Page 81 of Saint Céline
Professor Moreau looked at me. “Miss Martin, my office.”
Christina looked away, but not before I saw the satisfaction in her face.
Of course, he would summon me privately in front of everyone and somehow make the problem worse for me.
I placed my notebook down with more care than necessary. “Now?”
His expression did not change.
“Yes.”
The walk to his office felt longer than it should have. I could feel the lab behind me, the silence, the speculation already beginning to form. By the time I stepped inside, my anger had become sharp enough to hold. I needed it. Anger was safer than fear, and fear was safer than whatever else Vincent Moreau made me feel when he looked at me too long.
He closed the door behind us.
I turned immediately. “Open it.”
“No.”
The word was calm, almost bored.
My pulse kicked once. “Open the door.”
“You are perfectly capable of doing that yourself if you truly want it open.”
He moved past me to his desk, unhurried, and set his glasses down beside the black mug. “You’re making things worse for me,” I said.
“I am aware.”
“You’re aware?”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t care?”
He looked at me then, his face unreadable in the soft grey light coming through the rain-streaked window.
“I care a great deal. Just not about Christina Bell’s opinion of you.”
“She’s not the only one.”
“No, she is simply the only one currently brave enough to be obvious.”
I laughed once under my breath, though there was nothing funny about it. “You enjoy this.”
“You’re angry,” he said.
“Yes, Professor. Very good. Excellent observation.”
His mouth curved faintly. “Careful.”
I folded my arms to keep my hands still. “Stop calling me into your office in front of everyone. Stop assigning me special work. Stop making people think I’m sleeping with you.”
The rain struck the window steadily behind him, blurring the campus beyond the glass into grey stone and dark water.
Professor Moreau leaned lightly against the edge of his desk. “And are you?”
The question was quiet but not teasing. Something in my stomach tightened, a low, unwelcome heat that had no business being there.
