Page 35 of Single Malt

I came around the car to assist with his luggage and felt his gaze moving down my body and then back up again. I chose to answer his question rather than comment on his behavior. “She’s my advisor. I’m a graduate student.”

“You didn’t tell me your name.”

His tone had completely changed, and I didn’t need to be a genius to know why.

“I’m Freedom Mercier.” I held out my hand.

He took my hand, and I immediately regretted offering it. He didn’t shake it. Instead, he did something I’d only ever seen in movies. He kissed my knuckles and then gave my hand a squeeze, holding it just a few seconds longer than was polite.

“Let’s get your things in the trunk, and we can get going before the storm hits.” I resisted the urge to wipe my hand on my pants.

And I was also suddenly glad that I’d chosen to wear dress slacks and a blouse rather than a skirt or dress.

“I can drive us if you’re uncomfortable driving in the rain.”

I told myself that he wasn’t being patronizing. Anyone could have taken my statement to mean that I was nervous about driving in bad weather.

“Thank you, but that’s all right.” I lifted his suitcase into the trunk and then stepped away so that he could add his carry-on without us touching. “Shall we?”

He settled in the passenger’s seat, the expression on his face clearly saying that he wasn’t a fan of my vehicle. That didn’t really surprise me. While our families were probably evenly matched financially, he was old money, which meant he probably still would’ve looked down his nose at me even if he knew how much money my family had. I’d known his type before. They thought of themselves as being above everyone else and judged people by how they spent their money.

My car wasn’t cheap, but it also wasn’t flashy. The fact that it didn’t impress him wasn’t surprising. I didn’t only know people like him, I’d grown up with them.

They were assholes.

“So, you’re a grad student?”

I glanced at him and then turned my attention back to the road. “I am. Political Science with a minor in International Relations.”

“Well then, aren’t you in luck?”

I saw his smarmy grin out of the corner of my eye, but I could hear it in his voice too.

Like I said. Assholes.

“Dr. Ipres told me that your uncle is the U.S. Ambassador to Greece.” I wasn’t going to be rude, but I’d be damned if I was going to pretend that his slick act worked on me. I had a brain in my head and knew how to use it. Being polite was one thing. Pretending I was stupid was something else.

“He is. Good old Uncle Alistair.” Dr. Worthington shifted in his seat so that he could see me better. “You want to be an ambassador? Having the right connections can make that happen.”

“Actually, Dr. Worthington, I haven’t quite decided on a specific field. I just like to be well-informed before making life decisions.”

“Call me Korbin, please.” He ran his hand through his hair in a way that I assumed was supposed to look casual but just made me adddoucheto theassholelabel. “Are you interested in Greece?”

“It’s a beautiful country. My family went there a few years ago for summer vacation.” I was glad that I had to focus on the road. “Dr. Ipres gave us a list of places to go, and I was able to use the Greek I’d learned from her.”

“So, when someone says that it’s all Greek to them, you know what they mean?”

I wanted to ask him if women thought that sort of thing was humorous, but I was afraid that the answer would be yes and that he’d feel obligated to tell me details.

“It is one of the languages I speak,” I said instead.

“One of them?” He sounded impressed, but I doubted it was genuine.

“I speak half a dozen or so.” I hoped I didn’t sound smug. I didn’t need to kiss up to him, but I didn’t need to be a bitch either. I didn’t expect praise but wouldn’t downplay my accomplishments.

“Wow, you really are something special.”

He really wasn’t taking the hint that I didn’t appreciate his ‘compliments.’