Page 43 of Almost Ravaged

One side of his mouth tips up in a smirk. “He won’t be for long.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” It takes all my willpower to keep my hands relaxed at my sides instead of planting them on my hips. Hell, it’s taking all my willpower not to sweep my arm across his messy, crowded desk and send his papers flying.

I barely know this man, yet he already makes me want to thrash out irrationally.

“Tell your friend—”

“He’s my brother’s friend.” The moment the last word is out, I snap my mouth shut and internally wince.

Really, Sawyer?

As ifthatdistinction will make any difference.

Professor Eden’s chair scratches against the mat beneath it as he shoves away from his desk. He rises to full height and grips the edge of his desk until his knuckles are white.

“It would be in your best interest not to interrupt when I am speaking, Ms. Davvies.” He watches me, one eyebrow raised, as if testing to see if I’ll interrupt him again.

I stand my ground, my chin lifted, my fingers itching with the need to crack my knuckles, but I stay silent.

“Tell yourfriend,” he says, his voice devoid of emotion, “that if he would like to rejoin my class, he’ll need to submit an apology to me via email by tomorrow at noon.”

An email. Okay. I can work with that. But just in case…

“And if he doesn’t?” As much as I don’t want to be difficult, Tytus will be when I tell him, so I need to know exactly how uphill this battle will be.

“He will not be permitted back in my class, now, or any time in the future, and I’ll refer him to Dean Stalworth to reevaluate how suitable he is for this department.”

A pit opens up in my stomach. Shit. This guy’s serious.

“I’ll let him know.”

Professor Eden homes in on me with an intensity that makes me squirm. It’s like he’s trying to eviscerate me into dust with his stare.

I yearn to look away, to inspect the books lining the built-in shelves to the right or to take in the framed photos and certificates adorning the dark walls. But this feels like a test, and if I break eye contact, I can only assume I lose.

I hold out as long as I can, but after several more painfully awkward seconds, I shift my gaze. Though I manage to find my voice. “Anything else, Professor?”

He told me to meet him here before Tytus left class, so there must be more.

Plus I have a million questions about office hours, class prep, job expectations, and a whole host of topics. I’d prefer to have that information sooner rather than later, given today’s humiliating showdown.

“What do you know about marketing?”

Great. We’re back to this again.

“I know that Holt University has one of the highest-rated marketing programs in the country. Ninety-six percent of students find jobs in their field within six months of graduation.”

Professor Eden crosses his arms, his lip curling on one side. “I see you’re capable of memorizing copy from a website. I asked whatyouknow about marketing, Ms. Davvies.”

Dread washes over me.

I know nothing.

That’s the truth. Though I didn’t think it mattered, given the loose requirements of the position and the ease with which I obtained it.

Professor Eden continues staring me down, his scrutiny so oppressive it’s hard to breathe.

Still ruffled, despite my determination not to be, I focus on his arms, hoping it’ll be easier than being trapped in his death glare. His tan skin is on display, the dark hair there in sharp contrast to the crisp white sleeves rolled to the elbow. The sinewy muscle is annoyingly attractive and impossible to look away from as he fists his hand, then opens it, over and over, as if trying to work out his frustration.