Chapter Three
Kris resisted the urge to look at her phone again.
Her lecturers did not take kindly to students who were more interested in devices than their work, and she understood why.
Staying on to study at postgraduate level took dedication, and those who weren’t interested in putting in the effort were not invited to remain.
Watching her teacher’s animated explanation of the presentation on the screen behind him, though, it was difficult to concentrate. Her attention was fixed on the man in front of her, her fingers gripping her pen, but her thoughts were rooted to the message she’d received on the bus.
Swallowing hard, the lecturer’s words washed over her as she recalled the message all over again.
Apology accepted, Kristina.
Her back straightened as she remembered the use of her full name.
I look forward to our first meeting.
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Her previous message had made her intentions clear. She was never going to contact the unknown person again, so she didn’t know why they were replying at all, let alone implying that she’d meet them.
The fact that the respondent knew her identity was as creepy as it was intriguing, and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand how it had been achieved.
But the way the response was laced with such obvious arrogance troubled her the most. Not only did they assume she’d meet with them, but their conceit appeared to infer there was some sort of divine inevitability to the encounter.
She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Kris was a scientist. She didn’t believe in airy-fairy bullshit. She trusted in what she knew—someone had got her number, and they were playing with her.
It has to be someone I know.
How else would they know who she was?
She nibbled at her lower lip as she considered the suspect list. It couldn’t be Shaun.
He’d slunk into the shadows since she’d come on to him, but maybe it was one of his moron mates.
She recalled a few of them who constantly buzzed around him like flies.
Perhaps Shaun had complained about her interest, and one of them had decided to teach her a lesson.
Idiots.
The finger curled around her pen stiffened with her rising anger.
How dare they belittle her? How dare they take Shaun’s rejection of her and weaponize it? Just wait until she got out of class. She was going to head around to Shaun’s flat and have it out with them. She’d—
Her mind quieted as she suddenly recognized the problem with the accusation. It couldn’t have been Shaun’s friends. If it had been, how could they have known she’d see the notice in the first place, let alone reply?
There were too many potential loose ends for it to be any of those knuckle-dragging jerks, and thinking about it, she doubted any of them could have constructed such a wicked and conniving plan. She’d have wagered they weren’t bright enough.
Who else could have sent the messages, though?
The query bounced around her head, drowning out the Q and A session in the lecture hall around her.
The logical part of her brain knew she should have been heeding the discussion.
She was sure she’d have found it intellectually stimulating—Professor Pine’s lessons nearly always were—but somehow, she couldn’t drag her focus from the notion that someone was intentionally taunting her.
The notice she’d seized upon had taken her lingering self-doubt about why her relationships never lasted and thrown it in her face.
What sort of person behaved that way, and who replied with such disturbing threats about her ‘having a problem’ if she was rude?
Worse, and undoubtedly the reason there was disquiet twisting in her tummy, what did that person want from her?
“Any other ideas?”
Professor Pine’s question sliced through her internal monologue, reminding her that her pen was still stalling over its page while most of her peers were hunched over their books writing notes.
Glancing around guiltily, her focus landed on the screen behind her teacher as she tried to ascertain what he was asking about.
“What about you, Miss Malmon?” Pine paused, his attention drilling into her until her cheeks erupted in red, embarrassed heat. “Do you have something you’d like to add?”
“No, thank you.” Her gaze fell to her virtually empty page, panic spiraling in her belly.
She had a good track record with Pine, but staring into space with nothing intelligent to say wasn’t going to increase her chances of staying on his good side; a place she wanted to be if he was finally going to agree to supervise her thesis.
“I was just thinking about what you’ve said. ”
“Then, do share your thoughts.” Pine’s hands rose to his hips. “You usually have such interesting comments to make, Kristina. I’m sure we’d all like to hear them.”
“Honestly, sir, I was a little confused by your last point.” She sensed the weight of other students’ stares on her and hoped her face wasn’t flaming too brightly and giving away her culpability. The heat burning there, though, suggested otherwise. “Would you mind going over it again?”
She held her breath, hoping her puzzled ruse would prevail, and for a couple of excruciating seconds, Pine made her wait, as though he knew the entire performance was feigned. Even as he replied, his countenance was knowing, conveying a man who’d heard all the excuses a hundred times.
“Certainly.” The tiny twitch in his eyebrow confirmed he hadn’t fallen for her ploy.
She’d been in his class for too long for him to believe she didn’t understand the content.
He had, after all, told her himself that she was one of the brightest students in his class.
Leaving her with that realization, his shrewd focus rose to take in the rest of the group.
“Does anyone else require clarification?”
Relief reverberated through her when at least a handful of other hands rose in the lecture hall. There was relative safety in those numbers.
“Okay.” Pine nodded. “Let’s go from the last slide, and this time, may I reiterate how important it is for everybody to pay attention.”
Anxiety knotted in the pit of her stomach at his quip, forcing her eyes to her page. He hadn’t aimed his last comment specifically at her, but the suffocating sense of onus crashed over her just the same.
She’d spent weeks trying to make a fabulous impression on Pine. She feared all her professor would remember when he heard her name was the red-faced woman who hadn’t been listening, and her toes curled in her shoes at the excruciating idea.
Forcing herself to tune into Pine’s words, she pushed down the sickening feeling threatening to rise. She’d make sure she paid attention that time and would wow him with her contribution, but lurking in the back of her mind was still the unnerving reply she’d received that morning.
Someone had sent that message.
Someone had read her apology and decided that sending those words was the best course of action.
Watching Pine gesture to the screen behind him, she couldn’t believe she had allowed whoever it was to set the tone, empowering the mysterious asshole to dominate her thoughts instead of concentrating on her studies.
She couldn’t decide if she was angrier at them or herself.
Either way, her rage would have to wait.
Whatever happened next, Pine was her first port of call.