by Jill Blake
Ethan leaned forward. “If you read it through, then you know that what the Talbot Fellowship offers is an opportunity for bright, ambitious young people to explore their passion for learning and innovation. It provides them with the resources and support they need, and frees them from the constraints of an archaic university system. This has nothing to do with making money—”
“Oh, please. You expect me to believe that? Coming from someone with degrees in business and law? ”
“Anna, let’s put aside the philosophical argument for a moment, okay?” He reached across the table, capturing her hand, and she felt the tingle all the way up her arm. “Just tell the truth. What is it that you’re really upset about? The fact that your sister decided to do something you disapprove of? The fact that she’s an adult and what she does is out of your control? Or the fact that you, a Princeton-educated professor with a prestigious university job, couldn’t convince your own sister to stay in school?”
She gasped at the direct attack and tried to pull back. His grip tightened, keeping her from moving. She glared at him. “This isn’t about me.”
“Really?” His voice dropped and he leaned closer. “Are you sure?”
She tugged on her hand again, and this time he released her. Scooting back as far as the wall behind her would allow, she crossed her arms and tucked her hands out of sight, palms pressed against her ribs. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think I hit a nerve.”
He had, but there was no way in hell she was going to admit it. Around them, a dozen different conversations blended into one other, a jumble of overlapping words that rose and fell like waves on some distant shore.
She cleared her throat. “Do you have siblings?”
“No.”
“What about kids?”
He hesitated. “No.”
The slight hesitation piqued her curiosity, but she let it go. She wasn’t here to probe into his personal life. Her interest extended only insofar as identifying common points of reference that might stir his empathy. If he’d never been solely responsible for anyone other than himself, how could she make him understand what it was like to pour everything that you were into another human being?
Nine years ago, when their parents had died, Anna took over her sister’s care. Sure, she’d had some help and guidance from family friends, but the bulk of responsibility rested in her hands. She’d helped Klara navigate the craggy landscape of childhood and adolescence, maneuvering around the land-mines of drugs and alcohol, sexting and bullying, eating disorders and body image issues. The one thing she had never worried about was Klara’s education. She’d erroneously assumed that her sister would be as dedicated to carrying on their parents’ legacy of intellectual achievement as Anna was herself. They were, after all, the children of two nuclear physicists who’d fled to the West during the chaotic collapse of the Soviet Union. Whatever success the Lazarevs managed to attain in the U.S., they attributed entirely to hard work and education.
Anna couldn’t imagine how disappointed their parents would be now. The enormity of her failure to guide Klara in the right direction settled like an unfamiliar weight on her shoulders.
“What about you?” Ethan said. “Any kids?”
Besides her sister? “No.”
“Because you haven’t had the opportunity, or you don’t want them?”
Well, that was blunt. Bordering on rude. Just because she’d taken a few potshots at him and his ridiculous ideas about education, did that give him the right to ask insolent questions about things that were absolutely none of his business?
She suppressed the urge to get up and walk out. There was too much at stake to give in to a fit of temper. She hadn’t accomplished what she’d set out to do, which meant she had to bite her tongue and at least try to play nice. Like it or not, she still needed Ethan’s help.
“Look, Ethan, I respect that you have strong opinions about this issue. And I admire the fact that you’ve taken concrete steps to put your convictions to the test.” She studied his face, trying to gauge whether her stab at diplomacy was having any effect. “I’m not asking you to change that. All I’m asking is that you consider making an exception in this one particular case. Surely one Fellow more or less won’t impact your experiment. But for Klara, for me, it would make a world of difference.”
He rested his elbows on the table. “By ‘making an exception,’ you mean kicking your sister out of the program?”
Put that way, it did sound a bit harsh. But rather than argue semantics, she made a last-ditch effort to salvage the situation. “I’m happy to repay whatever money the Foundation already spent on Klara. With interest.”
She’d been saving for a down-payment on a house, but with the way real estate prices were rising in southern California, she suspected she’d be renting for another decade or two. Paying off what amounted to a ransom for her sister’s future was probably better use of the money anyway.
“No one needs to know,” she added. “You’ll have the entire grant back, available for any other applicant you choose.”
He was shaking his head before she even finished speaking. “It’s not a matter of money.”
“Fine. Then you tell me what it’ll take to get Klara out of this.”
His gray eyes darkened and dropped to her lips, then traced a slow path down the rest of her body—or whatever was visible above the table. She shivered and felt her nipples tightening beneath the thin cotton of her shirt. Surely he wasn’t implying…
“Sorry to disillusion you,” he said. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed when his gaze returned to hers. “But this isn’t my call to make, or yours. The Foundation has a committee that selects applicants. If the committee members offered Klara a Fellowship, it means they saw something extraordinary in her. They’re not going to reverse their decision.”
“But—”
“No.” His voice hardened. “I will not interfere with the process.”
She bit her lip and looked away. For nearly two weeks, since Klara first dropped the bomb about leaving school and moving to San Francisco, Anna had been racking her brain to figure out a way of getting her sister released from the program. Ethan was her last hope.
Why wasn’t he cooperating? He had nothing to lose. By accepting Anna’s proposal, he even stood to make some money. Not as much as he’d get if whatever product her sister developed became the next Uber or Scribd. But the odds of having a successful startup straight out of the gate were pretty slim.
So why was he digging in his heels?
“Anna.” He shifted, drawing her attention back. “I understand that you’re worried. But this is a great opportunity for your sister. She’ll have access to some of the best minds in business and technology today. Whatever guidance and support she needs, the mentors and Fellowship staff can provide. And it’s not like she’s moving to another planet. San Francisco is just an hour’s flight away from L.A.”
“I know.”
“She can go home whenever she wants. And you and your family can visit her here.”
She blinked against the unexpected sting of tears. Nearly ten years, and the grief still grabbed her, like a giant vise squeezing her chest. Not always. There were days, even weeks, when she didn’t think of her parents. But then she’d be walking down the hall to her office in the Math Sciences Building, mentally working through some new proof, and catch a snippet of conversation in Russian. And she’d stumble, knowing even as she turned her head that it couldn’t possibly be her parents talking. Or on the rare occasion when she and her sister enjoyed a quiet dinner at home, Klara might tilt her head and smile in a way that reminded Anna of their mother. And the sense of disbelief would wash over her again, as fresh and sharp as the day she’d received the call from the hospital.
She forced her attention back to the present. “There is no other family. Just me.”
“What?”
“Our parents died when Klara was t
en. It’s been just the two of us since then.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “What happened?”
“Car accident. A semi crossed the center divider and hit them head-on.”
“You and your sister weren’t in the car?”
“No.” She smoothed the napkin over her lap. “Klara was at a friend’s house. I was already living in L.A. I brought Klara back with me after the funeral.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-three. I’d just accepted a tenure-track position.”
“At twenty-three?” His eyebrows rose. “Isn’t that kind of young?”
She shrugged. “I skipped a few grades.”
“So did I,” he said. “But still…”
“I got lucky. UCLA was looking to expand its math department right about the time I was finishing my PhD.”
“What, having Terence Tao wasn’t enough?”
His sardonic remark pierced her melancholy. “You know Terry?”
“I’ve heard him talk.”
Tao was a legend in the math world. A child prodigy, he won his first medal at the International Mathematical Olympiad by age ten. By twenty-four he was a full professor, and now, some sixteen years later, he was the man all other mathematicians aspired to be. Plus he was a genuinely nice guy.
“Terry was the one who convinced UCLA to hire me.” The job had proved a godsend. From the start, it provided Anna with both the time and the means to care for her sister.
“That’s quite an endorsement,” Ethan said. “I guess brains run in your family.”
A compliment, from him?
Their waitress approached, saving Anna from having to respond. “Any dessert today?”
Anna declined, and watched silently while Ethan dealt with the bill.
As they emerged onto the street, Anna took a deep breath. She’d be fine once she left all this behind and got back to her real life in L.A. The apartment would feel empty without Klara there, but like Ethan said, she’d still be able to visit. And maybe in a few weeks or months Klara herself would decide that the Fellowship program wasn’t what she wanted after all. Or maybe Anna would learn to come to terms with the fact that her sister was all grown up and able to make her own decisions, and her own mistakes, and there was nothing Anna could do about it except be there to pick up the pieces when things fell apart.
She shivered in the cool evening air. The light was just beginning to fade, but the temperature had dropped sharply in the last few hours. Had she known their meeting would turn into dinner, she wouldn’t have left her sweater and bag in the trunk of her car.
“Here.” He settled his jacket over her shoulders and silenced her protests by wrapping his arm around her, effectively anchoring the jacket in place.
His scent—spicy and woodsy—infiltrated her senses. The warmth of the lightweight wool was nothing compared to the heat of his body. She trembled beneath the weight of his arm, the pressure of his palm, the feel of his solid muscles pressed against her side.
“Still cold?” He pulled her closer, either not hearing or else ignoring her whispered “No.”
If he weren’t so stubborn, narcissistic, and just plain wrong, she might have actually enjoyed this whole interlude. Okay, maybe not the part where he’d shot down her proposal. And certainly not his criticism of education—which in her view was a fundamental right, as much a necessity to human life as air and water. In dismissing the entire system of higher education, he might as well have said that Anna herself was irrelevant.
But at this moment, with his hard body plastered against her, logic was the last thing on her mind. Her stupid hormones were going to town, pumping out adrenaline, jacking up her heart rate, sensitizing her skin, shooting sparks along her nerve endings like fireworks to celebrate the end of a long and lonely dry spell.
His voice stirred her hair. “Did you drive?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll walk you to your car. Where is it?”
For a second, she couldn’t remember. Her brain simply shut down, as if finally succumbing to the anxiety and fatigue of nearly two weeks’ worth of sleepless nights. Add to that the long drive up from L.A. earlier today, the packing and unpacking of Klara’s belongings, the stress of confronting Ethan—it was no wonder she was having trouble thinking.
“Anna.” His thumb stroked her arm, and she felt it all the way down to her core.
She glanced up. His eyes seemed darker now, gunmetal gray almost entirely swallowed by black pupil. He moved slightly, angling his body toward her, his broad shoulders blocking out her view of the street beyond. She could hear his breathing, feel his heart beating through his chest wall. When had her hand drifted up to rest over the breast pocket of his shirt?
She parted her lips to say something. This was crazy. She’d just met him. All they’d done was argue. Okay, maybe they’d shared a meal and few confidences, but that didn’t mean they were embarking on anything more. He might be sexy enough to rev up her long-dormant libido and short-circuit her mental processes, but he was also completely wrong for her.
She wasn’t looking for a one-night stand, and anything more was simply out of the question. Their beliefs were too diametrically opposed. Not to mention the fact that they lived four hundred miles apart. Even if it took only an hour by plane, there was still the hour drive to the airport on each end, and the hour or two it took to get through check-in, security, boarding, and sitting on the tarmac waiting for air traffic control to give the green light. An entire day wasted in transit on a round trip wasn’t something she could afford, at least not on a regular basis.
And that wasn’t even touching on their difference in status. The U.S. might be a great melting pot, but in reality, net worth separated Americans as effectively as class barriers and ethnicity divided people elsewhere in the world. Anna remembered what it was like when she and her parents had first immigrated from Russia, with nothing but a suitcase each, and a fistful of emergency cash they’d managed to scrape together through a fire sale of everything else they’d owned back in Moscow. These days, Anna felt lucky to be earning a comfortable living, and tenure gave her the kind of job security that few people enjoyed. But there was still a huge gap between not living paycheck to paycheck, and having the kind of wealth that allowed Ethan to drop a million a year on some cockamamie social experiment and call it philanthropy.
He bent his head toward her. The closer he came, the less it all seemed to matter. Rational thought simply melted away beneath the intensity of his gaze.
His lips brushed hers. Lightly, as if he were afraid of spooking her. Once. Twice. Her lids felt weighted, too heavy to keep open. His mouth settled over hers, firmly this time, tongue licking along the seam, seeking entry. He tasted like cherries and plums with a hint of spice, like the Cabernet they’d been drinking. Except the wine hadn’t made her heart race and her skin burn.
Time lost its meaning. Her fingers found his jaw. Prickly evening stubble gave way to soft hair that brushed his shirt collar in back.
He groaned, changing the angle of the kiss. His hand skimmed her spine, stopping briefly at her waist, before dropping farther down, beneath the jacket, palming her bottom and lifting. Off-balance, she grabbed for his shoulder. She could feel him against her stomach, hard, throbbing, insistent. A shudder rippled through her.
The sound of laughter filtered through her consciousness.
She jerked back, eyes flying open. What was she doing?
His hand tightened on her backside, pressing their lower bodies together. Liquid fire streaked through her belly, pooling in her pelvis. For a moment she nearly succumbed to the lure of those tempting lips just a breath away.
Then common sense prevailed. She gulped and pushed against his chest.
“Anna.” He managed to imbue that one word with all the hunger and frustration she still felt.
“No.” Her throat felt dry, raspy. She licked her lips and tried again. “Please, Ethan. Let go.”
He was slow to resp
ond. She felt him exhale, and then his fingers loosened, easing her down until she was standing with both feet planted firmly on the pavement. She stepped back, clutching the jacket to keep it from sliding off. With unsteady fingers, she pulled the lapels closed over her chest.
Behind them, the pub door opened and several men in business suits spilled out.
“Come on,” Ethan said, settling an arm across her shoulders. “Let’s get out of here.”
Her feet moved on auto-pilot. After half a block, she realized they were heading back toward his office. “Wait,” she said. “I’m parked near Union Square.”
He nodded and directed their steps left, toward New Montgomery Street. “Where are you staying?”
“The Inn on Castro.” She glanced sideways at him. “Why?”
“I’d like to have breakfast with you.”
She stumbled, grateful for the support of his arm. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
“I don’t recall asking.”
“Oh.” For someone who was usually quick on the uptake, she felt completely disoriented, as if her brain were operating in a fog. “What exactly does breakfast entail?”
“Coffee. Fruit, eggs, pancakes. Whatever you usually eat in the morning.”
She chewed her lip.
“I’m not proposing a lifetime commitment here,” he said. “Just a meal and some friendly conversation.”
She wasn’t sure what else he wanted to discuss, especially after he’d nixed her ideas regarding Klara. Unless friendly conversation was a euphemism for something else. But hadn’t they already agreed they weren’t having sex? Which left…what?
“You’re over-thinking it,” he said. “My talk should be over by ten. I can meet you at the inn by ten-thirty.” He leaned down, so his lips were nearly touching her ear. “Unless you want to come hear me speak.”
“Where?”
