Entry-Level Mistress - By Sabrina Darby Page 0,31

I returned.

“So whom are we celebrating?” I asked.

“Ah, he didn’t say?” I shook my head and Julian continued. “We are celebrating Charles Eden’s eighty-fifth birthday. He was our freshman English professor.”

My eyes widened. Daniel was hosting a birthday party for his old teacher. Eden must have been some sort of amazing mentor for him or why on earth would they still be in touch after this long? Aside from a few exceptions, the majority of my own professors were people my friends had ridiculed as ones who couldn’t do and therefore taught. That sort of condescension was exactly what Julian had been criticizing when he asked if I was a purist. It was a stunning moment of realization for me, the lesson so simple but so profound.

“Daniel’s one of the good ones,” Julian said, and I looked at him quickly, startled by the out-of-the-blue comment.

“Why are you telling me that?”

“Because you’re Emily Anderson.”

Anger surged up inside me. Yet at the same time I realized how odd this was, how twisted. Here in Daniel’s home, with Daniel’s friend—who clearly knew the story—I was the enemy. Which was utterly ridiculous, at least thus far, because what had I ever done except be the victim of Daniel’s actions? “Maybe I’m one of the good ones, too.”

Julian’s smile thinned. Perhaps on the surface he’d accept me, but he had some other test, some other criteria and I hadn’t yet passed. “Maybe you are.”

I looked away, found Daniel leading the others toward us. A collection of academic types—this I could handle. Flashing that smile, I pushed everything else aside. Unless I planned to run, unless I planned to end it all here and now, I had no other choice.

Chapter 9

It was easy to forget Julian but not so easy to deny to reality of his words. In almost every way, Daniel clearly was “one of the good ones.” Intelligent, charming, generous. I would have added honest to the list if the niggling knowledge about the past weren’t there. As the days passed, and another weekend was spent like the one before, it almost felt like we had a real relationship and I recognized the pressing need to bind things. He’d introduced me to his friends. He’d met Leanna. There was the urge to bring him deeper into my world as well, although I wasn’t entirely certain that would work or if I even wanted to share him, share the time I had with him.

I liked that we hid away together in his apartment on Charles Street. For three weeks I’d blown off the invitations from friends to movies, barbecues, and camping trips. I liked as well that the office had become our private playground.

But then Tatiana’s goading words would come back to me.

It was Wednesday, lunchtime. He’d ordered in Chinese and after our usual passionately intense encounter, I had spent the last fifteen minutes snacking on wontons and flipping through a magazine while he finished up some work. And deciding if I would test our relationship the way I’d tested it the first day I’d texted him to meet on the thirtieth floor.

The comfortable quiet of the office was yet another way it felt as if we were in a real relationship.

“I have a party to go to tonight,” I said, waiting for his slight vocalization and the connection of his eyes as confirmation that I should continue. “I designed the cover for this band’s new album. They’re having their CD release party at Electrified.” I shrugged, glancing at him out of the corners of my eyes. I was unaccountably nervous as I tried to imagine Daniel in his sartorial elegance hanging out with that crowd. Maybe if they were famous performers, or classical musicians or something, but the young up-and-comers? The ones who were trying hard and had something to prove? The ones who still smoked weed and experimented and … well, maybe that was part of the model, international socialite scene too, although I had the sense their drugs of choice were a little more powdery.

But he’d turned back to his desk, was flipping through papers. I wiped my hands and stood. Walked over to his desk.

“Would you like to come?”

“What?” He looked up as if he hadn’t heard any of what I’d said. As if after he’d slipped from my body he’d turned completely back to work, forgotten I was even there. Before I said another word, his attention was back on the folder.

Despite speaking evenly and clearly, I wasn’t entirely able