Frances narrows her eyes at me disapprovingly before slanting a glance at Stafford. “If that’s all, Mr. Stafford, I’ll be in touch.”
Stafford closes his briefcase. “Send me the paperwork approving the leave of absence, as well. Assuming that will be your course of action. I hope we can complete the investigation within a month or two, Professor West, but sometimes these things take longer.”
He nods at us, then strides out of the room. The door clicks shut behind him.
“What Miss Hamilton wants,” Frances tells me, “is either to seek justice for a—”
“I didn’t harass her!”
“For a perceived wrong,” Frances continues tersely, “or she’s an angry student who is using a powerful weapon against a man in a position of authority with whom she has had a contentious relationship. And while you know quite well I am strongly inclined to believe the latter, it is my duty as chairperson not to discount the former.”
I shove to my feet. “She’s doing this so she can blame me for not graduating. So her father won’t cut her off. She wants to save her own ass.”
“Dean, you can’t talk about her like that, especially in front of Stafford.” Frances sighs. “Look, I hate to lose you for a whole semester, but really, you need to stay away from the university. I meant it when I said it’s for your own protection. Would you please request a leave of absence for research purposes?”
I’ve taught at universities for the past seventeen years, first as a teaching assistant then as a professor. The only year I didn’t spend in a classroom was when my grandfather was sick. I’d hated not having the familiarity of academia, scholarship, routine. And when Liv and I were apart, I’d spent most of my time at the university because it was the only place I’d felt like I knew what the hell I was doing.
Liv.
My chest constricts. “Frances, if I can’t teach right now, I’ll go fucking insane.”
“You don’t have a choice, Dean. Between you and me… you’re banned from King’s University until further notice.”
“You don’t have the authority to ban me.”
“Do you want me to go to the board of directors to get it?”
I drag my hands over my face, hating the helplessness and anger.
“I’ll expect your request in my office mailbox before the end of the day.” Frances walks to the door. “Your leave will be effective starting on Monday, the first day of the spring semester.”
She pauses. “I’m sorry, Dean. But you need to let the process work itself through, which means you need to stay out of it or risk getting into further trouble.”
Her heels click down the hall. I go in the opposite direction to my office. Before I can think too much about it, I sit at my computer and write a terse request to Frances and the board of directors requesting a leave to conduct “unexpected and time-sensitive research with the support of my IHR grant award.”
I send the email to the board members, the chancellor, Frances, and Stafford, then print out paper copies to sign and date. I bring the letters to Grace, the administrative assistant, who assures me cheerfully she’ll get them sent out right away.
I return to my office and hammer out an email to my graduate students, explaining that I won’t be on campus this semester for research reasons but will still be available for advising and any help they need via email and phone. In a useless act of defiance, I don’t BCC either Frances or Stafford on the email.
I take some books from the shelves, shove a bunch of lecture notes and papers into my briefcase, stack folders to pick up over the weekend. I send Liv an email that I need to work late.
What I need to do is figure out how I’m going to tell her about this.
I get some work done, organizing the curricula that I now have to hand over to another professor. At seven-thirty, I shut down my computer and head to the gym. Run a couple of miles on the indoor track, lift weights, hit the heavy bag like it can fight back.
When I stop to get my water bottle, Kelsey the pit viper is waiting for me by the benches, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed.
Just what I need. Another harpy telling me what I should or shouldn’t do.
“What happened?” she asks.
“What’re you talking about?”
“When I saw Liv the other day, she looked like some pale, heartbroken waif from a Victorian melodrama.”
Goddammit. I don’t want to hear this.
“Are you guys having trouble again?” Kelsey asks.
I look at her for a long minute. I don’t have the energy to battle her. Part of me wants to break down and confess everything, for no other reason except to get it out. But I’ll never do that, not even to Kelsey.
“Kelsey…”
She blinks at me through her glasses, her blue eyes suddenly wary—as if she knows this is worse than the time Liv and I separated.
“Dean?” She grabs my wrist. “What happened?”
“It’s…” I don’t even know what to say. “Look, I love you, right? You know that.”
“You’d better fucking love me considering how much crap you put me through,” she replies tartly.