Colleagues Read online

  Colleagues

  Janie Newland

  COLLEAGUES

  Copyright © 2018 by JanieNewlandStories

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  Cover design by Coleen Matsen.

  Cover image by MEMatsenPhotography.

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historic events is entirely coincidental.

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  [email protected]

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Colleagues

  Colleagues

  Hope worked at the end of a short hallway—the last vestiges of the English Department—that joined up with the long hallway of the History Department. Which meant that her office abutted the last History office, with both of them flanking the outside of the building and opening to the inside of the “L.” And that office was occupied by none other than Prince William Nash. Okay, his name didn’t really have the “prince” attached, but that was always what Hope called him in her head.

  She usually avoided walking past his open door—it was slightly to the right of the hallway center, so she couldn’t see directly in as she came from the English hallway, just as she couldn’t see directly down the History hallway. But if you walked down the History hallway, as she was now, you could see him at his desk, and one almost had to say hello. As neighbors, it would be rude otherwise.

  “Hello, Professor Nash,” she called softly, smiling her usual colleague smile.

  He looked up and nodded, punctuating it with his usual grunt. Yes. That was really the only term for it—he grunted. Hope had tried to describe it to her best friend Anna, and that was the only way she could describe the noise he made in the back of his throat when he saw her.

  She continued the extra three feet past his office door to her left and entered her office—as unlike his as possible. Whereas his looked empty—like he hadn’t, indeed, been working in the office next to hers for the last 3 years—hers looked snug and organized and welcoming, “lived in” as it were.

  She loved it. Her window looked out on the new Spring leaves; she had brought in a small armchair for her students rather than the crappy wooden one the university had provided; she had a space-heater under her desk and her favorite books…. It felt like home.

  Until right this second, when Prince William was standing menacingly at her door.

  “Professor Carlisle,” he began.

  She knew she gaped like a fish, but he had never come to her corner of the world—despite the three years and the three feet.

  “Yes?”

  “I would appreciate it if you could stop playing music on Saturday mornings without the use of headphones.”

  He said this is in the grumpiest manner possible, with no sign of a smile or apologetic wince or anything—just a scowl and a demand.

  “Oh, I—I’m sorry, William. I didn’t know you could hear it. Of course.”

  He nodded and turned away. As he left, she noticed how huge he was in her doorway. Having usually seen him walking the halls rather than standing in doorways, she knew he was huge; she just wasn’t aware of exactly how huge. He must have been 6’6” or 6’7”. And his breadth had left no room for anything else in that door. With his dark hair and brooding eyebrows, he looked terrifying.

  Whoa. Don’t get on his bad side.

  She knew she was in the wrong. In fact, she felt a little embarrassed to think that her music had been heard by others. Last weekend when she came in to grade papers, she’d been sure she was alone in the hallway. But she still seethed just a little bit at his condescending way of asking.

  She didn’t have much time to seethe, though, as she was due to teach in 30 minutes, and two students popped in before class. One of those made her eyes roll involuntarily.

  “Hello, Christian. How can I help you?”

  The handsome student leaned in her doorway with a smirk that said he knew just how good-looking he was.

  “Hope,” he started.

  She narrowed her eyes good-naturedly at him.

  “Christian, my name is Professor Carlisle to you, and you know it.”

  The problem was, he had an ego the size and power of a small freight train. Time after time, she felt like he was hitting on her. He was nothing like her type. For one thing, he was 22. She was 35. But of course, all of that was nothing to the fact that he was her student. Ugh.

  He smirked even more. “Oh, of course, Professor Carlisle, I was wondering if you could help me decipher the difficult nature of Mr. Thornton in Gaskel’s North and South. I feel like he’s a tortured, misunderstood hero, but I’m not sure exactly how to articulate that for this midterm paper.”

  Hope knew she was taking the bait, she did, but she couldn’t help but get passionate discussing Gaskel. After five minutes, she saw Prince William walk past her door, and she looked down at her watch.

  “I’m sorry, Christian,” she said as she rose and started to gather her papers for her 215 class, “but that will have to be enough to go on. Good luck.”

  He didn’t move out the doorway, though, but just shifted sideways so she would have to brush his stomach with her arm as she left.

  She held her eyes from rolling and said, “Goodbye, Mr. Thompson.”

  Christian nodded with a smug little smile, “Have a good class, professor.”

  Ugh. He’s an idiot.

  William had watched the kid saunter down the hallway like he owned the place, turning to Hope’s door at the last minute. He had stopped his typing to hear their conversation, Hope trying desperately not to show the annoyance in her voice and treat him like another student. And then, she’d taken his bait and waxed philosophical for five minutes. What she didn’t know was that no man stood a chance against her when she spoke about literature. He almost couldn’t fault the kid for being infatuated. William had once watched her present at the same conference as he had, and he had stood in the back of the room mesmerized by her. The passion had rolled off her in waves.

  As he was dark and tall, she was blonde and probably average height. But her hair was perfect in a loose bun each day, and she had dark brown eyes that contrasted strikingly with her light hair. And she lit up every room she walked in. She just didn’t know it—which made it all the more attractive.

  She’d had students in love with her in the past, whether she’d deciphered it or not, but none were as arrogant as this Christian kid. William had bided his time in his office for as long as he could handle it until it really was time to get to class. Then, he’d deliberately walked past Hope’s door rather than down the hallway—taking him the long way—to signal to her it was time to cut the conversation short.

  Gratefully, she was as brilliant as she was beautiful, and she caught the hint.

  On the pretense of checking something in his bag, William had waited for her a few feet from her office and had watched the imbecile hit on her as she moved past the door. He saw her eye roll when she was safely away from the guy, but that wasn’t enough for William. As the kid strutted past him a moment later, William straightened up and growled, “Watch it, kid,” just loud enough for him to hear as he passed him.

  The kid, struck from his smug reverie, looked up at him, and William glowered and shook his head almost imperceptibly.

  The kid chuffed and tossed his head a little, reminding William of a horse, before continuing down the hall.

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  Later that afternoon, William saw Hope in the used bookstore just off campus. She was wearing tight jeans and a flowey shirt, and William kept to his corner and watched over the edge of the book he was reading. She was holding an older copy of something or other and kept asking the sales associate questions about the book. William saw when the associate mentioned a price. Hope’s eyes widened, and she smiled a sad smile, putting it down on the counter. She walked around the store a bit more, but then returned to the counter to caress the book again. Clearly she wanted it.

  She walked away again, though—this time leaving the store. William waited a moment or two, then walked up to the counter with his book. He picked up the book on the counter, turning it over in his hands. Ah, a Dickens short story. Something Christmasish that wasn’t A Christmas Carol. Of course she’d want this. A British Lit professor’s Bible.

  “How much?” He asked the associate, who for some reason looked terrified, and was answered $250.00.

  “I’ll take it. And this.”

  He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to Hope to have that book.

  The next morning, he saw Hope’s door was open. As it was Saturday, this wasn’t wholly unexpected, but it wasn’t something he could count on, either. He wondered how he could walk past her door without seeming like he was doing it just for her and decided he couldn’t. So he didn’t. Instead, he sat down and got to work on his research. His emphasis was on Post-Colonialism, and he was currently discussing the impact of Said on the Afghan war. Or applying Said to the war. He wasn’t sure where this one was going to go, exactly. And technically it was inching toward a literature paper, as Said wasn’t exactly always non-fiction, but he wanted to write it anyway.

  He heard her footfalls and rushed out from behind his desk, reaching the doorframe in enough time to call out,

  “Thank you for keeping the music down, Professor Carlisle.”

  Hope turned a bit, nodded and said, “Of course,” then continued on her way.

  I’m an idiot. Why is the only thing I can say to her demanding?

  In truth, he didn’t really hate the music. Yes, it was annoying and inconsiderate of her to play it out loud when others were there, but he suspected she hadn’t known others were there. Really, he was just making something up to finally have something to say to her. He had been attracted to her for three years, always wanting to have a reason to talk to her, but there was nothing to say. He had considered telling her she did well after her presentation at the conference, but he could never make it through the crowd to her. And then it seemed too late at the office the next week. Besides, he couldn’t figure out how to tell her he’d deliberately missed one of his history sessions to attend her English one without sounding odd.

  Hope left the faculty restroom and made her way back toward her office. She was bothered by Prince William’s reminder of her music, but those had been some of the only words he’d ever said to her—it seemed neighborly to continue to communicate. She stopped in the doorframe of his office and leaned in.

  “Hey, what are you working on?”

  He looked up, glowering, and clearly unwilling to talk about anything.

  Insert Awkward Pause.

  “I—it’s—“

  Hope looked at the ground.

  “Nevermind, none of my business. Have a good day.”

  And she walked out.

  So much for being neighborly. I just piss him off.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  William berated himself for the moment it took for her to go back to her office, then swiftly got up and followed her. He started talking before he got to the doorframe.

  “Hope, it’s…” he started, then he reached her office and breathed once in and out. Why did he suddenly behave like an idiot around her?

  She was looking up as he came around the door.

  He tried again. “I’m researching the applicability of Edward Said to the current Afghan wars.”

  She smiled a small, strained smile.

  “That sounds fascinating.”

  “It is.”

  “Then I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  He glowered. “You didn’t—you didn’t bother me. I get in a writing groove and get caught off guard when people approach my office. I didn’t hear you coming.”

  “Okay…”

  “You don’t bother me. I hope I haven’t given that impression.”

  She pulled in both her lips and scrunched her eyes in an I-don’t-believe-you face.

  “Really,” he assured her.

  “I’m fairly certain that every time I’ve spoken to you in the last three years, William, you’ve scowled, grunted, or growled at me. I’m not sure of a lot of things in this world, but I’m pretty sure I’m not your favorite person.”

  He growled/grunted.

  She snorted. “Case in point.”

  “No. Not case in point. I am sometimes unprepared to speak, and I don’t love social interaction. Surely you’ve realized by now that I fall on the socially awkward list.”

  She smiled a small smile at him. “And yet, to hear you teach, you’re the most articulate person in the world. I’ve heard you interact with students, and you’re—at worst—politely disinterested. Forgive me for thinking your social graces just don’t extend to me.”

  William looked at the ceiling for strength. What do I say to her? “You—you make me uneasy.”

  Immediately he knew that was not the thing to say.

  “I make you uneasy,” she repeated slowly. “Huh.”

  “No, not—I’m not—“ He breathed in and out once more. “I’m not good at talking to beautiful women.”

  She looked caught off guard.

  “And I fall in that category?” She looked at him disbelievingly.

  He made a scoffing sound. “Yes. You do.”

  “Okay…. So, you don’t know how to speak to women.”

  He shook his head, scowling. “No, just beautiful ones,” he clarified.

  She nodded. “I see. So, how do you date?”

  “I don’t.”

  “I see.”

  “Well,” he grunted, “I do, but usually only women I feel comfortable approaching.” He didn’t like where this was going.

  “And a woman like that would be…?”

  “Not you.”

  She laughed again. “Okay. So, women that aren’t me are fine. I’m just not fine.”

  He growled again and narrowed his eyes. She was deliberately misunderstanding him. “That’s not what I said.”

  She tilted her head at him. “It kind of is.”

  “I don’t mind talking to women in general. I have no problem with colleagues and my friends’ wives or girlfriends.”

  “William, I’m a colleague.”

  “Yes, but you’re—“

  “I’m what, exactly?”

  “You’re…” He breathed in and out again to summon his patience.

  “I’m…” And she got up from behind her desk and started walking towards him slowly.

  He backed away a little. “It’s not you; it’s my problem.”

  She chuffed. “Ah, that line. So far, you’re just proving the point that I piss you off, and you can’t stand me.”

  That’s it. We’re done here.

  “Hope, you have students clamoring to be around you at all times. At least once a semester, you have a student desperately in love with you. That kid yesterday was only the most arrogant of the bunch. Surely you have realized by now that people are drawn to you.”

  “That’s the most you’ve said to me in three years.”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  “And you’ve noticed…?”

  “If that kid yesterday had stayed any longer, I would have removed him.”

  She laughed.

  I made her laugh.

  “It’s not that I can’t stand you. It’s the opposite. That’s the problem.” And he turned and went back to his office.

  What the crap was that?r />
  Did William just say he was attracted to her? She wasn’t sure exactly what had just been said, but she got the feeling that the irritation at the end was around him thinking she was friendly. Or pretty. Or something. Was that even possible? Stone-cold Prince William? The grunt communicator?

  She sat back at her desk and heard him gathering his things. He left and locked his door, going the opposite way, back up the History hall.

  Huh. Well, I’ll be thinking of that all weekend. And she tried to get back into her paper.

  Monday morning, Hope couldn’t believe her luck.

  “Are you sure? No one else is using it?”

  “Positively sure,” her friend and department chair, Mary, said. “It’s open for the week.”

  Hope was trying not to freak out. “So, I can go up there on Sunday and write all week?! I might make the deadline for MLA submissions, Mary!”

  Mary grinned at her. “I know. Go. Write. Be amazingly articulate as you always are.” And she rose from the comfy chair and left Hope’s office.

  Hope suppressed a squeal—hate to bother Prince William next door—but her face did one.

  Spring break at the Humanities cabin! Best. Week. Ever.

  There was one professor in the Humanities building who had inherited quite a lot of money and only taught because he loved it. He had no wife, family, or children, and when he died, he had bequeathed much of his wealth to the school. One element, however, he had left to the faculty themselves—with an airtight protection—and the school didn’t get to use what was termed the Humanities cabin. It was owned and maintained by the trust for the exclusive use of any professor who taught in the Humanities: Art, Music, English, History…in short, Professor Henry’s friends and colleagues. But as it was shared among more than 60 faculty members, the calendar was tight and planned for nearly a year ahead of time. The fact that it was open for Spring Break was unheard of. But Mary had evidently booked it a year ago, not knowing her daughter would plan her wedding during that week, and now it was all Hope’s. Her excitement was out of control.