Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
EMMA
Walking to the building where Professor Hayes’s lecture is, I keep my sunglasses on as my hangover continues to kill me.
We celebrated Kamila’s twenty-first birthday at the Kappa house and then moved the party to King’s Wolf last night, where I got drunk once again. It was ladies’ night, meaning two-for-one drinks for women.
I’m officially taking a break from getting drunk. The mix of watery beers at the Kappa house and the vodka shots at King’s Wolf really took a toll on me and my poor stomach.
Ugh. Just thinking about it makes me shiver.
Pushing the front doors open, I head to the bathroom to take two ibuprofen and make sure I don’t look like complete shit.
The professor and I may be keeping things professional, but that doesn’t mean I want to look bad when I see him.
Adjusting my light brown V-neck long-sleeved shirt, I thank Mother Nature for making the past two days feel like fall instead of summer at the end of September, as it usually does.
After adjusting my black belt around my light blue jeans, I take off my sunglasses, forgetting I was still wearing them.
My headache has finally begun to subside.
“Jesus, Em. Get ahold of yourself,” I mumble while taking my lip gloss out of my purse.
As I smack my lips together and fluff my layered hair, including the curtain bangs, I lower my hands and frown.
My grandma’s words echo in my head. The words she started saying when I turned eight.
“It’s important for you to always look clean, poised, and composed. We’re Haywoods, darling. Your appearance must reflect that.”
My mom would then wait until she was gone and tell me to ignore whatever she said and to wear whatever I wanted.
My dad’s parents never judged me as a child before they passed away, and they were older and richer than my other grandparents.
I would much rather honor my dad’s parents’ last name instead of my mom’s parents’ last name, and so would my mother.
But she has to maintain her own identity for her family’s company and fortune, and I want to stay as unknown as possible.
Having my father’s last name would never allow me that. The Haywoods, aka my mother’s parents and the last name I’ve taken on, are more like a secret partner of their own corporation. The name is nowhere near the brand itself.
My dad’s money and last name, however, are old. The one word carries a lot of power, similar to Jake’s, but my father’s family has its stamp all over New York City. In old buildings, skyscrapers, hotels, and other commercial properties. The hotels are the one thing that continues to expand.
My friends might think Jake is the wealthiest in the group, and yes, he is, but he and I are the only ones who know how similar our wealth is; I just don’t make it as obvious as he does.
He has the black Amex; I carry the platinum.
He uses his name to get what he wants; I avoid it at all costs and find another way.
He has a driver at home; I take cabs.
He wears designer clothes, and I…actually, that’s something we share: a love of fine clothing.
By no means do I think that Jake flaunts his money poorly or that we’re better than him and his family in that regard, I just have a different approach. It’s different lifestyles with similar statuses, and we’re fortunate to have what we do.
Only, I have a princess of a grandmother compared to Jake’s parents.
That’s why, when the tabloids got pictures of me with Jake, and we told them we weren’t really dating, they got pissed.
“How could you possibly let a Brighton slip away? Do you realize how terrible that makes us look? You should have proposed to her the moment you found out who she was and not just befriended her. You stupid boy. You could have had it all, for yourself and for us.”
Those were the first words I’d ever heard from Jake’s asshat of a dad.
I remember the way he spat out my dad’s last name as if I was defined by it and not the one I use.
He talked about me as if I were his property.
Not that he knew I was listening; it was just easy to hear everything over the way he was yelling at Jake on the phone.
Jake does need a fiancée before we graduate, and I guess I was one of the best contenders.
After that day, there were never any pictures of Jake and me together in the papers again. Eventually, the paparazzi stopped coming around Driscoll altogether. His dad’s company owns a lot of media outlets, and the ones he doesn’t, fear him.
My phone vibrates on the sink, and the name on the screen makes me smile.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, Pumpkin. How are ya?”
His chipper voice makes me grin even more. It’s been two weeks since I’ve heard from him, except for the occasional text, because of his business trips, and that’s way too long to go without talking to either of my parents.
“Your mom is here too.”
“Hi, honey!”
There’s honking nearby, and their voices sound a little distant, which likely means they’re returning from the airport.
“Hey to both of you. How was Italy?”
“è stato fantastico,” my dad says with an exaggerated Italian accent.
“And boring,” my mom adds. “Lots of work and very little time to shop and roam around.”
“That sucks,” I say absentmindedly while fixing my purse.
Both of them tell me more about their trip and about my dad’s hotels, along with my mom’s offices, they had to visit. Some I’m familiar with and others I haven’t been to yet.
“I got you a present from Milan, Em,” Mom says excitedly. “I’ll give it to you the next time you come home.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” But I know that, just like me, my mom loves fashion and anything makeup related.
Considering her family owns one of the most luxurious body product brands in the United States and Europe, it’s a given.
The brand is slowly making its way across the rest of the world thanks to my dad’s properties carrying the products.
I quickly check my phone and see that there are only two minutes left until Grayson’s lecture starts.
“Guys, I’m so sorry, but I have to go. There’s this lecture I’m headed to for the paper.” I grab my things and wedge my phone between my shoulder and ear.
“All right, Pumpkin, don’t wear yourself out too much.”
“We’re keeping up with all your articles, honey, and we’re so proud. We love you,” Mom says softly and sweetly.
Smiling while also panicking, I say, “Thanks, guys. I love you too.”
We say our final goodbyes as my hand turns the knob to the entrance of the lecture room. The second I step in, and the door swings shut, everyone’s eyes turn to me, including Professor Hayes’s.
Crap. Looks like everyone arrived a little early.
Grayson lifts a brow, and I’m momentarily distracted by his hair that is in perfect shape, and by the way the sleeves of his button-down shirt are rolled up, showing his strong forearms.
One of my knee-quivering weaknesses.
I know most people here have a major crush on him.
“It’s nice of you to join us, Ms. Haywood.” I look at him and shrug with an embarrassed smile that says sorry. He gives me a once-over behind his glasses. “Go ahead and find a spot. We were just about to start.”
Nodding, I scan the room for an empty seat.
The few available ones are in the middle of the rows between people, except for two that are aisle seats.
One is next to a man in a hoodie, half asleep, while the other is beside a man about my age with nearly white-blond hair.
He has his notebook open and is already writing the prewritten notes on the whiteboard.
I can only see the side of his face, but he seems focused on his work and looks much cleaner than the other man.
Making my way to the center of the small lecture room, divided into two parts, I sit in the right aisle seat.
The man with bleached-blond hair looks at me for a second, doing a double take as I give him a quick smile while adjusting my belongings and taking out my notepad to jot down what I need to know about the class.
Of course, I’ve done my research, but it was only a brief overview, and this is the first time Professor Hayes is teaching the class at the university.
The board reads, Food History: Barcelona.
“All right, today we will continue and hopefully finish the last lecture on the Middle Ages. One of the most important and pivotal periods for new ingredients in the history of Barcelona and Spain as a whole.” Professor Hayes walks around and begins the lecture about foods I’ve heard of but never tried.
History I didn’t know, but of spices I’ve tasted.
He discusses Roman, Moorish, and Mediterranean trading—things I’d normally never be into, but the way he speaks, so passionately and confidently—
“Hey, I haven’t seen you in this class before. I’m Leo,” the man next to me whispers.
I take a quick look at Grayson, noticing he’s writing something else on the board, and feel okay enough to speak to Leo.
“I’m Emma.” I glance over and am met with pale green eyes. He’s unique-looking, in a beautiful kind of way. His smirk tells me he knows the effect his looks might have on people.
Clearing my throat softly, I finish my response. “I’m kind of working right now. I’m not taking the class, just observing.” Tapping my pen, I sit up straight and give him one last look.
He nods. “Well, Emma. This seat is yours for the—”
“Leo,” a stern voice says from the front. Cringing, I take a deep breath and turn to face cold turquoise eyes that are looking between Leo and me. “Care to share with the class?”
“No, sir,” he says softly.
I bite the inside of my cheek, and Grayson’s gaze stays fixed on Leo. I stare at my notepad and try not to sink deeper into my seat.
“Well, the next time you feel like flirting with Ms. Haywood, I’d suggest you wait until class is over.”
The entire room laughs quietly as my head whips up and in the professor’s direction.
Is he serious? Is he jealous? And what are we? In high school?
My mouth falls open as Grayson holds my stare for a moment and his lips curl into a tiny, cocky smirk.
My hand wraps around my pen so tightly, I’m surprised it doesn’t snap.
He really has the nerve to call poor Leo out like that?
How did he even know Leo was flirting with me? There have to be at least thirty other students here. It’s not a huge class, but damn, we were either really loud or he was paying way too close attention.
“Yes, Professor Hayes,” Leo says through slightly gritted teeth.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to Leo as quietly as I can once Grayson’s eyes leave mine.
Leo begins writing in his notebook again as I dive into my observation notes.
A tip of his notebook touches my notepad, and I move my hair to one side of my shoulder to read what it says.
It was my fault, but he wasn’t wrong about what he said.
My stomach dips slightly, as if a small butterfly swooped in unexpectedly.
It’s not something I experience often, and it might not seem like much to others, but to me it’s a big deal.
It’s extremely rare for that to happen the moment I meet someone…
except with Grayson. With him, it was a swarm of butterflies—no, it was a completely new sensation.
Like hummingbirds. Like the speed and harshness of a hummingbird’s wings.
But this one dip in my stomach lets me know that there are still guys out there who can make me feel.
Good to know, I write back.
Leo quietly takes the notebook and smiles at the page as we spend the rest of the class in silence.
An hour later, the lecture ends, and everyone stands up. Zippers unzip, and the sound of notebooks and computers being moved echoes in the small room, along with the chatter that has started.
“So, it’s officially after class,” Leo says carefully.
Looking up, I laugh lightly. “You had an hour to come up with a line, and that was it? Kinda disappointed, Leo.”
He bites his lip, nods, and tosses his backpack over his shoulder. “Do you want to go out for coffee this weekend?”
My eyes widen, and I scoff. That was the fastest anyone’s ever asked me out outside of a bar setting. “My, my, aren’t we cocky?”
“I’d say I’m confident and yeah, maybe a bit cocky.” We both laugh. “I’m not going to waste any time beating around the bush with a girl who has a smile and eyes like you.” He throws in a wink, and I hiss through my teeth, shaking my head. “Too much?”
“A little.” More like I cringed a little, but the guy looks nervous. It’s obvious he’s waiting for a reply, and I go with my gut, as I always do. “Listen—”
“Nothing good comes after that.” He laughs humorlessly.
“You’re very attractive, but this lecture is work for me.
It’d be inappropriate and distracting to go out with someone in this class and the lab.
Are you in the lab?” Leo nods. Not everyone in the lecture room is part of the lab, but Leo’s connection to it tells me he is a culinary arts major.
I shrug, knowing it’s the right thing to do.
Leo sighs. “How about I ask you again once you’re done with whatever it is you’re working on here?”
Biting my lip and trying to hide my smile, I fail miserably.
That one damn butterfly.
“Fine. After my job’s done.”
Leo chuckles, but both of our smiles fade as Professor Hayes’s voice interrupts. “Ms. Haywood, a word?”
Rolling my eyes at Leo, I head over to Grayson’s desk. “Yes, Professor Hayes?”
“Did you enjoy the lecture?” His voice is as stern as it usually is around me, and his gaze remains on the bag where he’s putting his things away.
“Very much,” I say honestly. “I took some great notes and already have some questions lined up to ask you next week.”
He nods, closes his bag, and places both hands on his desk.
“Did you enjoy it more than Leo’s attempt at asking you on a date?
” His cold stare meets mine as I stiffen.
“I don’t think it’d be appropriate for you to go out on a date with one of my students.
It could distract you from the task at hand. ”
The audacity of this damn man.
He’s talking to me as if I’m a child who doesn’t understand the risks of doing just that. If he was trying to remind me of our age difference, he failed miserably because he sounds like a jealous man-child who has no right or reason to be.
“Not that my personal life is any of your concern, but that will not be an issue, as I already said no.” I lift my chin and take a few steps toward the door.
“And I suggest you pay attention to the student falling asleep in your classroom or the one on her phone instead of the one next to me who was being studious the entire time.” Opening the door of the now empty classroom, I look at him from head to toe.
He’s standing with one hand leaning on the desk, the other clenched into a fist, and his jaw set as always.
“I’ll see you next week, Professor.” With that, I walk out, leaving with nothing but anger at Professor Grayson Adam Hayes.