28. CONFRONTATION #2
“I wish,” he murmurs with a flicker of longing—almost gone for me to catch it properly.
I don’t know what to do with it. So I say nothing.
“Bad cold?” he presses, testing boundaries just to see how far I’ll let him go.
“I don’t like discussing personal matters,” I reply firmly, keeping my voice steady despite the dryness scratching my throat.
A smirk curls at his lips while he takes another sip of his coffee. “I believe we crossed that line the morning you woke up at my place.”
I choke on the coffee, coughing as a bit spills onto the desk.
The words hit harder than they should. It sounds so wrong although he didn’t specifically phrased it as ‘his bed’.
I set the mug down quickly, trying to catch my breath.
A paper towel appears in his hand. He offers it to me.
I take it, wiping both the stray drops on my skin and the desk, forcing myself to recover.
“You alright, Miss Keinston?”
“Yes,” I clear my throat softly. “I’m okay.”
He sets his mug aside and leans back in his chair, posture relaxed but eyes still fixed on me with that same intensity.
“So,” he continues smoothly, “where were we?” a brief pause. “Ah, yes. You still owe me an answer.”
I frown slightly. “What answer?”
“Did you forget the conversation we had at my residence?” he pauses. “You were meant to provide me an answer after the last lecture, if I’m correct. I assume my conduct may have discouraged you from doing so.”
Out of everything that’s happened between us over the past few days, that conversation nearly slipped to the back of my mind. But now that it settles back into place, it’s heavy and unavoidable.
“I’m not joining whatever cult you’re involved in,” I say flatly but with enough finality, not caring that my heart is for me to speak so many words with no breaks. “Whatever academic thingy I help you with is already a lot on my plate.”
A low chuckle leaves him. “It’s a research organization,” he corrects, though there’s clear amusement in his eyes with a subtle touch of mischief. “One that I’d put more importance on than this ‘academic thingy’.”
“Whatever it is, my answer is still a no… until you start telling me who you really are,” I hold his gaze, unflinching.
His lips curve again—that same infuriating, knowing smirk I love—now hate—so much.
For the first time, I’m having this irrational urge to wipe it right off his face. Stitch it shut if I have to. Anything to stop that constant, controlled amusement he wears like armor.
“Let me guess,” I lean back slightly, my arms folded as I tilt my head. “You’re about to say it’s ‘for my safety’,” I deepen my voice to mimic him. “But we both know I’m more than just being fine,” I continue, letting the mockery bleed through.
Professor Hertley doesn’t interrupt. He just sits there, sipping his coffee, watching me like I’m a clown rather than someone challenging him outright.
“Tell me your highlight of the week,” he asks out of nowhere.
The abrupt shift throws me off balance.
My lips part slightly, but no words come out. I don’t like the direction he’s directing me to. Not one bit.
“You know what?” I exhale sharply, pushing back from the chair, taking my bag with me. “I’m done entertaining whatever this is.”
The coffee sits untouched now, luring me for another sip, but I ignore the temptation and reach for the door.
“I’ve quizzes to prepare for.”
The obvious lie hangs between us. The term just began. There’s no upcoming quiz for at least two weeks.
My hand closes around the door handle, ready to twist it open, when he halts me. “I haven’t assigned anything yet.”
I pause, jaw tightening.
“There are other courses, professor,” I shoot back without turning. “Other faculties. Things I need to catch up on because I happened to be in an accident.”
A beat of silence.
“My mistake,” there’s something off in the way he’s speaking now.
I dare to look over my shoulder at him, bracing myself for whatever is about to come.
“And yet,” he continues, voice dipping just enough to drag along my nerves, “you seem far more committed to everything related to me.”
A strange heat crawls up my spine, paired with a dose of irritation.
Then he adds, almost lazily. “Tell me, Miss Keinston… why concern yourself with exams,” a pause, just long enough to make my pulse stutter, “when you could be far more productively occupied with me instead?”
My breath catches. For a second, I don’t move. Don’t think. Don’t even blink. He can’t be serious.
My heart surges, fast and heavy against my ribs, betraying exactly how much the words land. My body pivots, eyes finding his blue orbs watching me with a predatory gaze.
“Excuse me?”
“Hmm?” his brow raises with interest, like he didn’t just cross a line and redraw it entirely.
A sharp, grounding flicker of anger pushes through my bloodstream.
“You do realize I could report you for this informal behavior,” I snap, striding back toward his desk. My palms hit the surface, bracing both sides. “And ruin more than just your career.”
He doesn’t even look surprised.
“Since we’re discussing legal actions now…” he murmurs, turning toward his desktop.
My brows knit together, unease settling low in my stomach while he types something in. His gaze flicks in my direction before he starts reciting a number.
My blood runs cold. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit…. That’s my fucking plate number.
“Does that registration number ring any bells, Miss Keinston?”
For a fraction of a second, panic claws its way up. I force it down, burying it underneath my skin.
There’s no point hiding it. I close my eyes briefly, gathering myself, then meet his gaze.
“It’s mine,” I answer truthfully.
“I appreciate your honesty,” he says, that same pleasant smile settling into place.
This time, it chills rather than warming my heart.
“For the last seven nights, a motorcycle bearing this exact registration number has been spotted in the vicinity of my residence.”
My pulse roars in my ears, yet my expression remains still.
“Would you happen to know if someone else has been using your vehicle without your consent?”
My jaw clenches.
“I’d prefer a verbal answer, Miss Keinston. Yes or no?”
The repetition of my name grates against my nerves.
“No.”
“You’re welcome to be honest,” he adds lightly. “We might be able to resolve this misunderstanding together.”
I silently stare at him, holding his ocean-blue gaze, refusing to give him anything more.
“Was it you?”
No response from my side.
He chuckles.
My teeth grind together. Before I can react, he steps around the desk, closing the distance behind me. Alistair leans over my shoulder, his large frame engulfing mine.
This shouldn’t mean anything to me.
But when the heat of his body seeps through my shirt, my entire body goes hyper-aware without my permission.
His breath brushes against the shell of my ear. “I like that it has always been you, Miss Keinston,” he murmurs, pressing his front flush against my back.