‘Bridget.’ He inclined his head her way. ‘You’re looking lovely as always.’
‘Where is everyone?’ She stopped short of actually entering the room and stood framed in the doorway.
‘The rest of the staff will be here at 8.30, I wanted to speak with you privately first.’ He set his coffee on the table and indicated for her to sit with a sweep of his hand.
Reluctantly, Bridget took the seat at the far end of the table, putting as much distance between them as possible.
Dean Whittier stood and moved to close the door. Her heart rate jacked up a notch at being alone and behind closed doors with him.
‘Coffee?’ he asked, moving over to the sideboard and picking up the carafe.
‘No, thank you.’
He ignored her and poured her a cup. He even added cream and sugar, leaving her bewildered at his knowledge of how she took her coffee, and set the mug in front of her. Rather than return to the seat she’d found him in, he sat catty-corner to her.
‘Ross, as you know your tenure evaluation is coming up at the end of the semester.’
He leaned forward and looked her in the eye. She trembled at the look of smugness she saw there. There was nothing warm in those eyes. They were the blue of ice and she shivered as they bore into her. Gripping the coffee cup, she vainly tried to absorb some of its warmth into her body.
‘I think it’s time that you and I got on the same page.’
He stroked a long, elegant finger along her arm, raising goosebumps and causing her stomach to clench again as she pulled her hand back, shoving it between her legs. Anger flashed across his face, but he quickly schooled his expression.
‘What page would that be, Dean?’
He smiled and stood, coming to stand behind her. The way he moved reminded her of a reptile, cold and slithering. She tensed and her skin prickled at the feel of him behind her.
‘My dear Bridget.’ He leaned over her, resting his hands on the back of her chair but brushing her skin in the process. She could smell his cologne; it was a spicy scent that on anyone else would have been intoxicating. Instead, it made her nauseous. ‘You know what I want. Playing hard to get with me is cute, but it’s wearing thin. I control your tenure review. If you want my signature on that page, you’re going to give me what I want. Do you understand? Because if you don’t I will make sure not only do you lose your job here, no one will hire you when I’m done with you.’
‘You bastard!’ Bridget hissed and lurched up, pushing the chair back as she did so. Whittier fell back, catching himself on the wall. Panic flooded her and she began to tremble violently from head to toe. ‘What do you think you’re doing? Threatening me with my job. This is harassment.’
Her heart raced and dizziness threatened to overwhelm her, but she refused to give in. She went on the offensive instead.
‘Besides, what do you have over me? Huh? The last time I checked I performed my duties as a professor here more than competently. My student evaluation average is one of the highest on campus and I’ve published more in the time I’ve been here than anyone else in the department. So, you’ll have to enlighten me as to what you’re referring to as it relates to my tenure evaluation.’
Rage suffused his face as he straightened and pushed away from the wall, smoothing his clothes before speaking in a cold voice. ‘Listen to me, Ross. Who are you going to run to? President Harvey? That doddering old fool does exactly what I tell him to do. He wants my family’s money in this university and he knows that harming me is harming his budget. So, good luck with that one.’
He was right. Harvey had acquiesced to Whittier so much it was a running joke that he needed a straw to suck up as hard as he did.
Either way, she wasn’t going to stay here and be preyed upon. Those days were over. She rushed to the door, wrenched it open, and almost ran headlong into Martha McBrand.
‘Oh!’ Martha cried out as she stepped back.
Bridget quickly pulled herself together and gently brought the door fully open, leaving it that way. As her colleagues began to file into the room, Bridget once again settled into the chair closest to the door and felt growing despair as Whittier’s threats sank in.
* * *
‘Stop, Daisy!’
Bridget admonished the dog who was currently carpet surfing on the area rug in Bridget’s living room. Normally, she found it amusing when the dog flopped on her back and began rubbing around as if she had the worst itch in the world. Tonight, however, there was no solace to be found. Not even the mint chocolate chip ice cream was helping and it was her go-to comfort food.
Bridget had come home hoping to find some comfort in her personal space. She’d taken great care in decorating her home. Her living room was eclectic yet modern with comfortable furniture that was soft and enveloping while still having clean lines. She’d decorated in warm tones of pale browns, gold and orange, with touches of flair in the art and knick-knacks. It reflected the woman she considered herself to be – warm, welcoming, and classy. She’d always found sanctuary in her home.
Tonight, she just felt alone.
She’d considered calling Connor, asking him to come over, but decided against it. She wasn’t ready to let him that close. Despite what they’d shared, she wanted to take this very slow with him. He left her unsettled and she didn’t like that.
On the one hand, they were good together. He made her laugh. But he challenged her in ways that made her want to run the other direction. His ideas about sex were intriguing, but they also meant she’d wasted almost 20 years of her life.
Uggh! Let it go, she told herself. You’ve got more pressing problems.
Dale Whittier could very well ruin her career.
She’d thought about calling Claire and Mona, but she already knew what they’d say. They’d tell her to report it. To not let him get the best of her. And, while Bridget agreed in principle, it wasn’t that simple.
This was her career at stake.
She could report the harassment, but even if her complaint was successful, she’d find herself labelled a troublemaker and have a hard time finding work elsewhere.
If she got her tenure successfully, she’d be almost untouchable. It was one of the reasons she’d selected Pinewood to begin with. With so few universities maintaining a tenure programme these days, a teacher was constantly auditioning for their job. They’d be lucky to get more than a one-year contract, but the responsibilities were still the same despite the lack of payoff in return for the professor.
When she’d been in that position, she’d still had to advise. Still had to participate in university activities. Still had to be accountable for the curriculum, passing rates, and student evaluations. She’d still had to publish and be relevant but had no assurance that the 50 to 60 hours a week she put in would result in her contract being renewed or her salary not being cut when it came time to renegotiate.
She’d suffered through a few of those types of contracts when she first began teaching and quickly determined she’d wanted a tenured position. When the position had become available at Pinewood she’d done her damnedest to land it and she deeply resented the dean for putting her back up against the wall this way.
She probably wouldn’t have taken the position if he’d been in charge when she interviewed. She wasn’t one to put herself into the line of fire if it could be avoided and she’d known the day she met Whittier that he was going to be trouble. His eyes had lingered too long. His tone had been suggestive and he’d made her feel like a piece of meat under inspection for consumption.
Dean Winslow, Whittier’s predecessor, had been a kind man with a compassionate face that lit up when he spoke of the research he did in addition to leading the department. Her interview had taken place over coffee in the teachers’ lounge because he’d said he wanted all the candidates to get a feel for what it was really like in the department rather than a sterile interview in his office. They’d gone much longer than the 45 minutes he’d allotted for the intervi
ew as they’d discussed their passion for teaching and how satisfying it was to see the light bulb go off in a student’s eyes when they finally grasped complex chemical concepts.
She’d instantly liked him and they’d become close that first year. Winslow had become a mentor to her. Unfortunately, his heart had begun to fail and he’d decided to retire. He still served on the board of directors, but he spent most of his time in his garden now or with his children and grandchildren.
President Harvey had hired Dean Whittier. It had not been a popular decision. The search committee had recommended another candidate: a woman with a stellar record and a charismatic personality. Whittier had seemed coldly arrogant throughout the entire interview process. Bridget had been on the search committee and universally they’d agreed that Sheila had been the better candidate. The president had overridden their recommendation, giving the position to Whittier. A month later, the university was getting a brand new fitness facility. You didn’t have to be Einstein for that math to add up.
Either way, she was stuck with him now, and he was leaving her little choice. She had to find a way to expose him and his harassment without getting herself fired. She already knew how the victim in a situation like this could be turned into the villain. She’d seen enough women made out to be the criminal despite being horribly violated. She’d never been willing to be one of them.
It had been bad enough that she’d come away from her experience at Trent’s hands feeling as if she’d deserved what happened to her. She hadn’t been willing to put herself through the public humiliation of having it confirmed. Then, as if the rape wasn’t lesson enough, the baby had been the final crack in her confidence.
Trent hadn’t used a condom. He’d impregnated her that day. This was before the use of the “morning-after pill” was widely available. When she’d found out she was pregnant, there had been no consideration for her. She’d decided to have an abortion. She wasn’t going to bear the child of violence. She wouldn’t even consider it.
She’d located a nearby clinic and arranged to have the abortion. During the procedure, she’d seized in reaction to the anaesthesia they’d given her. Her uterus was perforated. The resulting damage meant she’d be more likely to win the lottery than to ever carry a baby to term.
The loss of her dream of being a mother had done her in. For the first time, she’d felt helpless, powerless. That was when the idea that she was being punished for her experimentation with Doug had come to her. Those seeds had taken root and she’d been unable to shake them. That, more than the rape itself, had changed her life in ways she still suffered from today. In the aftermath, the greatest damage that had been done to her was that she’d begun to question her own judgment. Where Trent hadn’t been able to hurt her body, his act of violence had succeeded in damaging her psyche.
She felt the same way now. Helpless. Powerless. Whittier was backing her into a corner and she wanted to fight. She just didn’t know how. She’d never been a quitter and she wasn’t quitting now. But how did she expose him for the scum he was and not lose her job? She would not be vilified when she was in the right.
There had to be a way. There had to be.
With no answer forthcoming, Bridget took her dishes and placed them in the dishwasher, setting the timer to run well after she was asleep.
A long, hot bath did nothing to spur inspiration. With a troubled heart, she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Fourteen
Skyler sat in her Jeep in front of the River Rock Medical Building. She had no idea how long she’d been there. She only knew her hands were aching from clutching the steering wheel. She was definitely late for her appointment, but, no matter what she told herself, she was unable to summon the will to leave her car.
Clearing her mind of all thought, she reached for the keys still dangling in the ignition and started the car. With no clear destination in mind, she began to drive.
After what seemed like for ever but was only about 15 minutes, she found herself in the parking lot for Pratt Hall, Pinewood’s chemistry building. The irony was not lost on her that she’d come to where it had all begun for her.
She’d seen him for the first time walking these very halls. His attention toward her had been so flattering. She’d seen him as a charismatic genius. When they’d run into each other at the coffee shop, she’d been completely swept away by his caring consideration for her. The way he treated her as an equal.
She’d given him her virginity.
Nausea flooded her at that thought. She’d given the most intimate gift she had to give to a monster. A monster who didn’t deserve to continue. Skyler had always been a gentle soul. She’d always been the peacemaker in her group. Right now, though, she’d gladly murder the dean and not think twice about it.
He’d made her believe she was special to him, but now she saw what he was really about. She’d never been anything other than a piece of ass for him to exploit and now he was using her scholarship to control her. Her parents couldn’t afford to send her to college. The only thing that had allowed her to go was that she’d won this scholarship and it had clear rules.
No other university had offered her enough aid to cover the full cost of tuition, and her father’s cab driver salary simply didn’t cut it. Not when there was still her little sister at home. Her mother worked in a day care centre. It was a loving, but very poor home. The scholarship to Pinewood had seemed a gift from God.
Now, it was her prison. She would not let Dale Whittier keep her from her dreams. She simply wouldn’t. The question was what to do? How to show the true monster he was and not lose her scholarship?
With those questions bouncing around her brain, Skyler left her Jeep and went in search of the person who’d promised help.
‘Professor Ross?’
Bridget startled at Skyler’s voice in the quiet of her office. She’d been working late, grading mid-term exams, trying to wrap them up so that her weekend would be free. She was having dinner with Connor tomorrow night and she didn’t want them lingering around over the weekend, tempting her to work.
‘Skyler.’ She smiled in welcome even as she waved her into a chair. ‘What can I do for you? I’m afraid I haven’t quite finished grading exams so I don’t have your score yet.’
Skyler closed and locked the door behind her before taking the seat offered. There was a look of intensity on her face that had Bridget feeling edgy. Something wasn’t right; Bridget always kept her door open, but she wasn’t sure what was going on right now and she’d wait and see.
‘Is everything OK, Skyler?’ Bridget stacked the exams she’d been grading and put them in a file folder before setting them inside her desk drawer.
‘No, Professor. Things aren’t OK, and I just don’t know what to do. I don’t even think you can help me, but I just can’t keep this to myself any longer. I –’ She cut herself off as tears welled in her eyes. ‘I’m pregnant, Professor.’
Sympathy bloomed inside Bridget. Being pregnant at such a young age was never easy.
‘Does the father know?’ Bridget pulled a box of tissues out of her desk and came around to offer Skyler one before indicating she should come with her over to the small sofa in her office.
Skyler snorted inelegantly and nodded. Once they had settled in more comfortably, she continued, ‘Yeah, he knows. He doesn’t want it. He’s demanding I get an abortion.’
‘Is that what you want?’
Tears streamed down Skyler’s face as she wadded the tissue in her hands. ‘I don’t really know. I haven’t stopped to think about it. He’s been threatening me and I was just going along with it. But I couldn’t do it. I was supposed to be there now. I just sat in my car. I couldn’t get out. It was like him winning if I did that.’
‘How is he threatening you, darlin’?’ Trepidation raged through Bridget as suspicion took root.
‘He’s using my scholarship as leverage. He’s threatening to take it away from me.’
Skyler barely got th
e words out as sobs began wracking her body. Bridget pulled the larger girl into a hug and simply held her as she cried. She wept the tears of the helpless, the sobs of the powerless. Huge, gulping cries that leave a person weary to the bone.
When she finally quieted, Bridget took a tissue and gently wiped her face.
‘Feel better, sugar?’
‘No.’ Skyler gave a mirthless laugh. ‘But I don’t feel like I’m going to shake apart any more.’
‘That’s a start.’ She let Skyler go as the girl sat up and scrubbed at her face.
‘Who is it, Skyler? Who has this kind of hold over you?’ Bridget held her breath as she waited.
Skyler slowly turned to look at Bridget. Her brown eyes were assessing and cool. ‘You already know, don’t you?’
Bridget shook her head in denial. ‘I suspect. I don’t know.’
‘Dean Whittier.’ Skyler’s tone was flat and hard. ‘I began sleeping with him at the beginning of the term. It was stupid and cliché. I was flattered by the attention of an older man. He took advantage of my stupidity and used me. God,’ she wailed, ‘the things he made me do. After a while, I had second thoughts. He’d become cold and mean. He seemed to always be so critical of me. I tried to break it off.’
She reached for another tissue as fresh tears began running down her cheeks.
‘He told me “I decide when this ends, not you”. He said he’d fail me out of my physical chemistry class unless I continued to screw him, and my scholarship has a GPA requirement. I’m barely keeping Bs in some of my core classes, so I can’t afford a failing grade in anything.’
She flung herself back on the sofa and squeezed her eyes.
‘Have you thought about reporting him?’ Anger clenched Bridget’s chest at the obvious despair Skyler was in. She hadn’t thought Whittier could drop any lower in her estimation. She’d been wrong.
‘Yeah, right,’ Skyler scoffed. ‘Who’d believe me over the dean?’
Reflection (The Chrysalis Series) Page 12
