No Escaping My Billionaire Professor

KAREN

Slowly turning round to face him, I plaster a fake smile on. "Erm, sure."

Der—Professor Hunt strolls around his desk, perching on the edge, his arms moving to fold across his chest as he looks at me, his face stoic and unreadable.

My heart races, as my gaze lingers on him. It should be illegal for this man to look as good as he does.

He's wearing a white shirt with the sleeves down, hiding the tattoos that I kno—stop, Karen.

Do not check out your professor, even if he did give you the best orgasms of your life.

He continues staring at me, an eyebrow now raised as he catches me eyeing him up, and I suddenly wish I was a mind reader. I have no clue how this is going to go.

I bite my bottom lip, a nervous habit I've had since forever, and Derek's eyes darken, his gaze following my movements.

"Is your name even Karen?" he asks as he stands to his full height, anger radiating off him in waves and causing me to curl in on myself.

Confrontation isn't my thing, preferring to run away at all costs.

"Yes, I don't use a new name like the other girls," I reply, wringing my hands together, my head toward the floor unable to meet his gaze.

Derek goes quiet as he rubs his hand across his chin, like he's mulling over what I've said.

This is so awkward right now.

I start shuffling from one foot to the other, waiting for him to say something, but as soon as he does, I wish he'd kept his mouth shut.

"Hmm, you mean like the other bartenders," he muses. "Do you sleep with all of your clientele?" he asks, and my hackles rise.

Swinging my head toward him, I snap, "Excuse me? Where the hell do you get off talking to me like that?"

What the fuck? I know this is an awkward fucking situation to be in, but who the hell does he think he is?

My cheeks are bright red. I can feel the heat blazing from them, both from anger and embarrassment.

I mean, who sleeps with their professor? Okay, I didn't know he was my professor when I slept with him, but still.

He exhales roughly, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? It's not every day the best sex of my life happens to be one of my students," he explains, his tone softening.

"Still doesn't excuse being an asshole though," I snark, before blowing out a breath and relaxing my body slightly.

I know this isn't all his fault. The blame lies with me, as well.

He nods. "No, you're right. I'm just a bit thrown off. This could seriously damage both of us, my job, your scholarship, if this was to get out," he states.

Yeah, including my already fractured family reputation.

I sigh, rubbing a hand across my forehead. "I know," I whisper, the fight from earlier leaving me.

"I don't plan on telling anyone if that's what you're worried about. Plus, it's not like it's going to happen again." I look at him pointedly, and I swear his jaw clenches.

"Definitely not happening again," he agrees, and I'd believe him if it wasn't for the same desperate hunger in his eyes that he had that night.

I try to ignore the heated flush that spreads over my cheeks again. I swear that's all I do around this man.

This is wrong. On so many levels. I cannot lose my scholarship.

Everything depends on me passing and making a good life for myself. I refuse to end up like my mom.

I'm breathing heavily, my hands clammy as we both lock eyes, neither one looking away as I wait for him to say something.

The silence stretches between us, thick enough to choke on. I can hear the ticking of the clock on the wall behind him, each second dragging out longer than the last. His eyes haven't left mine, and I find myself wondering what he's thinking, whether he's replaying that night the same way I have been every time I close my eyes.

I shouldn't want to know. I shouldn't care.

But I do.

Finally he says, "So, we act like this never happened."

"Yes," I agree. Even though that couldn't be farther from the truth.

How do you forget a night that's seared into your brain? A night that you will relive over and over in your head for the rest of your life?

He clenches his jaw again, a decision being made behind his eyes as he announces, "You need to catch up on assignments. My TA, Brad, is busy, so you'll need to come in once a week for extra sessions with me."

My stomach drops. Once a week. Alone. With him.

"Is that really necessary?" I ask, my voice smaller than I intend it to be. "Couldn't I just email you my work instead?"

"No," he says, too quickly, and something flickers across his face before he catches himself and smooths it back into that unreadable mask. "The material this semester builds on itself. You fall behind now, you fail the class. I don't think either of us wants that."

I want to argue, to tell him this is a terrible idea, that being in a room alone with him once a week is like handing a match to someone standing in a room full of gasoline. But I don't have the energy to fight him on it, not after everything else today.

He goes to his desk and shuffles some papers around, before handing me a sheet of paper. "Here is this semester's reading material. Look at it, and we'll meet next week to discuss it."

Clearly I've been dismissed. Annoyed, I turn and leave, heading for my next class. I wish I could say it didn't hurt, because it does.

In no world will we ever be together. I just need to forget about Derek and move on with my life.

If only my heart would listen to my head.