“Everything will be fine, babe. It’ll work out.”
“Babe?” His smile is instant, and so is the flush in my cheeks.
“Yes . . . babe.” I adjust the collar of his shirt, and he leans over to kiss the tip of my nose.
“You’re right; worst-case scenario, we go to England.”
I ignore his comment and return to the closet to pick out my own clothes for the day. “Do you think they’ll let me accompany you inside?” I ask him, unsure what to wear.
“You want to?”
“If they allow it.” I grab the new purple dress that I planned to wear to Vance tomorrow. I undress and put it on as quickly as possible. I slip on some black heels and exit the closet with my hands holding up the front of the dress. “Can you help me?” I ask Hardin, turning my back to him.
“You’re purposely torturing me.” His fingertips travel across my exposed shoulders and down my back, leaving goose bumps in their wake.
“Sorry.” My mouth is dry.
He slowly raises the zipper, and I shiver as his lips press against the sensitive skin on the back of my neck. “We need to get going,” I tell him, and he groans, fingers digging into my hips.
“I’m going to call my dad on the way. Are we dropping the . . . your dad off somewhere?”
“I’ll ask him now; can you grab my bag?” I say, and he nods.
“Tess?” he calls as my hand hits the doorknob. “I like that dress. And you. Well, I love you, of course . . . and your new dress,” he rambles. “I love you, and your fancy clothes.”
I curtsy and do a little three-sixty so he can see me. As much as I hate Hardin being nervous, it’s also very appealing to me, because it reminds me that he’s not so tough after all.
In the living room, my father is sitting on the couch, having fallen back asleep. I don’t know if I should wake him up or just leave him here to rest until we get back from campus.
“Let him sleep,” Hardin answers, sensing my thoughts as he walks up behind me.
I quickly scribble a note for him explaining when we’ll return, along with our phone numbers. I doubt he has a cell phone, but I leave them just in case.
The drive to campus is short, too short, and Hardin looks like he’s going to either scream or punch something at any moment. When we arrive, he scans the parking lot for Ken’s car.
“He said to meet him here,” Hardin says, checking the screen on his phone for the fifth time in five minutes.
“There he is.” I point to the silver car pulling into the lot.
“Finally. What the fuck took him so long?”
“Be nice to him; he’s doing this for you. Please, just be nice to him,” I beg, and he sighs in frustration but agrees.
Ken has brought his wife, Karen, and Hardin’s stepbrother, Landon, which surprises Hardin and makes me smile. I love them so much for supporting him, even when he acts like he doesn’t want their help.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Hardin says to Landon as they approach us.
“Don’t you?” Landon retaliates, which makes Hardin laugh.
Listening to their exchange, Karen smiles with a brightness completely at odds with how she first appeared when she emerged from Ken’s car.
As we walk toward the administrative building, Ken says, “I’m hoping this won’t last long. I’ve been calling everyone I can to pull as many strings as possible, so I’m praying for the best.” He stops for a minute and turns to Hardin. “Let me do the talking in there—I mean it.” Watching for his son’s response, he waits for him to agree.
“Okay, yeah,” Hardin says without argument.
Ken nods and swings the big wooden doors open, leading us all inside. Over his shoulder, Ken says authoritatively, “Tessa, I’m sorry, but you can’t come inside the room with us. I didn’t want to push it, but you can wait right outside.” He turns and gives me a sympathetic smile.
But Hardin immediately goes into full panic mode. “What do you mean she can’t come inside? I need her in there!”
“I know you do. I’m sorry, but it’s family only,” his father explains as he leads us down the hall. “Unless she was a witness, but even then, that’s a huge conflict of interest.”
Ken stops us in front of a conference room and muses, “It’s not like I’m not engaged in a conflict of interest, being the chancellor. But you’re my son, and let’s at least have only one conflict, okay?”
I turn to Hardin. “He’s right, and it’ll be better this way. It’s okay,” I assure him.
He lets go of my hand and nods, looking past me to shoot daggers at his father, who sighs and says, “Hardin, please try your best to—”
Hardin holds up one hand. “I will, I will,” he says and kisses my forehead.
As the four of them walk into the room, I want to ask Landon to wait with me, but I know Hardin needs him in there, whether he’ll admit it or not. I feel so useless just sitting here outside this room while a group of stuffy men in suits decides Hardin’s educational future. Well, maybe there’s one way I can help . . .
I pull my phone out and text Zed. I’m at the administrative building, can you come here?
I stare at the screen, waiting for a reply, and my phone lights up less than a minute later: Yes, I’m on my way.
I’ll be outside, I send.
With one last glance at the door, I head outside. It’s cold, too cold to be waiting out here in a knee-length dress, but I don’t have much of a choice.