Out Of The Ashes (17 page)

“Hello,” a young, pixie-faced woman at the desk in the waiting area of the Psychology building greeted me. “Can I help you?”

Her short bob haircut wobbled cheerfully as she spoke.

“Hi,” I said, smiling at her. “I wanted to apply for the assistant position I saw advertised online.”

“Perfect,” she said brightly. “Stay right here, I’ll get the department head, Professor Schilling.”

Oh. I hadn’t expected an on-the-spot interview, but I’d definitely take it.

A minute later, she returned from the back offices located behind her desk. “He’ll be right out.”

“Thank you.”

I looked around the tiny space, zeroed in on a comfy looking overstuffed chair with a table of magazines beside it. I sat, opening up a copy of Psychology Today. I flipped through the magazine, scanning an article about what happy people do differently than the rest of us depressed junkies.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Schilling,” a deep male voice greeted me.

I looked up, only to be shocked into silence by the sudden appearance of the owner of the voice.

A department head is supposed to be old, with graying hair or none at all, a serious weathered face, and suspenders.

Right?

Dr. Schilling was young, mid-thirties at the most. He was extremely handsome, with thick, wavy black hair and smooth olive skin. He spoke with a slight Latino accent, and he definitely wasn’t wearing suspenders. There was no need to hold up his casual gray slacks because they fit him perfectly. The pinstriped button-down he was wearing gave the slightest hint of a well-defined chest underneath.

Um, okay. I swallowed thickly.

“Hello,” I said as steadily as could be expected. “I’m Paige Hill? Here about the assistant position?”

He smiled, flashing perfectly straight white teeth, and stuck out his hand. “Hello, Paige. Please come back to my office so we can get to know each other better.”

I stood up and followed him back toward the office, wondering how I got lucky enough not to work for a crotchety old professor-type.

“Please, Paige,” he instructed. “Have a seat.”

There were two comfortable looking chairs located just in front of his massively messy oak desk and I chose the one on the left. Professor Schilling perched on the corner of the desk, clasping his hands around a knee.

“So, Paige,” he began. “This position will include some filing and shelving work, maybe some overflow typing of what my secretary can’t get to. Mainly, though, it will involve running errands for me around campus: deliveries to other professors, book pick-ups from the bookstore, etc.”

He leaned forward, studying my face for a reaction. “How do you feel about that?”

“Oh,” I said confidently. “I can do all of that.”

“Good,” he leaned back and smiled, a hundred-watt grin that probably made his female students (and some of the males) melt into a puddle at his feet.

“Tell me about yourself, Paige. Are you a Psych major?”

“I am,” I answered. “As of this week, actually. I just declared. I think working in this office would be a great way to get me acclimated to the world of Psychology. I’m interested in working with troubled and traumatized kids one day. I have some experience working in an office. I used to work summers at my dad’s real-estate firm. I’m twenty years old and a freshman, and I live off-campus. Most of my classes are early mornings, so I can work any afternoons you need.”

I finished in a rush, hoping I sounded right for the job.

“You sold me when you said you were interested in working with children,” Dr. Schilling said, still beaming. “You’re hired. You can start tomorrow.”

I practically skipped the entire short distance from campus back to my apartment. When I came bursting through the door, Gillian looked up from her spot on the couch, where she was watching Victor and Nikki’s hundredth wedding ceremony.

“I take it you got the job?”

“Yes!” I replied. “And Dr. Schilling is going to be awesome to work for. Wait until you see him, Gillian.”

She nodded knowingly. “He’s hot, huh?”

“Definitely easy on the eyes. But also super nice and agreeable.”

“All desirable characteristics in a boss,” she said, munching on a handful of pretzels.

She smiled smugly. “I can’t wait to see what Clay says about this.”

My face fell. “Oh. Well, maybe I’ll leave out the part where I say my boss is a Latin lover.”

Gillian moaned and fell back, pulling a polka-dotted throw pillow over her face. “He’ll find out. Don’t worry.”

Clay

It’d been a few weeks since we’d run into Hannah at the diner, and all was quiet on the bitch front. That’s how I referred to Hannah these days, because I didn’t feel she deserved for me to address her by name anymore.

I was just finishing up with my last class for the day, an afternoon architecture course about computer drafting. I texted Paige to let her know I was picking her up and taking her out to dinner.

Clay: guess what?

Paige: what?

Clay: I’m on my way to get you from work. It’s date night.

Paige: *hug* really??

Clay: Get ready to go, babe. C U in a minute.

I smiled, feeling a little bit like a stud. Making Paige happy always made me feel this way, like I needed to take a victory lap around the winner’s circle.

When I arrived at the Psych offices, a lady behind a desk told me I could sit and wait for Paige to finish up. I did, choosing a soft chair and flipping through some boring magazines about Psychology.

“Clay!” Paige’s voice caused my eyes to lift from my reading material with anticipatory pleasure.

The pleasure caught in my chest when I saw who accompanied her.

The guy was clearly her boss, judging from his black slacks and fitted dress polo. So why was his hand on the small of her back, and why was he aiming a cheesy smile down at my girl? I stood up quickly, trying to control the snarl that wanted to rip from my lips.

“Clay,” she started, giving me a warning glance. Ah, Paige knew me too well.

“This is Dr. Schilling. My boss.”

The douche stuck out his hand, all kinds of professional, and said, “Very nice to meet you, Clay. Your girlfriend does a great job for me here. She’s very, ah, helpful.”

Punching him in his perfect face wasn’t an option, because Paige was counting on me. So instead, I said “Nice to meet you too, sir.”

I made sure to really enunciate the sir part. “Paige really loves working here.”

She beamed at me, and I was a winner again.

“Well, I love having her,” the asshole said.

Really? He had to have a Latin accent, too?

“Thanks, Professor,” she answered. “Is there anything else you need me to do today?”

“No, thanks Paige,” he answered. “Go have some fun. I get you back tomorrow, right?”

No, I answered in my head. You don’t.

“Yes,” Paige answered. “See you then.”

She clasped my hand tightly in hers, and we exited the office together.

We entered the hallway and as soon as the door closed behind us I exploded.

“What the hell, Paige?” I fumed. “You work for the Latin Mr. Universe, and you don’t think it’s information your boyfriend should know about?”

She crossed her arms against her chest defensively. Her eyes hardened. She was arming herself for battle.

“Actually, I hadn’t noticed what he looked like, Clay. I work for the guy. He’s just my boss.”

“Paige, you’re not an idiot. He was flirting with you right in front of me! He’s a total shark!”

“He is not, Clay! He’s entirely professional. The only one out of line right now is you!”

I took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to work. Paige wouldn’t respond well to my jealousy. I had to get a handle on my temper. But nothing made me feel as fired up as seeing that man’s hand on her.

“I’m sorry,” I admitted, reaching out for her. “I didn’t mean to fly off the handle. I want you to know that I’m not an insane, jealous boyfriend. But I do know when another guy is interested in what’s mine. And I can’t just sit by and watch him flirt with you.”

“Where am I right now, Clay?”

I studied her. “Standing in front of the Psych building with me?”

“Exactly,” she pointed out. “With you. I’m with you for a reason. I love you, Clay. So don’t go acting like a jealous jerk and ruin everything. I know that will be hard for you, but try.”

She rolled her eyes.

“What’s so hard about it?” I asked innocently. “Just finding out that my super-hot girlfriend now works for a super-hot professor. No biggie.”

She sighed. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about. He’s, like…old and stuff. No interest there. For him or me.”

“Oh, don’t speak for him, babe. I know men. The no-interest thing is one-sided. But I’m not worried.”

That was a lie. I was very worried about any man who spent time around Paige. She was electrifying and if I felt that, so did they.

“I’m taking you out for Italian tonight,” I said, changing the subject and dropping a kiss on her forehead.

“My favorite!” she squealed.

Winning.

Twenty-Five

Clay

Settled at our table in the tiny Italian place located a town away from our campus, I leaned in across the table to grab Paige’s hand. The candlelight flickering across her face turned her features delicate, almost fairy-like.

“So,” I began. “The season is winding down. We always have a big celebration at the end, and it’s especially big for Drew, Rob, and I this year because we’re seniors.”

“Yeah?” Paige smiled, settling her elbows on the table. “What do you all do?”

“There’s a big formal event. Like prom, only without all the crowns and crying.”

Paige giggled. “I see. And do you take a date to said formal?”

“Yep,” I nodded. I stayed silent, watching her.

“O-o-kay,” she urged. “So are you going to ask me, or do I have to beg?”

“I don’t know,” I murmured, rubbing the back of her hand with my thumb. “I kind of wanted to weigh my options...ouch!”

She’d slapped my hand. The girl was tougher than she looked; that slap stung.

“Ass!” she said.

“Paige,” I said quickly. “Will you come to the soccer formal with me?”

“Of course I will,” she answered, smiling sweetly.

Our server arrived, taking our orders. We each ordered something we both liked, Paige with the chicken tortellini and me with the baked lasagna, and decided to share when the plates arrived.

“So do the other guys have dates? Drew and Rob?”

“This is going to sound crazy,” I said. “But I think Drew is going to ask Gillian.”

Paige spluttered her Diet Sprite all over the tablecloth. “He is?”

“Yeah,” I laughed. “Do you think she’ll say yes?”

“Um, she’d better!” Paige answered. “My heart will be broken if she doesn’t. That would make for the most entertaining night possible. What about Rob?”

I shrugged. “You know Rob. He hasn’t mentioned anyone special. So you never know. He could show up with Rhianna for all we know.”

“Doubtful,” Paige answered. “But entirely possible.”

We chatted comfortably while we waited for our food, discussing ideas for our formal outfits and transportation for the event. The fact that I was more than comfortable enough with Paige to take her to a restaurant where all we’d be able to do was talk to each other, face-to-face, and have a meal together was nothing short of a miracle. I didn’t date. At least, I never had before.

Staring at her face across the table, I knew I wanted to have this with Paige forever. I couldn’t imagine losing her and starting over again. I’d never find another girl I’d want to share everything with like this.

“Paige,” I said suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

She got out of her chair and came around to my side of the table. She tugged at the back of my chair, and I scooted it backwards a bit. She took the opportunity to sit on my lap, swinging her legs to one side and leaning in to kiss me gently, sweetly.

“I love you, too,” she whispered. “More than you know.”

I kissed her until the server arrived with our food, not feeling even a little bit abashed. This girl had taken ahold of my heart and squeezed, ever so gently, and forced it to start beating again after a long drought of meaningless one-night stands.

She’d brought me to life, and I hadn’t even known I needed reviving.

Paige

“Good morning, Professor,” I greeted Dr. Schilling a week later. I’d arrived at work today directly after my Theater Appreciation class and a Hannah Davis verbal beat down. I was exhausted.

“Paige,” he replied. He paused on his way into his office, studying me. “You don’t look well today. What’s wrong?”

His friendly face and easy demeanor were almost too much. I’d made it through Theater Appreciation without crying, and that was no easy feat. After the fourth time Hannah hurled a derogatory insult at me, loud enough for my ears and the people surrounding us, I was ready to snap. It was either cry or turn around and punch her in the face. Managing to avoid either action was torturous.