Page 16 of Wicked Little Secret
Mr. Wicker’s hand is dangerously close to my ass when a savior finally arrives. Among the sea of funeral attendees, Professor Adler appears. He’s wandered into the parlor with his glasses and permanent scowl fixed onto his face, his floppy, ruffled dark hair charmingly imperfect. He’s in a suit and tie, though he couldn’t look less enthused to be here.
He’s searching the room much like I am—for an escape hatch.
“Excuse me, Mr. Wicker,” I say graciously, “I see my professor and need to ask him a question about class.”
Mr. Wicker parts his lips like he’s about to object, though I’m gone quick enough that he doesn’t get a chance. I weave in between Dean Rothenberg laughing with Veronica Fairchild and cross to the other side of the room.
Professor Adler’s at the french doors, peering out the glass cutouts to the terrace. I give a soft clear of my throat, slowly approaching at his side.
“Hello, Professor,” I say, hoping my sudden nerves don’tgive me away. “I didn’t realize you were attending the Driscoll funeral.”
He glances over like he doesn’t recognize me at first, so entrenched in his head, then he nods. “This was a one-time favor to my father. He couldn’t make it today, so that unfortunately means I’m the Adler representation.”
“Your family has quite the history at the school.” When his thick brow lifts slightly, I quickly add, “From what I’ve read. I’ve read your bio. All of my professors’ bios. I… I remember from yours, you graduated from Castlebury U yourself. Top of the class. But you weren’t the only one—it’s your family’s alma mater going back over a century.”
I’m rambling by the time I trail off, realizing how silly and overeager I must sound. My heart is pitter-pattering inside my chest as I cast him an unreturned smile and clutch my glass of sparkling water like it’s a lifeline.
Damn it, Nys. Chill.
But my scolding’s countered by my more understanding, sympathetic half.
It’s not my fault he’s so… so him. I can’t help that I admire him!
A moment of uncertain silence passes between us where I’d rather sink through the floor than risk rambling on any further, and Professor Adler’s gaze hasn’t left me. His eyes, dark and fathomless, feel like hot coals on my skin.
I force a shuddery breath through my lungs, then say, “If I’m interrupting you?—”
“You really read your professors’ biographies?” he interrupts sharply, almostaccusatorially. “It sounds like you have mine memorized.”
Face warm, I rub my neck with my free hand and give half a shrug. “I… erm, I like to be prepared.”
“I see.” He sticks both hands in the pockets of his suit pants and returns his attention to the glass cutouts in the french doors. “But, yes, you’re correct, Miss Oliver. Every Adler in my family has gone to Castlebury. It’s something of a tradition. And your family?”
“Oh… it’s not,” I stammer. “I’m the first of my family.”
“That would explain why you’re so sharp.”
“I’m not sure I… I don’t understand.”
The edges of his mouth quirk, framed by the stubble on his jaw. I can’t help thinking about how sexy he’d look with a full grin on his face. Something tells me they’re extremely rare.
“Look around you, Miss Oliver,” he says. “You’re surrounded by legacy families and trust fund babies. People who have never truly worked to earn a thing they have in their lives. Everything has been handed to them. That includes their Ivy League education.”
“But what about?—”
“That includes myself,” he interrupts. “My family is no better. I’m no better. The difference is, I’mawareof my privilege. Honestly speaking, it’s probably why I can’t stand being in rooms like these. Why I can’t stand people like these. So I do everything within my power to stay the hell away from them.” He turns to me, his body angled partially for another studious look at me. “I suggest you do the same.”
I’m thrown by the candor for a couple seconds to come. Both impressed and charmed while confused and surprised he’s proven what I’ve sensed from the moment I read his biography.
Just his biography and no one else’s. Despite what I told him.
He’s not like the rest.
Professor Theron Thurman Adler is different fromeveryone else in the room. He’s the only other person besides myself who holds this distinction.
I smirk, my eagerness melting away as I hit a new comfort level. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the quality education, Professor. But you’re probably right—Ididescape to you after my boyfriend’s father almost copped a feel.”
He goes from directing his attention onto me to cutting a glance over his shoulder. Presumably to pick out the man I’m talking about in the room. His head shifts back toward the french doors, though his jaw’s noticeably tighter.