew up, I ventured out into the world and got an education. I married my college girlfriend, got a good job, bought a house, and dedicated myself to being a good father and husband.
If life came with a correct order of operations, I’ve followed every step, and everything is still a goddamn mess.
All the assurances that Montgomery Library is my priority will count for nothing unless I can offer some assurance that this coming semester won’t be like the last—with me missing appointments, deadlines, and leaving the building halfway through the day, never to return.
I feel as though I’m walking to the gallows as I make the final turn into the president’s wing of the building, and find myself standing before two assistants stationed at desks before a set of polished oak doors.
Swallowing past the heart lodged in my throat, I attempt a perfunctory smile. “Ellis Delvaux. I have an eleven o’clock meeting with President Sutton.”
The man closest to me nods, clicking around on his computer for a moment, before gesturing to a small waiting area on the far wall, which is equipped with a couch, two chairs, and a potted plant. “Take a seat. She’s just finishing up a call.”
I sit, my knee bouncing as the quiet tapping of keys and hum of the air conditioner press in on me. This is unbearable—the waiting —and in desperation, I allow my mind to turn to the woman who I shouldn’t be thinking of at all. The beautiful distraction, who has proven herself to be far harder to forget than I anticipated.
It was supposed to just be sex, and while my carefree bachelor days are long behind me, I can’t say I remember dwelling so much about a one-night stand after that one night passed. Granted, I never broke a half decade long dry spell by having casual sex with a woman who looks like my most sordid fantasies come to life.
The events of that night… sometimes I can barely breathe thinking about them. Not just the way her body moved with mine, or the soft, erotic noises that escaped her lips when she impaled herself on my cock, or even how good it felt. No, like the old fool I am, I can’t stop recalling the way she smiled over her shoulder at me when I dropped her off.
It won’t happen again.
More time has passed than could be considered acceptable for not calling. She asked me to. She gave me her number, and I didn’t use it. That’s the end of it. If I tried to reverse course now, it would undoubtedly be seen as disingenuous. Besides, my situation hasn’t changed since that night and it may even get worse before the day is over.
I’ve made my bed, now it’s time to lie in it. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself that I made no promises or led her on. In the back of my mind, I know the truth. There was something there, a connection, and even if we never discussed it, she expected me to call.
Sleeping with her was selfish. Not telling her I’m unable to offer more was downright cowardly, and it’s almost a relief to be pulled from my spiral of self-loathing by one of the assistants addressing me.
“Mr. Delvaux? President Sutton is available now. You can go right in.”
I stand and, with the distinct feeling I’m walking to my doom, cross to the oak door, knock once, and enter.
President Sutton is seated at her desk, making a note on a yellow legal pad, and nods at me in greeting. “Mr. Delvaux. Thank you for coming. ”
“Of course.” I take one of the antique leather chairs in front of the desk, wondering as I do if everyone who sits before this woman is as intimidated as I am.
While my interactions with President Sutton have been fairly benign thus far, her reputation is something of a legend at Weston. Her husband—one of the most celebrated physicists in the world—is the less accomplished of the couple.
The president finishes her note and leans back, setting down her pen and offering me a polite smile. “Firstly, you should be aware that I’ve had at least four directors of smaller campus libraries in this office over the past month, insisting they can do a better job of running Montgomery than you can.”
My hands tighten on the arms of the chair. This news doesn’t surprise me. My appointment was controversial and while I’ve done well, the last year especially must have done quite a bit of damage to my professional reputation. “I acknowledge that my performance hasn’t been as high as it’s been previously. My personal life has been something of a mess, but I assure you I am taking every possible measure to get things sorted out.”
President Sutton watches me ramble on, her shrewd gaze appraising. “While I’d like to believe myself above idle gossip, I do hear some things.”
My stomach twists. “ Ah .”
“Yes.” She sighs, and there’s something in her expression I hadn’t predicted. Kindness. Folding her hands neatly on the desk before her, President Sutton offers a gentle smile. “I hope you don’t mind me bringing it up, however, I do believe the extenuating circumstances merit consideration in this instance.”
While I never wanted to be the man who relied on pity to keep his job, it appears I have no other option now .
“I appreciate that.” My mouth dry and my voice strangely hollow. My pride wants me to tell her I have everything under control, that my attendance will never be an issue again, and my personal business is none of her concern. Unfortunately, neither of those things is true, and my pride won’t pay the mortgage or ensure my daughter gets the care she deserves.
Pride has no place here.
“That being said,” she continues, her expression becoming more grave as she does, “I cannot be as lenient as I would like. There are rules in place, and if I bend them for you, I’d be forced to bend them for everyone. Will your childcare situation still be an issue in the fall semester?”
Ice is spreading through my veins. “I’ll make sure it won’t be. I’ve been looking for a nanny,” I assure her hurriedly. “It’s been a struggle so far, but I’m hopeful with students beginning to look for housing for September, that the room and board will be sufficient draw. Unfortunately, after school daycare places for special needs children are very limited and, ah , expensive.”
President Sutton must see some of the desperation written in my face, because she doesn’t make any objection to my lackluster reassurances. She taps her pen against the mouse pad beside her, gazing at me thoughtfully. “Perhaps you should consider taking some time away from Weston.”
If the floor opened up beneath my chair and swallowed me whole, it would be a relief. This can’t be happening. Every time I turn, I seem to hit another brick wall, and I’m fucking tired. Losing the job I worked so hard for, being unable to provide for Zoe… “I can’t do that,” I choke out, and there’s no keeping the panic from my voice now. “If I could just have a few more weeks to?—”
My jumbled pleas are silenced when President Sutton lifts her hand to stop me. “This isn’t a punishment, Mr. Delvaux. You would remain the director of Montgomery Library, and you’d receive a paycheck. However, something very recently came across my desk that might be a very good opportunity for you to take a working sabbatical.”
Blood is rushing in my ears. “I’m… surprised.”
President Sutton laughs lightly. “You’re very good at what you do, Mr. Delvaux. Weston University is fortunate to have you, and I believe you’re uniquely qualified for this assignment. The board agrees.”
I know that I’ll do it. Whatever she asks, even if it’s mopping the cafeteria. This is so much more than I expected, or even could have hoped for. When I walked in here, I knew very well she could fire me, and now even the faintest possibility of an alternative allows me to breathe for the first time in weeks.
With the exception of a few hours spent in the company of a woman I’ll never see again.
My boss takes a folder from the corner of her desk and passes it across to me. Opening it, I stare down at the contents, which seem to be a jumble of legal documents in French and English. There’s a faded photograph of a clearly ancient, but beautiful, manor house. I know without seeing the address that it’s in my home country.
“A rather affluent alumni of Weston passed away a few weeks ago and left his entire estate to the school. His family home, a chateau, located several hours south of Paris, is said to include an extensive collection of rare books. No one has catalogued these or taken an inventory, but it’s thought that many are very valuable.”
I look up sharply. “You’re kidding.”
President Sutton’s eyes glint with amusement. “I’m not. Trust me, I was stunned as well. It seems insane not to have any sort of documentation. For insurance purposes, at the very least. ”
“Mad,” I agree, staring back down at the photograph, which looks as though it came out of an old property record.
The chateau is stunning, composed of large, ivy covered stones and surrounded by open fields, with only a dirt drive leading to the structure.
She continues. “Obviously, we need someone on the ground to take an inventory, see what should be kept for the school, auctioned, etcetera. The school’s trustee board has allotted a living and travel expense stipend, as well as a full salary and benefits for the length of the assignment. Naturally, with your experience in project management and expertise in rare books, your name was the first suggested. We recognize it will be a significant inconvenience to leave the country for an extended period, so they are willing to offer you a significant bonus upon completion of the project, dependent on the value of what you find.”
Talk about emotional whiplash. Only a few minutes ago, I was convinced I was about to be fired, and now I’m struggling to keep a lid on my excitement. This is, quite literally, every librarian’s dream. Or, at least, it’s mine.
Zoe needs to be taken into account, though. Changes of routine are brutal for her, and my heart twists at the thought of how difficult it would be for her. While I always imagined I would raise my daughter bilingual, her difficulty with speech has held me back from using my mother-tongue more often at home. She would struggle terribly in a French-speaking school.
I swallow, scrambling to find the right thing to say. Finally, when I can’t put off responding any longer, I smile tightly at my employer, endeavoring to appear more confident than I am. “I’d need to do some research into finding a nanny or tutor for my daughter. It may be a challenge conducting interviews from overseas, but I’m sure I could manage it with some time. ”
I’m actually not sure of that at all, considering how hard of a time I’ve had securing childcare in the city where we live, but I need to make this happen, for both of our sakes. If it means forgoing sleep and spending my days with Zoe and working at night, I’ll do it. Whatever it takes.
President Sutton looks pleased with herself. “Actually, I have a solution to that, too.” I lean forward, listening intently as she continues, “My daughter should be going into her senior year at Weston this year. She’s very bright, responsible, and happens to have babysat for several professors here with children on the spectrum.”
I sit up straighter. “Oh?”
There’s something pained in her expression as she nods and continues, “She wants to take a year off. To travel and work. I know she would enjoy something like this, and it would provide you the freedom to leave immediately, which is important to the board. This estate is substantial, as are the costs of upkeep, and the house and land can’t be sold until these books are appraised.”
Hope is coming to life inside me. While I’m not entirely sold on allowing my employer’s college-aged daughter to be Zoe’s tutor and nanny, I can at least meet her. Besides, with nothing in my current situation here likely to change any time soon, what choice do I have? Every potential nanny I’ve interviewed has—miraculously—been worse than the last, and I wouldn’t trust most of those people to babysit a cat, never mind my child. In this scenario, I would be in the same house as Zoe and this stranger, not across town hoping for the best.
And, perhaps selfishly, I really want to do it.
“I would like to meet her, certainly.”
President Sutton nods, looking pleased I’m open to the idea. “I hope it wasn’t too presumptive, but I invited her here today to make introductions. I’m not trying to pressure you, but for obvious reasons, the board is aiming for this to be put in motion as quickly as possible. We’d want you to leave for France as early as next week.”
Next week? I’m so caught up in this that I barely register the first piece of information she shared. When I look up to find her gazing expectantly at me, I bob my head automatically. “Of course. I’m something of an expert in interviewing nannies these days.” I chuckle dryly. “Or possibly a survivor.”
She laughs obligingly and stands, crossing to the door and slips out, allowing me a few moments to catch my breath. My thoughts are moving at about a thousand miles per hour, jumping between relief at being able to keep my job, excitement at this assignment and worry about what will happen if I can’t do it.
No. There is no can’t, here. I have to do it.
Not only is this the opportunity of a lifetime, but it’s my chance to keep my position at the university, visit my mother, and buy myself some time to find a better childcare solution for Zoe for when we return. Unless this young woman is wholly and completely incompetent, I’ll be forced to say yes.
Two sets of footsteps sound behind me, and as I look around, it’s as though—for the second time today—my world has been turned upside down.
President Sutton keeps moving past me, walking back around to her side of the desk, oblivious to the fact her daughter has stopped dead in the doorway, staring at me with just as much shock as I’m currently feeling. Her daughter, whom is not such a stranger to me after all.
No.
Tell me she isn’t…
Tell me I didn’t…
Josephine seems to shake herself, her expression going blank just seconds before the creak of an office chair indicates her mother has taken her seat.
Her mother, who is my boss.
Her mother, who just suggested her college senior aged daughter, travel with me and Zoe to France and act as her nanny and tutor.
“Come sit down, Jo,” says President Sutton, lifting her hand to the chair beside mine and Josephine moves forward, not looking at me.
My ears are ringing, and my heart is beating so fast it seems impossible that neither of the women in the room with me can hear it. I’m trying to find a way around the truth that’s staring me in the face, and there isn’t one. The beautiful young woman I met at the faculty mixer, the one I felt such a connection with, isn’t a faculty member after all. She lied? No. She didn’t lie. I asked what her department was, not her job. Which means I fucked my boss’s daughter in the back seat of my car.
And just when I thought my life couldn’t be any more of a mess.
“Mr. Delvaux, this is my daughter Josephine, Jo, to most of us. I’ve already filled her in on the situation here, and she’s fully on board.” The woman across the desk smiles, oblivious to the underlying tension. “She’s been wanting to travel, and spent the better part of her college career babysitting for Doctor and Doctor Tran’s twins.”
I’m barely listening to the words coming out of her mouth. Fraternization between faculty and students are strictly prohibited at Weston. Every year, my colleagues and I have to sit through a seminar on “workplace conduct” in which we’re reminded of that (about thirty times in the space of a day). I’d always rolled my eyes at this, privately baffled by why anyone would endanger their career for sex.
Now, I’m that idiot, and if Josephine chooses to tell her mother what transpired between us… I might as well pack up my office. Maybe I deserve it, if my judgment is so flawed that I can’t even enjoy a one-night-stand with a woman wi thout it blowing up in my face. Bracing myself, I turn to look at her directly.
Experiencing guilt, horror and attraction all at once is a new one for me, but that’s what happens when I meet her warm, hazel eyes. Josephine’s hands are folded in her lap, her back is straight, and her smile is polite as she says, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Delvaux.”