Hiring Mr. Darcy - Valerie Bowman Page 0,54

sarcastic from an English accent, but also less mean and more appealing.

“My apologies. I’ve been...busy.” I refused to back down, however. I was prepared with my argument. I straightened my shoulders and looked Dr. Holmes in the eye. “The fact is that I’ve spent months preparing and I don’t want to see my hard work go to waste.” There, that was true. How could he argue with that?

“I see,” Dr. Holmes intoned. “Who is your new partner?” It was so like him to get right to the point.

“A friend. I’m teaching him.” I hoped my voice sounded casual but confident.

Dr. Holmes’ white eyebrows hitched up. “Not another professor or one of the members of the Austen Society?”

“No.” I swallowed and stared down at the papers on my desk. I knew the question coming next. Dr. H wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to pose any serious competition for Harrison and Lacey.

“What does this...friend...do for a living?”

There it was again, the judgey snobbery I’d begun to despise in myself and others. I lifted my chin. It took everything in my power not to tell Dr. Holmes that Jeremy was an engineer with a master’s degree from Stanford. It didn’t matter, and I shouldn’t care. “He’s a woodworker. A custom woodworker.”

“I see. Does he know anything about Austen?” The word Austen always sounded so much better with an English accent too, whether fake or real.

“Not much more than the average educated person off the street,” I admitted. There. How was that for honesty and the absence of snobbery? Though even I had to admit to myself that a part of me was hoping to make them think Jeremy and I didn’t stand a chance so they would have their guards down and then we could swoop in and beat their asses.

“Hmm.” Dr. Holmes crossed his arms over his chest. He continued to do his best to pace. It continued to be awkward. I wondered briefly if he was getting nauseated. I would be. “I see.”

We both knew that used in that particular context, “I see” meant, “You don’t have an ice cube’s chance in Hades.”

“Dr. Knightley, I know you’ve been angling for tenure for some time now.”

I froze, my hand arrested on my coffee mug. Ice water poured through my veins. “Yes.” I nodded. And swallowed.

Dr. Holmes stopped pacing and folded his arms behind his back. He faced my desk and rocked back and forth on the heels of his badly worn loafers. His weird hat cast a shadow over his face. “I’d hate to see anything compromise that.”

I took a deep breath and set my jaw. I’d also prepared myself for this moment over the past week. “Are you implying that if I go to this competition, my tenure will be in danger?”

“I’m not implying anything,” Dr. Holmes said in a smooth, cold voice. “You’re more than welcome to participate in the competition. Winning, however, is another matter entirely. I’m certain you realize that the best thing for this department and Everton as a whole is for Dr. Macomb and Miss Lewis to win. We both know they have a strong chance. I’d hate to see anything jeopardize that. Especially one of our own.”

Chapter 17

Tuesday night

Jeremy was in the dressing room in Mitchell’s store, trying on his Regency clothing, when Mitchell leaned over the glass countertop toward me and said in a singsong Southern accent, “Guess who was in here this morning?”

I leaned down to pat Ms. Julia on the head and replied in the same singsong, “I can’t imagine.”

“Your ex, Professor Plum.” Mitchell scooped up the dog and held her under one arm.

I shook my head and tried not to smile. “That’s not his name. And he’s not my ex.” I hadn’t even had a chance to speak with Harrison since our encounter at the restaurant. I’d been busy preparing for the competition with Jeremy, and presumably Harrison had been busy doing the same thing with Lacey. We’d texted a couple of times. Halfhearted, boring things like:

Him: How was your day?

Me: Busy.

Him: Mine too.

Nothing of importance, and I hardly thought a text message was the place to ask Harrison why he hadn’t defended my black maxi dress. In fact, when I thought of it like that, the whole thing seemed petty and unimportant.

“I don’t care what his name is,” Mitchell continued. “It’s fun to say Professor Plum, and he should be your ex. I’d toss him over in a hot minute for Hunky back there.” He leaned farther over