“With all those books.”
“Yes.”
“That exactly match what his sister is researching.”
I groan, dropping my head into my hands. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m establishing facts,” Elissa corrects, sounding exactly like she does when lecturing first-year law students. “So this brother. What’s he like?”
The question catches me off guard. “What do you mean, what’s he like?”
“I mean, is he some middle-aged helicopter parent who’s upset about his precious baby sister learning about sex? Or is he something else?”
Images of Patrizio Steele flash through my mind: tall, commanding, with eyes that see straight through every defense I’ve ever constructed. The way he says “darling” like he has every right to use endearments with me. The way he moves through space like he owns it. The way my body responds to his presence even when my brain is screaming at me to maintain professional distance.
“Something else,” I admit reluctantly.
“Define ‘something else’.”
“He’s...intimidating.”
“Physically intimidating? Intellectually intimidating? Sexually intimidating?” Elissa presses, apparently determined to make me spell it out.
“All of the above?” I take a gulp of my now-lukewarm coffee. “He’s tall, obviously intelligent, and...he has this way of looking at you like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.”
“And is he attractive?” Elissa asks the question so calmly she might as well be asking about the weather.
“That’s not relevant.”
“So extremely attractive, then.”
“I didn’t say that!”
“You didn’t need to. If he were unattractive, you would have just said no. The fact that you’re claiming it’s ‘not relevant’ means he’s probably gorgeous and you’re having complicated feelings about it.”
Sometimes I really hate how well she knows me.
“Fine. Yes. He’s objectively attractive, in that ‘obviously dangerous but you can’t look away’ kind of way that you see on book covers. But that’s not the point!”
“What is the point, then?”
“The point is that he has my Kindle! With all my reading history! And he thinks I’m corrupting his sister, which could potentially become a problem with the university if he decides to make a formal complaint.”
Elissa considers this, tapping one perfectly manicured nail against her coffee mug. “Has he threatened to make a complaint?”
“Not explicitly, but—”
“Has he contacted you since taking your Kindle?”
“No, but—”
“So you’ve been avoiding him all week because...?”
“Because it’s mortifying!” The words burst out of me. “He read passages from my books out loud, Elissa. In my office. Passages about...you know.”
“About powerful men dominating innocent academics in inappropriate locations?”
“You’re enjoying this,” I accuse, narrowing my eyes at her.
