Mister Know It All by Amélie S. Duncan

JASMINE

Interchange

“Where did you see the research on Ralston Chain? Was it in the Journal of Scientist or Sociology Today?”

Randall called again, trying to use me as his teaching assistant for free. I made the mistake of answering one email question for him concerning a book, and I opened a floodgate.

“I don’t remember,” I lied.

I did know because I’d taken Soraya and Graham up on their offer and took an extra day for myself. I’d spent it at Ellis Island and the New York Public Library, reading articles and testing paper ideas.

“You do, Jasmine. You’ve left me in quite the bind. I could have put in a complaint about how you left me with only a few months to train a new teaching assistant.”

“Perhaps next time, you shouldn’t date your teaching assistants.”

“I refuse to rise to your insults. I have an article that I’m submitting to the Harvard Journal of Sociology on Werner’s populism. He’s doing one lecture in New York City this year, and I considered submitting your name as a part of it.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. There Randall went again, dangling a juicy academic carrot for me to chew. He’d known Dr. Werner’s research had been a particular favorite of mine. I had quoted him in numerous papers. However, Randall had always come up with some excuse why he couldn’t include me as co-author before. Why believe him now?

“Think before you say no. My offer is about your professional career, not our . . . relationship interchange.”

“Interchange?” I repeated incredulously. He thought of our almost two-year relationship as a swap?

“Apologies for the wrong word, but what I’m talking about now is my proposal. A byline with me on a Werner paper in a highly regarded journal would guarantee a shortlist on every Ph.D. application. As you know, David and I were both Rhodes Scholars. We know the process.”

“You’ve told me all this before,” I said.

“But I hadn’t agreed to place you on an article. This is a once-in-a-lifetime offer that many students would kill for. We’ll be at the Peabody Hotel in their North Conference hall two weeks from Saturday. I hope to see you there.”

“What do you want in return?” I asked.

“You. You’re the best at work and a viable part of my success. If you can’t heal from my transgressions, I need you to train Angelique. We’re not together, but—”

I hung up. The ache in my chest returned, and I slumped in my seat. Did he ever care at all about me? Memories flooded my mind with all I’d done for him. There hadn’t been a thing I didn’t do. Sure, I learned a lot, but he kept on demanding more from me. Being his teaching assistant had become a full-time job, along with my double major. But I’d wanted his life.

What do I want now?

My phone vibrated across the desk.

Mom?

My stomach knotted. Just answer the call. I put Mom on speakerphone as I packed my bag for work.

“What on God’s green earth are you doing in New York City?”

“Visiting and working, Mom,” I answered, adding notebooks and pens to my backpack.

“No, you’re messing up when you’re right on the verge of your greatest achievement. Randall’s the head of your department. The most decorated academic in the whole school. A top scholar who could open all the doors for you. He told me that you left him in a bind all because he has fallen in love with someone else?”

Bile rose in my throat. He called my mom and told her he loves Angelique? “It doesn’t matter if he is . . . in love. He cheated. The relationship made it impossible to work with him again.”

“You haven’t even tried, Jasmine. Your dad and I accepted your relationship because you convinced us he was good for your career. We both thought you were too immature for an older man. Now, you throw a tantrum and throw your entire career away.”

“I’m still graduating, Mom. The only thing different is I’m not working for Randall,” I said hoarsely.

“You have a job. What are you going to do? We are already helping with the taxes on your house and with the farm. We can’t extend any finances right now.”

“I know. I’m working. I’ll take a roommate or Airbnb—”

“A stranger? What if they damage everything? Leaving a prestigious job, how will you explain this on your Ph.D. applications? That’s not how academia works. Randall holds your recommendations for scholarly advancement. In Boston, his say matters. He is in the inner academic circle. Once you’re out, you won’t get back in. One more year, that’s all you have left.”

Her perfect plan for her creation has gone off course. My heart was trampled, spat upon, and she didn’t even care.

“All the sacrifices your dad and I made to get you into an Ivy League school—”

“I competed for every award and scholarship, participated in every activity, studied every day for years,” I said through gritted teeth. “I worked like a dog for Randall.” When did my life become mine?

“We gave you the tools to succeed. We made you a strong woman who wouldn’t fall apart over a man. He’s moved on. Get over it, Jasmine, and return to work. Please, don’t make the same mistake I did. I left the inner circle to write, and now no one knows who I am.”

I pressed my lips together. Now she’s trying to make this all about her.

“I have to go to work. Goodbye, Mom,” I said, picking up the phone.

“Don’t hang up, please. You owe me that. Do what Randall needs and when you’ve reached a few years after your Ph.D. and become a junior professor, then you can be the one in charge—”

“I said I have to go. Goodbye, Mom.”

I threw the phone on the couch and buried my face in my hands.

A cough startled me. I quickly wiped under my eyes and smoothed back my hair as Graham stepped the rest of the way down the stairs to the apartment, dressed for work. From the soft expression on his face, he heard enough of my conversation with Mom.

“I’m ready to go. But if you’d prefer to stay here today—”

“No,” I said and plastered on a smile. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

“She’s wrong,” he said in a gentle tone. “Soraya wouldn’t agree with her either.”

I sighed heavily and put the bag on my shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Are you excited about going to see Hamilton?” he asked.

I grinned, appreciating the change in the subject. “Yes. The tickets surprised me.”

“Ford’s idea. You told him you were interested in seeing a Broadway show.”

“Yes, I did,” I said. Only once. He seemed to remember everything I told him.

“He’s sent something else for you too.”

I raised my brows, and we walked up the stairs to the main house. An enormous bouquet of white roses sat on their front mahogany table. My hands touched one of the blooms. Soft. Like the way his fingers felt when he stroked my breasts.

I froze in place, forgetting Graham was standing there.

“Where did Ford go?” I asked, averting my eyes.

“LA. I get the flowers and chocolates, but what’s with the socks?” he said in a light tone.

He had a basket of chocolates and three Star Trek socks with writing printed on them:

“If Mr. Spock has pointy ears, what does Mr. Scott have? Engineers!”

I burst out laughing. Okay, Ford’s an art director and software engineer. Cute reference.

“Illogical reality is for life forms who dismiss Star Trek.”

Completely agree.

“Vulcan in the streets and a Klingon in the sheets!”

My mind filled up with images of Ford and me engaged in combative Klingon sex—the two of us tearing passionately into each other, and my body melted. Ford sure knew how to turn me on. If only he was serious and available.

I glanced up and saw Graham studying me. Shit.

I lowered my head and averted my eyes, placing the sock back in the basket. “Great socks. Oh, he left a note.”

“Is he bothering you?” Graham asked.

“No. He’s . . . friendly.”

“Ford doesn’t do friendly with a woman he’s interested in.”

“I know he’s still waiting for his ex to return.” I raised my brows.

He sighed. “Soraya and I hoped he’d move on, and in a way, he seems to be trying. I know that’s not fair to you, but I do know him. He’s a good man.”

We walked out and climbed into his Bentley.

“Do you think she’s coming back?” I asked.

“I have no idea. I only ask you to be careful.”

I turned my head toward the window and rested my cheek against the cold pane. Graham didn’t push me to talk again, and I was grateful.

Ford affected me in ways I never experienced before. It was maddening. I wasn’t the type to lust after someone or covet what someone else had. Cecile had Ford waiting for her. Why won’t she come back? Three months? She must have a reason. The truth be told, I didn’t want her to come back. Even worse, since his lurid text messages about wanting to fuck me, a single thought had been repeating in my mind, and I wasn’t proud of it.

One night wouldn’t hurt anyone. I’m leaving town anyway. Ford could return to her, and no one would ever get hurt.

But no. If Cecile still loved Ford, and if Ford still loved her, then the idea of even one night was wrong. I would be no better than Randall’s skank. I was better than that.

I shook my head and touched my warm face. I needed to stop this flirtation, and if I couldn’t be friends with him, I needed to stay away. Millions of men lived in New York City, and I had my new job and my paper to write. I would move forward, reclaiming my pride.

A notification chimed on my phone. I took it out, and Your Next Date came up with more answers to my new profile.

Rupert Simmons. His current occupation listed was CEO of a casino gaming company. He wrote that he loves poetry, picnics in the park, dancing in the rain, and romantic comedies. No photos.

Rupert seemed nice, sounded romantic, and liked animals. He also loved sonnets.

Rupert: I kiss your hand. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

Ford crossed my mind, and my stomach flipped over. He would gag and tell me this Rupert guy is unworthy of me without even knowing him. But neither was Ford.

He’s not available. I need to move on.

I pressed the flashing yes that meant I agreed to take his heart notes.