The Dean by Cassie Mint
One
Charlotte
Istretch out on the sofa with a sigh, my new kitten balanced on my stomach. Truffle was a battered little scrap when I rescued her, an underfed ball of dull brown fur peering up at me with sad eyes from a cardboard box. But a whole week of proper kitten food and napping on my bed has brightened her blue eyes and rounded out her little belly.
“You’re so beautiful, aren’t you? Aren’t you, Truffle?”
She purrs at me, her paws kneading at my stomach. I wince—her claws are like tiny needles—but I don’t push her off.
We both need this cuddle.
I haven’t been scooped out of a soggy cardboard box, but it feels like it lately. When I left home and flew across the country over a month ago, I couldn’t stop beaming with excitement.
A new life! A blank slate! I had so many plans. I still have those plans, damn it. I want to start a photography business, move into my own place, and start living the life I’ve been daydreaming about for so long.
But… it’s harder than I thought it would be. Taking those first steps on my own. Building a whole new life from scratch. I’d never admit it out loud to anyone, but sometimes…
I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.
Maybe my parents were right about me.
“Such a beautiful girl.” Truffle’s purr rattles in the silent living room as she marches in a circle, then flops down and curls into a ball. My fingertips trace her soft fur, the outline of her pointy ears, and the pink nub of her tiny nose.
This, at least, is one thing I’ve done right. Rescuing this fluffy bundle of love. And it’s even a good business move, too—can’t start a pet photography business without a portfolio.
Truffle’s going to be my star. The money-maker.
She’s plenty cute enough. Cute as pie.
Ten sharp claws dig into my stomach, needling my bare skin through my tank top. I hiss, wincing as I peel her paws away.
Kind of cute, anyway.
The scrape of a key in the front door stiffens my spine. I stay stretched out, feigning casualness, even as my ears strain for the first steps on the floorboards.
Step.
Step.
Behind me, I feel him pause in the doorway.
He always does this—checks in on me. It’s the first thing he does when he finally gets home. And that time gets later and later each day, until the sky is tinged navy through the windows and I’ve almost given up on waiting for him each night.
Almost.
I’d wait an embarrassingly long time for this man.
“You’re late.” My voice is light. Casual. It betrays no hint of the knot in my stomach; the tension that sparks and flares under my skin whenever he’s near.
James Gibson.
The college Dean.
And my father’s best friend.
“You should keep me late, too.” Finally, I turn my head, resting my cheek on the sofa cushions. James watches me closely, one shoulder leaning on the door frame, his hands deep in his pockets. His dark hair and beard are striking against his pale skin, and his shirt clings to his broad chest. “I’m your assistant, after all. I could assist.”
A tired smile tugs his mouth.
“That’s hardly fair.” His rich baritone makes me shiver, my body shifting restlessly on the sofa. “You have far better things to do than work overtime with me.”
Wrong.
I mean, sure—admin is pretty dull. I’m not obsessed with photocopying or anything. But it’s so much worse leaving the Dean’s office with him in it, and traipsing home to this silent house where every room reminds me of him.
The sturdy bookshelves, crammed to overflowing with books.
The surprisingly sensual sculptures, acting as paperweights.
Hell—even the comfy gray sofa, with its soft throw and big screen TV. The first night I arrived here, we watched a movie together, trying to get to know each other for the first time in five years. I hadn’t seen James since I was sixteen, but I remembered his kind eyes and his rumbling laugh from my childhood.
Still, it was… awkward. Something between us was different. His eyes heated when they landed on me, his eyebrows twitching in shock, and my body tingled in response.
We haven’t watched a movie together since. It’s been kind of lonely.
Especially when he keeps working later and later. Almost like… he’s avoiding me.
“I found two more apartments.” I force the words out, even as a big part of me resents them. I know I can’t stay here much longer, can’t overstay my welcome, but it’s so hard to look for other places when James’ steady presence is here. Yes, he’s familiar and safe, a man I’ve known for years, but it’s more than that. James makes me feel settled.
Truffle likes it here too. She’s allowed on the sofa. And she plays with the handle of James’ gym bag.
But I won’t be selfish, won’t cause more trouble than I already have, so I push on. “Shall I book us some viewings?”
When I started looking for apartments in my first week, James insisted on coming to view them with me. To make sure I don’t get ripped off, or to keep me safe from strangers—who knows? Either way, I liked it. It made warmth bloom in my chest. Just like when he came home two days in, telling me to get an early night because he’d found me a job in his office.
It’s nice to have someone looking out for me.
James works his jaw, frowning down at the rug for a long moment, then says: “Send me the links first.”
Ooo-kay. They’re studio apartments, not drug dens, but he can vet them first if he likes. All it will do is slow the process down, and I’m on board with anything that keeps me here longer.
Here, where I can hear his steady breathing. Where his clean, masculine scent clings to the furniture. Where I can hear the drumming of the shower spray through my bedroom wall and know that he’s close, that he’s naked, drops of heated water trickling over the sculpted muscles of his chest, and god—
I really need to move out. I’m turning into such a pervert.
“Are you busy tonight?”
I blink at his question. Usually, he ducks his head in on me, makes sure I’m still alive, then disappears into his study. Sometimes he’ll fix a quick dinner in the kitchen; sometimes he’s already eaten. Either way, I don’t feature in his plans.
“Um.” I glance down at the sleeping kitten. Her belly rises and falls with each puffed breath. “No?”
James nods, the movement sharp, then grinds out another question. Forces the words between his teeth, like they cost him. “Would you like to watch a movie?” I stare at him, bemused, and he gusts out a sigh. “I’ve been neglecting you.”
No. That’s not true. I’m a grown woman, not a child—I don’t need constant entertainment. Have I been lonely, rattling around this house on my own in the evenings? Sure. Have I made it worse by pining for this man like a war widow? Definitely.
But James hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s got way better things to do than hang around with someone half his age.
“It’s fine,” I rasp, my throat weirdly tight. Why do I crumble at the slightest sign of care? “You’re busy. And you didn’t ask for me to gatecrash your house.”
My father did that. It was something about wanting me to stay with someone trustworthy. Just until I found my feet.
But James’ head twitches, his mouth flattening in a line, and when he speaks again, it’s an order.
“We’re going to spend some time together, Charlotte.”
A slow smile spreads over my face.
Finally.
* * *When I was a little kid, my parents used to host these big parties. Fancy dinners and drinks for wealthy businessmen—rich investors and powerful politicians. All the strangers in the house used to keep me awake, too freaked out to sleep in my pink princess bed. So they’d set me up in my father’s study, on a sofa one of the staff dragged in there specially. And I’d watch hours and hours of kids’ movies—an endless loop of handsome princes and cartoon animals.
No one knew I was in there. My parents were ambitious, but not stupid. They’d never risk my safety, and to be doubly sure, they set a trusted staff member to watch outside the study door until all the strange men were gone. The only person they let through was my father’s best friend.
James.
They knew and I knew—hell, the whole world knew—that James was the most honorable man on the continent. He’d rather chop off a limb than scare a little girl. So when James poked his head around my father’s study door, checking in on me at the parties, my face used to light up.
“James! Come and watch with me!”
He always did, too. Not for long—the party was waiting—but long enough to calm me down and make me feel cared for. He asked about the movies; which characters were my favorite; what I thought might happen next. He’d sit at the other end of the sofa, tugging at his too-tight shirt collar, the TV screen washing him blue. Exhaustion lined his handsome face—he was never keen on those parties. And when he ruffled my hair and disappeared back through the doorway, I’d stare at the space where he’d just been like I could magic him back.
That was years ago. Back when I was a child and he was a grown man; back when things were simpler. Clean cut between us.
I’m not a child anymore. I’m twenty one years old.
But I wouldn’t mind if he ruffled my hair.
“It’s just like old times.” I rest my chin on me knees as James strides into the living room carrying a tray. It’s set with a bowl of warm popcorn, the scent making my stomach growl, and two steaming mugs of hot chocolate.
James flicks me a wry look. “Not quite. Some things are very different.”
He means me. His eyes rake over me as he sets the tray on the coffee table, darting and guilty, almost like he can’t help himself. And my limbs heat where I’m curled on the sofa, Truffle sleeping on the arm beside me.
I wrap my arms tighter. “You’re still looking out for me. Taking care of me, even though I’m not your problem.”
James turns to sit at the other end of the sofa, but not before I see a shadow pass behind his eyes. I wait, but all he says is: “What would you like to watch?”
We settle on an action movie. It feels safest, somehow. And as the opening credits fade into the first car chase, I slump against the cushions and let out a sigh.
What is it about sitting in the half-dark with someone that feels so freaking intimate? Curled up just a few feet away from James, I swear I can hear every soft breath. Every rustle of his shifting body against the sofa. And it’s not just my hearing that’s going beserk—my other senses are suddenly heightened too. The colors on the TV screen are so vivid I have to look away; the rasp of the sofa fabric against my bare legs makes my nerves spark and my teeth clench. I shove handful after handful of popcorn in my mouth, so nervous that I need to keep moving.
“You’re hungry,” James says softly after half the bowl’s gone. “I should have brought you dinner.”
My cheeks flush. Well, this is embarrassing.
“No, um. It’s okay. I already ate.” Plus, I can feed myself. I’m not that incapable.
James smiles at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and for a minute, I forget to look at the screen. I’m too wrapped up in the blue light flickering over his cheekbones, his throat, the shadowed dip of his collarbone visible beneath his open shirt. Then he swallows, turning back to the movie, and the moment is gone.
“You’ve been working late a lot.” I wait until a quiet scene to ask the question that’s been gnawing my insides. “Are you tired of having me here?”
James’ head jerks towards me, his eyes flaring. “No,” he grinds out. “I’m never tired of you.”
“Because those apartments looked totally fine. I could go and see one tomorrow—”
“Charlotte.” He says my name like an order. And god help me, shivers race over my skin, my nipples tightening under my tank top. James turns to me fully, fixing me with his stern gaze. “Listen to me: I do not want you gone.”
I’m nodding. Bobbing my head like an idiot, too dazed to say anything else. And James watches me closely for a minute, until he’s satisfied that I’ve listened. Then he nods once, and turns back to the screen.
Back to explosions and gun fights, and none of it half as chaotic as my insides.
I duck my head and stroke Truffle, hiding my smile.
* * *“Dean Gibson? Really?” My new friend Paige leans closer across our table, her giant sweater shifting on her narrow shoulders. We’re in the campus coffee shop with her two roommates, Avery and Leona, clutching hot mugs of coffee and catching up on my lunch break. Paige isn’t usually here, too busy rehearsing ballet, so she’s never heard about my shameless crush before.
“What’s wrong with him?” I sit up straighter, defensive. These girls are amazing, the best friends I’ve made here, but I can’t stand to hear bad words about James.
“Nothing,” Paige says quickly, holding up two delicate hands. “He’s just so… so strict.”
“Yeah,” I hum, relaxing again. Leona snorts at my dreamy smile. “He is.”
Avery’s already giggling, the motion shaking the table and her blonde braids, but I don’t care. If there’s one thing I’m not embarrassed about, it’s my taste in James Gibson. He’s the perfect man, so handsome and calm, so quietly assertive. I’ve made plenty of dumb decisions, but liking him? That’s not one of them.
Letting myself slowly fall for him, on the other hand…
Yeah, that’s pretty dumb. I really need to move out.
“Isn’t he your boss?” Leona asks.
I point at her. “Pot, kettle, black. What about Mason?”
“Professor isn’t the same as boss—”
“Sure it is.”
We bicker gamely, snarking at each other over our mugs, but when my break is up, I sweep them each into a tight hug in the quad. “Come here,” I mumble into Leona’s dark wavy hair. “Don’t hold out. Let your older-man-seduction-powers rub off on me.”
“Ew.” She pulls away, laughing. “Get your own.”
“Believe me,” I tell her drily. “I’m trying.”
I’m not, though. I may joke with the girls, but the truth is, whenever James is near, I freeze. The thought of telling him how I feel, of flirting, even—my throat closes up.
Because what if I lose him? What if I piss him off so badly, he never wants to see me again? What if he tells my dad?
Worst of all, what if James finds my crush disgusting?
I can’t risk it.
So I’ll keep smiling at him, and asking casual questions about his day, and teasing him when we’re alone in the office. I’ll keep finding excuses to knock on his door, to spend time together, to be in the warm glow of his presence.
And it will be enough.
It will.
It has to be.
