Professor Feelgood (Page 30)

“Shut up,” I hiss under my breath. “You shut your filthy mouth.”

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“Serena,” I mutter to myself as I approach the Whiplash building, “I’m sorry about being late, but you see, Professor Feelgood is actually my old nemesis from high school, and last night somewhere between revealing his real identity and calling me a self-righteous bitch, Jacob Stone put a whammy on me, so now, everything in my life is turning to crap.”

I know I can’t logically blame my current run of bad luck on Jake, but since he came back into my life, it seems as if every good thing is counterbalanced by something shitty, so I’m pointing a finger in his direction. He’s like my personal, one-man wrecking ball.

As if to underline my theory, I’m waiting at the crosswalk opposite the Whiplash building when a bike messenger flies past, hits a nearby pothole, and splashes filthy street water all over me. I squeal in surprise and say several curse words regarding maternal fornication as the grossness drips down my face.

By some minor miracle, the teenage girl standing right beside me is completely spared. Of course, she has an umbrella. It’s bright yellow and features a bunch of smiley emoticons. I despise it intensely.

When I take off my glasses and shake the murky water off, she looks at me with amusement trying to pass itself off as sympathy. “Wow. Bummer, dude.”

I give her a glare. “Ya think?”

She turns away a second too late to hide her smile, but the happy faces on her umbrella taunt me with their nylon grins.

I grumble under my breath and hobble across the road. After I throw my glasses into my bag, I don’t even bother trying to shield my head anymore, because seriously, what’s the freaking point? Rain streams down my hair and over my face as I limp the last few yards to the Whiplash lobby. When I finally step into the warm dryness of the elevator, I sigh as I drip onto the patterned carpet.

Right before the doors close, Devin Shield steps inside.

I look up at the ceiling and try to stop myself from screaming in frustration. Dear God, why are you torturing me like this? Whyeeeeee?

Devin does a double take when he sees me.

“Holy hell, Tate, are you okay? Did you get mugged or something?”

I push my shoulders back and try not to look as defeated as I feel. “I had a minor altercation with a stairwell. I’m fine.”

“Really? You’re bleeding.”

“What?”

He touches my forehead then shows me his finger. “See?”

“Huh,” I say, staring in confusion at the congealed red glob. “Unusual I’m bleeding from the head considering you keep stabbing me in the back.”

He ignores that and reaches into his jacket to pull out a clean handkerchief. Predictably, it’s embroidered with his initials. “Here.”

I’m about to take it when he pulls it away. “Actually, you know what? As much as I’d like to be a gentleman right now, because honestly, you look like you just crawled out of a dumpster, this is Egyptian cotton, and blood stains would ruin it.” He puts it back in his pocket. “Sorry.”

I give him a death-glare. “Seriously?”

He shrugs. “These things are a hundred bucks each, babe. Can’t just give them away.”

“Sure. Unlike company secrets, right?”

He trots out an unconvincing surprised expression. “Uh … What was that?”

Thank God the doors open, and I stalk away from him before my anger can manifest into violence.

I hobble over to the coat rack and deposit my dripping trench with the collection already there. Because my hair is sopping wet, my entire outfit is soaked. Guess I picked the wrong day to wear a black bra under a white blouse. Not that it was a conscious choice. Being late meant grabbing the nearest clean clothes.

When I turn to go to my desk, I find Joanna standing a short distance away, gaping at me.

“Oh, my God. Were you mugged?”

I limp past her to my desk. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You’re drenched!”

“I’m aware.” I collect my notebook and pen in preparation for attending the meeting I should have been chairing forty minutes ago. Being so late has put me under the gun.

“Are the briefing kits I prepared yesterday already in there?” I ask Joanna.

She grabs a handful of tissues and attempts to soak up some of the water dripping off my face. “Yep. As well as sales projections and a basket of muffins from that little bakery in SoHo. Everything’s ready to go.”

“Great. Also, my phone was stolen.”

“I’ll try to track it down.”

“Thanks. Let’s do this.”

“Uh … Ash? Do you maybe want to clean yourself up first?”

“No time. I only have fifteen minutes to brief everyone before Jake arrives.” I head toward the conference room, and Jo falls into step beside me. “I’m not sure I can encapsulate the awesomeness of the professor and the accompanying terribleness of his real-life persona in that time, but I’m happy to give it a try.”

She keeps dabbing me as we walk. “So, you’re going to tell people your history? Is that a good idea?”

I think for a second. “Actually, no. If I admit we know each other, either I look like an idiot for signing him before I figured out who he really was, or it will seem like I colluded with him to get the biggest advance possible. Either way, it looks bad. Let’s just keep it between us.”

“Is Jake onboard with this plan?”

“Uh, good point. Can you text him? Tell him I asked to keep our history under wraps for now.”

“Got it.” She taps out the text and hits send. “Done.”

“Excellent,” I say as my stomach becomes weird. “Crisis averted.”

“Sure. Good job.” Jo’s trying to be supportive, but I’m not buying it. Even she knows that having Jake here is going to be like swimming with a shark. There’s a good chance that at some point, he’s going to turn of me.

“Oh, I do have some bad news,” Joanna says.

“Not surprising. That seems to be the theme for the day.”

“I called the bar where you left your coat last night, and they said they couldn’t find it. Seems like someone might have taken it home.”

“Why wouldn’t they? That coat was freaking fabulous.” I get a twinge of sadness, but I have no time to dwell on it now. There’s more at stake today than mourning a coat.

When we reach the glass doors, I push them open and greet the small assembled group. A few of them do a double take, but I don’t have time to stop and explain. “Good morning, everyone. Sorry I’m late. Please take a moment to flick through the info packs in front of you, and then we’ll get started.”

As I sit next to Serena at the head of table, I glance over to find her mouth agape.

“Good God! What happened? I knew something was wrong when I heard you scream and then the line went dead. I’ve been calling your phone every few minutes, but got no answer. Were you mugged? Are you alright?”

Man, why does everyone think I was mugged. How bad do I look?

“I’m fine, Serena. I need a new phone, but otherwise––”

“They mugged you for your phone?! Shameless.”

“No, I just––” I take a breath. “I’m fine, really.” I don’t sound convincing, and with good reason. Despite trying to act normal and get on with the task at hand, there’s a deep ache that starts in my elbow and goes down to my knee where I hit them on the stairs. Not to mention the dull pounding that’s taken up residence behind my left eyeball. People are throwing questions at me about what happened, but I cut them off.