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Chapter four

Good Karma

Karma

“I did it, Sis. I asked someone on a date . ”

Evie leans against WLL’s counter while I make her favorite drink, a Kashmir Macchiato . With both of our busy schedules, we have to catch up wherever we can. I’ve got a few minutes before my shift ends—just enough time to yank her chain.

“Who?” She arches an eyebrow.

“My dream person,” I say with a smirk.

She puts a hand on her hip and waits.

I make a zipping motion across my lips with one hand while I steam a pitcher of milk with the other.

“Really, carnal ?” she grumbles. “You still won’t tell me their name?”

I lock my mouth with an imaginary key, then toss it over my shoulder.

So what if I’m being a brat? Isn’t that what best friends are for? Besides, it’s been a few days and Josh still hasn’t called me. Maybe he never will. I probably blew my chance with the whole poetry thing, but just in case I’ve still got a shot, I don’t want to jinx it by saying his name.

“Three months is a long time, Karma.” Evie casually inspects her perfect manicure. “Maybe we can fit three steps into two months if you tell me who your dream person is.”

Whoa, a whole month off? My bestie’s playing hardball.

It’s tempting, but… “He hasn’t agreed to go out with me yet, so there’s no point in telling you anything.”

“ He ?” Her eyes light up.

Dammit. So much for locking my mouth. I’ll have to fire my imaginary locksmith.

“Fine. He’s a he,” I admit, “and he’s so fucking cute, I can’t stand it. But he’s light years out of my league, plus I don’t even know if he dates guys. The only thing that we might have in common is that we’re both vegan.”

“Oh, yeah?” Her eyes brighten even more. “Did you invite him to a vegan restaurant?”

“Obviously, and I gave him my number. I’ll just have to wait and see if he calls me, I guess.” I shrug as I hand over her caramel latte.

Evie rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Since when do Prince Charmings sit around and wait? I told you, you’ve got to pursue this man of yours. Capture his attention. Do something gallant.”

Gallant? “What do you mean? You want me to rescue him like some damsel in distress?”

“Hardly.” She snorts. “ This Fairy Godmother is a feminist. Anyway, you don’t have to battle a dragon to get his attention. Just do something honorable. Y’know, perform a noble act.”

“Like what?” I ask.

A bell jingles as the door to the coffee shop opens. Uh oh , another customer—I’ll be late for my next gig if I don’t hurry.

“Hold that thought, OK? You can give me a list of instructions on how to be ‘ gallant ’ later.”

“Fine, but then you have to tell me everything. I want details, carnal.” She points a stiletto-nailed finger at me before strolling out of the café.

My new customer doesn’t give her so much as a glance. Who could ignore Evie?

Oof . Not this guy again. Some customers are more challenging than others. This one’s a real ball-buster.

“Hey, Dr. F! How’s it going?” I’ve seen Josh and his friend, JR, hang around with Professor Fletcher. If I play my cards right, maybe I can earn some points with Josh’s crew.

“I’m in a hurry,” he says. “Give me my usual.”

OK… maybe not.

“Sure thing—a Kashmiruccino coming right up. Would you like an Eclairway to Heaven to go with it?” WLL’s Led Zeppelin-inspired menu oughta get a reaction from him. The professor with the dom vibe is famous for throwing shade.

“Did you name that pastry all by yourself, Karma? It must have taken you all semester.” He taps a finger against the counter while I make his foam-covered espresso. “No pastries today, but I do have a tip for you.”

Oh, god. How many times has he told me that tired joke already? “Yeah, yeah. I know your tip: ‘don’t smoke weed for breakfast’ . Besides, everyone knows that edibles are the only way to go in the morning.” Let’s see what his comeback is this time.

The professor narrows his eyes at me, but the corners of his mouth twitch. “In that case, be careful not to consume too many edibles. You might get a pot belly.”

A real joke? Who knew Dr. Dom had it in him? “Nice one, Professor! See you tomorrow?” I pass him his order.

“Most likely.” He hands me some cash, then stuffs a bill into the tip jar. He even nods to me before leaving.

Whoa, that was almost friendly of him. Maybe I did score a point after all.

But I won’t score any points with my mentor if I’m late for our appointment. I glance at the clock, hurry out of my apron, and say a quick goodbye to my boss. If my luck continues to hold, I’ll make it just in time.

Knock-knock. I stick my head into Patterson’s office. “You wanted to see me, Professor P?”

The head of the English department beckons me in with one finger. My mentor is a man of few words, at least verbal ones. Written words are another matter.

Patterson shuts the book in his hands—it’s one of hundreds crowding the small, musty room. Bookshelves line each of the office walls, crammed with everything from first edition Hemingways to second hand encyclopedias. I grab a random hardcover and begin leafing through it. The professor will talk to me when he’s ready.

Prolonged silence is followed by a terse question. “What are you doing this summer?”

I almost drop the book I’m holding. Since when does Patterson care about my summer plans? He’s mentored me for almost four years, and he’s never asked me about them before. “What do you need, Professor? Do you have a summer project you want me to work on?”

After another lengthy pause, I get a gruff, “Perhaps.”

There’s no rushing him—I’ve learned that from experience. A stack of paperbacks is balanced on a chair, so I move them and make myself comfortable.

He clears his throat several times while he absently straightens his desk. “I could perhaps use your help on a certain… endeavor. It’s personal in nature. Private. I would need to be assured of your discretion.”

A secret project? That sounds juicy. “My lips are sealed, sir. What are you working on?” It’s probably another article on the Neoclassical Period.

Professor Patterson stands up from his desk, then walks to the door and locks it. “Mr. Wilson, though we’ve known each other for only a brief time—”

Brief? It’s been almost four years.

“—I’ve come to value your opinion,” he continues in a dry monotone.

A compliment from Patterson? That can’t be good. I hope he doesn’t have a terminal illness. “I swear, I won’t say a word. You can count on me, whatever it is.”

He stares at me for another long moment, then walks back to his desk. “Very well. I’d like to offer you a paid summer internship. I want your thoughts on a novel that I’ve written.”

“A novel? You wrote fiction? ” Sure, the stuffy English professor has written countless non-fiction pieces, but a novel? Never, in my wildest dreams, would I have guessed he’d do something so unacademic . “What genre? Historical drama… political satire…?”

Patterson avoids my eyes as he takes a seat in his old leather chair. “Science fiction,” he mumbles.

“No way!” He’s shitting me, right?

“There is a way, I can assure you.” He frowns at me over the top of his bifocals. “It’s written under a pen name, obviously. I’m dissatisfied with its conclusion, and I would appreciate a fresh perspective. A fresh, discreet perspective.”

“Whatever you need, Professor. Count me in.” I can hardly wait to read his story, even if it’s total crap. Oh my god, this is gonna be so much fun!

Patterson eyes me warily before opening a drawer in his desk. As he pulls out a thick manuscript, there’s a sudden knock on the door. He stuffs the papers back into the drawer and locks it.

Shit. I was so close!

The professor jerks his chin toward the door and I stand up and hurry toward it. Swinging it open, I come face to face with Joe Owens, the Dean of Students.

“Oh. Hello, Karma,” the administrator says. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“I’ll just go.” I grab my messenger bag.

“Sit,” Patterson commands. “Yes, Dean? What may I do for you?”

Dean Owens takes a breath, then squares his shoulders. “I have a favor to ask. Before you say anything, hear me out.”

The professor stiffens in his chair. “I’m busy, Joseph. Clearly.”

“Maybe I should…” I point my thumb at the exit.

“Sit,” both men say.

The dean continues, his words rushed. “This year’s student commencement speaker needs help drafting his speech. English is his second language, so as the head of the English department—”

“No.” Patterson’s answer is flat.

ESL? I love working with international students. “Maybe I could—”

“You’re busy.” The professor’s eyes dart to his locked desk drawer, then back to mine.

Dean Owens turns to me. “Actually, Karma, you might be the right person for the job. As I was saying, our student commencement speaker, Josh Malik, needs help writing his graduation speech.”

Wait, who? Did he just say what I thought he said?

“Mr. Malik is fluent in English,” the dean assures me. “What he needs is a boost in confidence, someone to help him believe in himself. Would you be willing to do that for him, Karma?”

Would I be willing to do that for Josh Malik ? Hot damn, would I ever!

Patterson cuts in. “I told you, Mr. Wilson is busy. He’s already committed himself to a summer internship.”

“But, Professor! It’s a graduation speech. Graduation happens before summer.” As much as I’m looking forward to working on my mentor’s novel, I can’t pass up this opportunity. This might be my chance to win Josh over. Helping him prepare for one of the most important days of his life—what could be more gallant than that?

“It shouldn’t take much time,” the dean pushes, “and you’d be doing your school a great service, Karma.”

A great service? That sounds like a noble act if I’ve ever heard of one. “It won’t conflict with my internship, Professor. I promise.”

He purses his lips, then gives a curt nod. “Fine. See that it doesn’t.”

Holy shit! Fuck yeah!

“Excellent.” Dean Owens rubs his hands together. “I’ll make the arrangements. The two of you will need to get started right away.”

“Make your arrangements elsewhere, Joseph.” Patterson waves a hand toward the door, then turns a pointed look on me. “I will see you later, Mr. Wilson.”

Uh oh . The professor sounds pissed.

I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I’ve got a summer internship to look forward to and time alone with my dream guy. Talk about epic karma! Whatever I did in a past life to deserve this, I could kiss my former self.

Then again, I know who I’d rather spend the summer kissing.