Beyond the Ivory Tower (3 page)

“What?”

“Our parents died when Klara was ten. 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 respond. 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?”

“At the Talbot Fellowship summit. I might make a convert of you yet.”

“Right.” She snorted. “Dream on.”

“Will you come?”

Her curiosity prickled. Know your enemy—wasn’t that the adage? Besides, it might give her a chance to spend some more time with her sister before heading back to L.A. Find out first-hand what Klara would be doing for the foreseeable future, and with whom.

“Okay,” she agreed, before she could change her mind. “Where is it?”

“I’ll send a car for you.”

And just like that, the chasm between them widened. Not that Ethan seemed aware of it. Maybe in his world, a chauffeured vehicle was something everyone had.

“Be ready by eight,” he said. “We’ll do brunch afterward.”

The summit took place in an imposing stone edifice that had originally housed the Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco. Hundreds of chairs were set up theater-style in the central hall, facing a raised stage where workers appeared to be checking the video and sound system.

Dozens of fresh-faced teens mingled in the marble-floored lobby, chatting with people in business casual attire, whose name tags identified the companies they represented. Anna was surprised by how many of the names she recognized: leaders in computer technology, bioengineering, medical device manufacturing, and business. There were also members of the press, cameras and recording equipment in hand, moving from group to group.

Before she could find Klara amid the crowd, Ethan swept in from a recessed alcove near the entrance. “You came.”

“I said I would.”

“A woman of her word.” He smiled. “I like that.”

He led the way up a marble staircase to the mezzanine, which opened onto an outdoor balcony. Long tables covered in snowy linen showcased an impressive breakfast buffet. Most of the small tables scattered about the balcony were occupied, but Ethan found an empty one tucked behind a potted palm.

“Hungry?” He removed his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair.

“I thought the food came after the speeches. A reward for staying awake and clapping in all the right places.”

His laughter melted some of her apprehension. “Sounds like you’ve had some experience with tough crowds.”

“You could say that.” She set down her purse and followed him to the buffet. “Nothing like a bunch of undergraduates crammed into lecture hall first thing Monday morning.”

“We can have a real meal later,” he said. “But I could use some caffeine before the festivities start.”

Fortified with a couple cups of coffee and some light conversation, they returned to the main hall. Ethan pointed her toward an area of reserved seating near the front before disappearing into an anteroom with a woman whose name tag proclaimed her the CEO of the Talbot Foundation.

Instead of taking a seat, Anna meandered around the hall’s perimeter, keeping a sharp eye out for her sister. She finally found Klara near the back, engaged in an animated discussion with a lanky boy who didn’t look old enough to shave.

Klara stopped mid-sentence when she noticed her sister. “I’ll catch up with you later,” she told the boy, before pulling Anna to the side. “What are you doing here?”

“I was curious. Thought I’d look around, see what the summit was all about.”

Klara lowered her voice. “It’s an invitation only event.”

“I know,” Anna said. “Ethan invited me.”

“Ethan—you mean Ethan Talbot?” Klara’s eyes rounded. “No way.”

Anna wavered between annoyance and amusement. “Yes way. We had dinner last night.”

“You had dinner with Ethan Talbot?”

“Is there an echo here?”

“Sorry.” Klara slumped against the wall. “It’s just…weird, that’s all.”

“Why?”

“Well, for one thing, he’s a gazillionaire,” Klara said. “Like, cover of
Forbes
magazine rich. Plus he’s got a reputation. Ever since his divorce—”

“He was married?”

“Yeah. TMZ ran a story about it a while back. ‘Starter Wives’ or something like that.” She shrugged. “Anyway, he only dates supermodels and Hollywood stars these days. And if
they
can’t keep his attention….No offense, Anna, but you’re not exactly in his league.”

Anna stared at her sister, wishing she could refute Klara’s words. But deep down she knew Klara was right. Wasn’t that why she’d avoided looking him up online after returning to her hotel room last night?

The fact that she hadn’t Googled him back in L.A., when she’d realized that Klara was serious about this Talbot Fellowship business, was an uncharacteristic oversight. At the time, all Anna cared about was finding the right contact person—anyone in the program’s administrative office who could help her get Klara out. She wasn’t interested in the history of the Talbot Fellowship, or the background of its founder, or anything else that distracted her from her purpose.

She’d even managed to ignore the one and only photo of Ethan that she’d seen on the Talbot Fellowship’s website: a publicity shot of him on stage in an expensive-looking suit, his dark hair tousled, his lips quirked in a smile that probably had women tripping over themselves to catch his attention.
Photoshopped
, she remembered thinking.

After meeting him in person, she realized that the photo hadn’t done him justice. Yes, he was gorgeous enough to melt the panties off any red-blooded female, but it was more than that. He exuded charisma. In his presence, she repeatedly found herself caught up in flirtation, forgetting why she was there.

Back at the hotel, still high from the endorphins generated by that kiss, she resisted the urge to pick up her iPhone and remedy her previous lack of due diligence. What harm in keeping the fantasy alive just a little bit longer? In wanting to believe, if only for one night, that the real Ethan Talbot was as smart, thoughtful, and idealistic as the image he tried to portray?

And so she’d tossed and turned in bed, reliving the feeling of his arms around her, wondering what would have happened if she hadn’t pulled away.

Now she knew. What would have happened was exactly what
had
happened. Nothing. Because men like Ethan Talbot didn’t go for women like her. Or if they did, it was just a temporary aberration. The fact was, brains couldn’t compete with beauty. At least not outside of academia.

“You okay?” Klara asked.

Anna nodded, but before she could say anything, the screech of a microphone interrupted.

The woman who’d pulled Ethan away earlier stood at the podium. She was tall, blond, and gorgeous, dressed in an impeccable business suit that showcased her hourglass figure. Anna bet no one had ever told
this
woman she wasn’t in Ethan Talbot’s league.

“If everyone could please take a seat,” the woman said. “I’d like to start by welcoming you all to the Talbot Fellowship summit. We have some very exciting speakers lined up for you today. Before we get to that, however, let me introduce the man whose vision and generosity made this program possible. Ethan Talbot…”

~

“You disappeared,” Ethan said, catching up to her.

Anna’s fingers tightened on the shoulder strap of her bag. She’d almost made it to the exit. “Sorry. I sat with my sister. Nice speech, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Ethan glanced around the lobby, still filled with summit attendees heading for various break-out sessions. “So where is she? I’d like to meet her.”

“She went upstairs. Some app developer guru is leading a session in the Adriatic Room.”

“Ah. Well, maybe some other time.” His hand settled on the small of her back. “Sorry it took longer than I thought. Let’s get out of here while we still can.”

She glanced sideways at him. “You don’t need to stay?”

“No. Colette runs the show.” He steered them toward the Corinthian column-flanked doors leading outside. “I’m just here for window dressing.”

Anna sighed. Colette—as in, Colette Broussard, the Foundation’s CEO. It wasn’t enough that the woman had an exotic name and looked like Barbie. Apparently she was good at her job, too.

Ethan paused at the bottom of the stairs to check his watch. “It’s almost noon. If you don’t mind walking a bit, I know a great place for lunch.”

Ever since her talk with Klara, she’d been debating whether she should just beg off. What was the point of spending another few hours with Ethan, when it was clear nothing could come of it?

Except that standing this close to him, with his gray eyes focused on her and the spicy scent of his cologne conjuring up memories of last night, she couldn’t find it in her to utter the words. She’d be leaving for L.A. soon enough. Why not enjoy the time she had here until then? Surely they could put aside their differences for the duration of a meal…and whatever else he had in mind for later.

“All right,” she said, accepting his proffered hand.

The restaurant turned out to be inside a private club. Everything about it, from the unobtrusive staff and clink of real silverware, to the gleaming hardwood floor and gilt-framed oil paintings, spoke of old money.

“How long are you in town?” he asked, after they were seated.

“Until tomorrow morning.” She noticed his gaze had dropped to her chest. She hunched her shoulders, wishing she’d thought to pack something more formal than her usual casual wear. Over the years, she’d accumulated a closet full of T-shirts emblazoned with the logos of various math and computer science conferences, as well as math-related quips and cartoons that her students periodically gifted her. Today’s shirt bore a quote from Paul Harvey: “If there is a 50-50 chance that something can go wrong, then 9 times out of 10 it will.”

Ethan’s lips lifted. “Can you stay longer?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?” he pressed. “Are you teaching summer session?”

“No.”

“Then stay.” Her heart skipped a beat, then settled down to a slightly faster than normal pace when he clarified, “At least through the end of the weekend. I have to give an interview later today, but other than that I’m free. I can show you San Francisco.”

“I’ve been here before,” she said. No need to mention that she’d spent most of that time cooped up indoors at various conferences or with her co-authors from Berkeley and Stanford, doing research. “Besides, I have a full schedule starting Monday morning.”

He raised a brow. “Doing what? You just said you’re not teaching.”

“I still have graduate students and post-docs working on various projects. Paper and grant proposal deadlines. Colleagues visiting from all over. Research doesn’t stop just because it’s summer.” It might not sound as enticing as what Ethan was offering, but it was still her real life. Ethan was nothing more than a fleeting distraction.

The waiter brought out their orders, refilled their glasses, and after making sure they didn’t need anything else, withdrew.

“What’s your interview about?” Anna said, after a few bites of lamb and Japanese eggplant seasoned with fenugreek.

He flashed his dimples. “The cult of higher education, and how to deprogram our youth.”

Anna choked and started coughing. Ethan leaned over to tap her on the back, but she waved him off, and after a deep gulp of water was able to reassure the waitstaff who rushed to her assistance that she was fine.

“Sorry,” Ethan said. “Why don’t we stick to more neutral topics?”

“Like what?” She dabbed her lips with a linen napkin. “Politics and religion?”

He laughed. “Let’s start with what you do in your spare time. When you’re not teaching or doing research.”

~

They spent the afternoon together, walking along the Embarcadero, then climbing the Filbert Street steps, and meandering through the lush hidden gardens along the way to Coit Tower. Periodically they stopped to admire the views, and then the murals inside the tower, before heading down the Greenwich steps on the east side of Telegraph Hill, toward Lombard Street.

Despite Anna’s claim that she had seen San Francisco before, he got the sense that she’d never taken the time to enjoy everything the city had to offer. Of course really exploring it all would take more than one day. He wished he’d been able to convince her to extend her stay, but she’d been adamant about returning to L.A. as scheduled. Which left tonight to work on changing her mind.

Despite their disagreements over the Talbot Fellowship, he felt more drawn to Anna than to any other woman since his divorce. She was smart, and had an off-beat sense of humor that made him laugh more in just a few hours than he had in the entire last month. Her enthusiasm and lack of pretension were a breath of fresh air. Through her unabashed appreciation of everything she saw—the hairpin turns of Lombard Street, the short cable car ride down Hyde Street to the waterfront, the panoramic views of the bay from Fisherman’s Wharf—Ethan felt as if he were renewing his own love affair with the city that had become his adoptive home over the last two decades.

And then there was her body. The way her T-shirt, with its silly slogan, accentuated her breasts. And the way those ancient jeans cupped her hips and ass. Oh, man. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get through the entire day and evening without giving in to the temptation of sliding his hands along those mouth-watering curves.

It was with great reluctance that he finally said, “I have to get back to the summit.”

Anna’s smile dimmed a little. “Your interview?”

“Yes.” His palm rested on the small of her back. Nothing but a thin layer of cotton separated him from where he really wanted to be. He hooked his thumb beneath the hem of her shirt where it had ridden up from the low-rise waist of her jeans. Her bare skin was soft. Warm. He felt the fine tremor that ran through her, the soft catch of her breath. But she didn’t protest as his thumb stroked back and forth. Damn. He wished he’d never agreed to the stupid interview. Why had he let Colette talk him into it?