Page 63 of Let's Call a Truce
That half smile of his made my stomach flip. “If you’re about to crush me, then I’ll need more than thirty minutes. And if youaren’tgoing to crush me? Trust me, Juliana. Thirty minutes won’t be nearly enough.”
Everything in me tightened. Flashes from my office—of his fingers tightly gripping my hips, his teeth and lips skimming my neck, the feel of him inside me—burned through me.
“Tonight,” I said.
“Tonight,” he said. The promise laced in that one word kept my mind occupied as we went upstairs to get ready.
An hour and one frantic call with the kids later, Ben and I sat in Dean Warren’s office with two different schedules laid out in front of us for the next three days.
“We’ll start today with a group meeting with the architecture faculty. After lunch, you’ll split up. Ben, you’ll bounce through the afternoon architecture classes to talk to students about your day-to-day experience.”
“Juliana, President Munchen wants you to meet with one of our business faculty members. She was impressed with the professional-development piece of the internship and is thinking about developing a course on the topic the business schoolwould teach. After, you’ll get a break to freshen up, and then join President Munchen and some faculty members for a nice dinner.”
I glanced between our schedules, noticing they’d packed Wednesday and Thursday with back-to-back student interviews. Billings was treating today as a day to network before getting into the nitty-gritty of our program.
The meeting with the architectural faculty was smoother than I expected. Although they had a few changes to suggest, they were happy overall with our plan. As we exited the room, a woman a few years younger than me greeted us. She was beautiful and curvy, probably half a foot shorter than me, with a smile that instantly put me at ease.
“Juliana and Ben? I’m Quinn Riley. I’m in the career office and advise students on internships. President Munchen asked me to take you all for lunch and show you around for the rest of the day.”
“It’s great to meet you, and thank you! Ben’s from here, but the twisting Boston streets are not my friend.”
Quinn laughed. “I feel your pain. When I moved here, I spent the first week lost. I kept ending up next to this giant white church no matter which direction I walked in, and thought I was trapped in some weird vortex.”
“Where’d you move from?”
“Florida, like you. I grew up in Gainesville.”
“I went to school there!” From there, we jumped into reminiscing about the small town that made such an enormous impact on our lives. Ben smiled indulgently as we walked, unaware of how empty his life was, never having tasted Satchel’s Pizza.
We grabbed a quick lunch in the dining hall, and the smells and sounds transported me back to my freshman year. The food and decor were slightly different, but I could almost see Jason walking up the first week of class to ask me out, all smilesand laughter and confidence. For the first time, the memory filled me with sweet nostalgia instead of heartbreak.
“No matter where you go or how nice the school is, the dining hall is always the same, isn’t it?” I asked Ben and Quinn as weenjoyed—the word being used loosely—the salad bar and pizza that tasted like it had been sitting under the heat lamps for a couple of days.
“I grew up on campus,” Quinn said. “Both of my parents are professors, so I’ve eaten at dining halls my entire life. And now that I’ve worked on different campuses, I can truthfully say the food never gets better.” Quinn grimaced as she looked at the depressing pizza. “I’d have taken you off campus if we had time. Blame the dean for the crappy schedule.”
Ben took a giant bite of his pizza. “It’s comforting in a weird way, right? No matter what, you know what to expect. It’s like airports. You know they’re going to suck, but you also know they’ll be consistent around the world.”
I gasped in horror. “I love airports!”
“Then you’re a freak and I want nothing to do with someone who is clearly not in their right mind.”
As we finished eating, Quinn pulled out the map and talked me through the path to the business school, since she needed to guide Ben from class to class. I stumbled around campus, positive I was following her directions but not seeing any of the landmarks she mentioned.
“You look lost.” I pulled my nose out of the map to find a handsome man in his early forties standing in front of me. He was tall, almost as tall as Ben. His dark hair was peppered with gray, which only enhanced his attractiveness, and his light green eyes were startlingly vivid.
“That’s because I am. I’m trying to get to Cooper Hall for a meeting. It’s my first time here, and I have no idea where I’m going.”
“Well, lucky for you, I’m headed to the same place. James Stevenson.”
“James Stevenson, the management professor?”
“That’s me.” His eyes darted around like he had discovered his stalker.
“I’m Juliana Ryan. I believe you are my one-thirty meeting.” I juggled the map with my schedule, confirming the name.
“Ah, yes. From the architectural firm down south. President Munchen hasn’t stopped talking about your program. Follow me and we’ll get started.”
We spent two hours discussing my program, debating the best way to reach students and the importance of different professional skills. He was witty and charming, and I imagined his students quickly fell under his spell. A knock on the office door interrupted our conversation, which could have gone all night otherwise. I glanced to the doorway to find Ben standing there, amused by how passionately I was arguing my side.
