Hiring Mr. Darcy - Valerie Bowman Page 0,3

go to the festival in Bath with me. She wants to be my partner.”

The sound that emerged from my throat was some unholy cross between a cat being stepped on and a pissed-off bird. “She what?”

Harrison glanced back at the Audi with its beautiful, yet now potentially evil, occupant inside. “Shh. Keep your voice down. I told her you’d be reasonable about it. She wants to go for the experience. For the role.”

“Can’t she find her own partner?” I plunked a fist on my hip and accidentally knocked over my suitcase.

Harrison and I both moved to pick it up at the same time and knocked our heads together. He took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Competitive even over something like this?” He shook his head.

I lifted my chin. “It’s fine. I don’t need you to help me with my suitcase.” I wanted to add, “While you’re dumping me,” but I kept my mouth shut, tears burning the backs of my eyes.

Harrison reached out and stroked my shoulders. He knew I liked that. “Meg, listen, you know as well as I do that you and I are the leading authorities in the country on this subject. Not to mention Dr. Holmes wants the publicity over this for the history department. We cannot screw this up.”

I took my own deep breath and counted to ten, a trick my mother had taught me when I was young. Harrison was right. Our boss, Dr. Edwin Holmes, the chairman of the history department, had told us many times that the entire college was watching us in the wake of Lacey Lewis coming to town. Paparazzi had been spotted on campus. Everton was getting more press than it ever had, and all because of Harrison working with Lacey Lewis.

“Dr. Holmes asked me to take her,” Harrison said, moving his hands down my arms and cupping my elbows. “Several members of the press will be going too.”

“I know,” I muttered under my breath. Harrison and I both wanted the same thing. Tenure. We’d do anything to make Dr. Holmes happy. I’d been hoping a win at the Jane Austen Festival might give us the publicity Everton needed. Apparently, Dr. Holmes had thought of a better idea.

“My hands are tied here, Meg.” Harrison glanced back at Lacey again and gave her a little wave that made the creeping feeling of doom wrap its tentacles around my insides.

When he turned back to face me, I asked, “Are you sleeping with Lacey?” I couldn’t help myself. The question just jumped out of my mouth like a dramatic little skydiver.

Harrison’s eyes registered true surprise and instantly I felt like an ass. “Meg! No. What are you saying?”

What was I saying? I had even briefly considered asking Lacey the same question. I glanced over at Lady Red Suit and then at Harrison again. He was handsome, but not movie star handsome. I supposed it would be funny to Lacey Lewis if I even suggested such a thing.

“Look, Meg.” Harrison held up his hands in a calm, reassuring gesture as if he were trying to reason with an unpredictable monkey. The insane noise I’d made earlier was likely to blame. “I know how much you were looking forward to the festival. I think you should come with us. Be our consultant.” He cleared his throat and pulled at the lapels of his jacket like he did whenever he was anxious.

Be their consultant? I’d rather be boiled in donut oil. Besides, Harrison didn’t need me. He knew everything I knew. He was just trying to appease me. I closed my eyes. I’d only been gone for five days. Five lousy days, giving a series of lectures on nineteenth-century England’s social norms to the history faculty at Yale. In a mere five days, it felt like I’d lost my boyfriend to someone who better knew the ins-and-outs of shopping for a tight-fitting red suit than the first thing about Jane Austen’s brilliant characters.

“I’ll have to think about it,” I said, glaring at his tattersall shirtfront and considering how I could gracefully pull my suitcase up the multiple stone steps to my front door. Where was my deadbeat roommate brother when I needed him?

“Let me help you with that.” Harrison started forward to assist me. Always the gentleman.

“No. I’ll be fine.” No female with any self-respect and a Herstory bumper sticker allows a man who has just finished dumping her as his partner in Jane Austen fandom to carry her suitcase