The Dean by Cassie Mint

Nine

James

At some point between Charlotte drifting off to sleep and the dawn light creeping around the curtains, something changed irrevocably inside me. Oh, I knew that I loved her. I’ve known that—been tortured by that realization—since approximately ten minutes after picking her up at the airport. But lying in bed with her in my arms, listening to the soft patter of rain on the sidewalk outside…

I’m a different man.

I slipped out of her room at first light, kissing her forehead and whispering my soft hearted confessions into her hair. And I missed her like a phantom limb for the next hour, until she peeked shyly into the kitchen, her cheeks pink from the shower.

“Morning.” She smiled at me over Parker’s head. I vaguely noticed him staring at me oddly—no doubt my adoration for his daughter was written all over my face. But he didn’t say anything, and we left him sitting at that table, preparing for his last meeting before heading back to the airport.

“You’re being weird,” she tells me now, an hour into our working day. I’m standing at her shoulder, theoretically reading the computer monitor over her head. In reality, I’m inhaling her sweet cherry scent and fighting the urge to bury my face in her lap.

“Am I? That’s a shame.”

A knock at the open doorway interrupts her retort. A bedraggled student stands clutching his satchel, a manic sheen of desperation in his eyes.

“Check your email,” I murmur to Charlotte, squeezing her shoulder before leading this latest cry for help to my office. She raises an eyebrow at me as I pull my door closed, clicking with her mouse.

It’s a good thing. At least, I think it is. I hope she thinks so too when she sees what I’ve sent—a list of openings in other campus offices that I could recommend her for. Not that I don’t love having her around all day, not that I don’t crave her presence like a starving man staring at a buffet.

But she already lives in my house. I can’t be her boss too, not anymore. I want her with me because she wants to be, because she’s as crazy about this as I am. Not because she’s trapped.

“Is there anything you can do?” the student sniffles, dragging me back to reality. And thank god at least part of me was listening, because I rattle off our options without a pause.

I try and fail for the next hour to put Charlotte out of my mind. I resolve the student’s issue; I wade through mounds of paperwork; I plan for the next academic year. And though I can’t honestly claim to stop thinking about her, I at least don’t move from my desk until I hear voices in the antechamber.

The hairs rise on the back of my neck. And I push to my feet, rounding the desk quickly.

“I’m just saying, honey.” Parker leans against Charlotte’s desk, towering over where she stares at him, flushed and unhappy. “There’s no shame in coming home. You’ve always needed a bit of extra help, haven’t you? We can’t give you that while you’re here.”

I wait in the doorway for Charlotte to speak. For her to stand up for herself. But she’s too taken aback, hurt sparkling in her eyes, and I can’t fucking stand it anymore.

“Charlotte doesn’t need help.” I stride across the room. Come to face Parker, my arms crossed over my chest.

He stands, his smile fading. “Yeah. I see that. Because you’re giving it to her, is that right?” His tone is lewd, loaded with innuendo, and Charlotte flinches. Blushes brighter.

“No.” It’s an effort to keep my voice level. To not rail off and punch the man I’ve known for decades. “I said she doesn’t need help. She’s fully capable. She’s a smart, creative woman.”

Parker scoffs. “She’s a ditz.”

“Dad!” Charlotte’s pissed off, finally, launching up from her chair, but not before I’ve reeled off and punched my best friend in the face.

It’s a tactical blow. Aimed for his cheekbone, not his nose. No permanent damage done—just a warning delivered.

A final warning.

I won’t have that shit in my earshot. No one talks about Charlotte like that, least of all her fucking parent. I shake out my hand, wincing at the sting, but I’m not sorry. I’d do it again. I’d do it a thousand times to stand up for her.

“James,” Charlotte murmurs, and my blood cools slightly. I step back, breathing hard, and give her some space. Charlotte turns to her shell-shocked father where he clutches his reddened cheek, staring at the two of us.

“That was very rude,” she says, clear and controlled. Everything I’m not right now. “Don’t speak about me like that, please. If—if you do, I won’t want to see you.” Her cheeks flush brighter, shocked by her own daring, but she pushes on, hands balled into fists at her sides. “Also, I’m with James. We’re together. And—and if you can’t be polite about it, you can’t come to stay anymore.”

Parker’s eyes swing to me. Betrayal swirls in their depths, but there’s something else. Bitter acceptance.

Something tells me I lost a friend today. It doesn’t matter. Charlotte is worth it.

She’s worth everything.

“Fuck this,” Parker mutters, turning on his heel and pushing out into the crowded hallway. Charlotte watches him go, dismayed, while I watch her carefully. Scanning for signs that I fucked up; that I pushed this too far. And when she finally turns to me, arms reaching, I tug her gratefully against my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur into her hair. “I turned into a bit of a caveman.”

She makes a weird sound—part laugh, part sob—and cuddles closer. “I don’t mind. It was kind of nice.”

A few students do a double take as they pass the open doorway.

“People will stare,” Charlotte mumbles. She’s right—here’s the college Dean, his arms wrapped tight around his much younger assistant as she sniffles into the front of his shirt. The rumors will spread like wildfire—there will be no escaping the gossip.

She starts to move back, but I hold Charlotte tighter.

Screw it. What’s a rumor or two?

“Come with me.” I draw her back towards my office. Away from the peeking eyes and straining ears. Charlotte comes with my easily, clutching my shirt, an excited flush already tinting her cheeks.

“What are we going to do in there?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” I tug her close, the next words just for her. “What aren’t we going to do?”