Beyond the Ivory Tower (11 page)

Ethan might have been a playboy in the past. And after seeing him with Colette Broussard at the university donors’ event, Anna had been quick to jump to some obvious—and ultimately erroneous—conclusions. But now, having gotten to know him, she recognized the bone-deep integrity that was as much a part of him as his gray eyes and quick wit.

Whatever other negative qualities he might possess, at least on this score Anna could rest easy.

She fell asleep, arms curled around her pillow, wishing it were Ethan instead.

Being apart was lonely. But being together was proving even more problematic, thanks to the tabloid press that simply wouldn’t leave them alone. Snippets continued to appear about Ethan and his new “love interest”—along with candid shots of Anna leaving the grocery store, or biking to work, or standing at a podium. Interspersed with these were photos and juicy tidbits dredged up from Ethan’s past.

This was exactly the kind of notoriety that marked the difference between Ethan’s world and hers. Where he seemed to brush the coverage off as a nuisance, she felt exposed, violated, and increasingly resentful over the effect this publicity was having on her everyday life.

She’d already had to endure several uncomfortable interactions with colleagues in the past few weeks. They’d seen her name linked to Ethan’s, and questioned her judgment in embarking on a personal relationship with a man they still considered “the enemy.”

The fact that she’d quietly taken her blog offline after returning from her last trip to San Francisco also hadn’t gone unnoticed. She lost count of the number of times she’d been stopped in the hallway of the Math Sciences Building by someone eager to lecture her on the importance of standing her ground in the fight for academic freedom. Never mind that this particular issue had less to do with academic freedom than a very personal need to express her frustration with a situation that was beyond her control.

Three weeks after they were first spotted leaving the Mark Hopkins Hotel together, Ethan flew down to L.A., ostensibly to make concrete arrangements with the office of corporate and foundation relations for the three scholarships he’d promised to fund.

Word of the donation spread through the university grapevine. Anna found herself fielding the same questions over and over regarding her role in Ethan’s apparent about-face.

“Sorry,” she kept saying. “I have no inside information.”

Maybe she ought to have the phrase tattooed on her forehead. She was so fed up with all the attention that when Ethan offered to meet her at a small café off campus, she jumped at the opportunity to escape.

Profeto was far enough from her office to minimize her risk of bumping into any colleagues, but close enough that she could walk over, have coffee, and still make it back in time for her afternoon meetings.

At least that was the plan.

She entered the café, pausing to scan the dim interior. Just as she spotted Ethan rising from a corner table, the door opened behind her.

“Hey, Anna!” a voice called from behind. “Over here.”

She glanced over her shoulder, only to be blinded by a rapid-fire burst of lights.

A hand closed around her upper arm, and instinctively she jerked back.

“It’s me,” Ethan murmured, hustling her toward the back exit.

She didn’t question what he was doing, or how he’d managed to reach her so quickly. She simply followed, trusting him to lead the way.

Heads turned as they emerged onto the street and dashed around slower moving pedestrians.

“Ethan!” The paparazzo trailed after them. “How about a quote? Are you in favor of college now? Is it because of Anna?”

“Ignore him,” Ethan said, picking up the pace.

“Is it true you’re now paying students to stay in school?” the man called after them. “What else are you paying for?”

Ethan tensed. Anna grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the corner, where a bus was just pulling up. “Come on!”

His brows shot up. “Are you nuts?”

“Probably,” she said. “Do you have any change?”

They clambered aboard. The doors slid shut, and Anna collapsed onto a hard plastic seat toward the back. Through the dingy window, she saw the paparazzo weaving between clusters of people on the sidewalk.

“Now what?” Ethan said, joining her.

She sighed and pulled out her phone. “I guess I’ll cancel my afternoon meetings while you find out where this bus is going.”

“You mean you don’t know?”

She glanced up at his incredulous tone. “I didn’t exactly have time to stop and ask.”

Ethan frowned. “Next time, I’m bringing Jorge.”

“Your driver?”

“He works security detail when needed.”

Why was she not surprised? She watched Ethan head toward the front, then sighed again and started making calls.

~

“I’m not cut out for this,” she said later that evening.

They were in her kitchen, cooking dinner. Or rather, Anna cooked while Ethan tried not to get in her way.

“Cut out for what?” he said.

“This—” She waved her knife in a small circle before resuming the rapid staccato chop-chop-chop of ingredients on the cutting board. “The press. The speculation. The lack of privacy. It’s getting in the way of work. I need to focus on research and teaching, not playing cloak-and-dagger with stupid paparazzi.”

“Give it time, Anna. They’ll lose interest.”

“You keep saying that.” She dumped the julienned carrots in a bowl and started on the shiitake mushrooms. “What I want to know is when?”

“I can’t give you a date,” he said. “But I’m sure it’ll be soon.”

She finished mincing the garlic and ginger. “Not good enough.”

“What do you want me to say?”

She set aside the knife and slowly wiped her hands on a tea towel. “Maybe you should stay away until they do lose interest.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he growled.

“Fine.” She turned to face him, angry over the situation but also relieved by his immediate refusal. “
You
come up with a solution.”

He stared at her for several heartbeats. “Come back to San Francisco with me.”

She frowned. “How is that supposed to help?”

“Jorge can accompany you wherever you need to go. He’s good at keeping paps at bay. Maria can do the same at home. And Margaret, my regular PA, is finally back. She can run interference from the office. Handle whatever calls and questions come up.”

Anna folded her arms over her chest. “I can’t just drop everything and go to San Francisco.”

“Why not? You said classes don’t start until September. Maybe you could even go on sabbatical this fall. Professors do that, right?” He reached out, his hands big and solid and reassuring, rubbing the tension from her upper arms until she dropped her defensive pose. “Take a break. Come with me.”

She resisted the temptation to simply surrender. “Wouldn’t that just fuel the fire?”

“Maybe, for a while.” He reeled her in until she was pressed against his chest. “But eventually we’ll become old news and someone else will take the spotlight.”

“You’re asking me to put my life on hold, Ethan. It’s not reasonable.”

“I’m not suggesting that at all. You can work remotely, if you want. Skype or Facetime with your students. Dial in to meetings. Computer technology’s a wonderful thing.”

She closed her eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Drawing on the strength and confidence that seemed to radiate from his very pores. It would be so easy to give in, to allow Ethan and his staff to insulate her from the outside world.

She sighed, then stiffened her spine and pulled back. This wasn’t her. She wasn’t some weak, indecisive creature who had to rely on others for reassurance and protection. She was strong and confident in her own right, and it was time she starting acting like it. Time to shake off this uncharacteristic malaise and figure out what she wanted—in terms of her career, her personal life, and her future.

And she wasn’t going to do that by hiding behind defenses erected by someone else, no matter how well-meaning.

“Do you know what IPAM is?” She stepped away from Ethan and busied herself at the stove. “It stands for Institute for Pure and Applied Mathematics. It’s an NSF-funded institute here on campus that’s hosting a three-month, invitation-only workshop starting in September. It’s been in the works for a year and a half. I’m one of the organizers, and I need to be here for it. Researchers from all over the world are coming to participate.”

“You can’t designate someone else to attend in your place?”

She poured oil into a wok and turned up the heat. “People aren’t interchangeable.”

“I’m not saying they are—”

“The whole point of participating in a workshop like this is so you can collaborate with other researchers. I can’t work in a vacuum. Tossing around ideas with colleagues is often what leads to big breakthroughs.”

“What about your promise to mentor the Talbot Fellows?”

She kept her eyes on the wok, adding one ingredient at a time. “I emailed them. They’re happy to come down to L.A. for that.”

“So you don’t plan to go to San Francisco at all? Not even to see your sister?”

“Klara’s flying in for a weekend to meet up with some friends.” She stirred everything with a wooden spatula. “I’ll see her when she visits.”

“What about me?”

Ah, now there was a tricky question. Anna bit her lip. “You could come too, if you want.”

He was silent for so long that she glanced his way. He was staring at the counter, frowning.

“What if I talked with some people at Stanford?” he said abruptly. “Would you consider a position there?”

She nearly dropped the spatula. “I have tenure here,” she said, recovering. “Do you know how tough that is to get?”

“You did it once, I’m sure you could do it again.”

She set aside the spatula and concentrated on whisking together the sauce. “I have a big research group here. Next year, I have a chance at a chaired professorship. There’s no way I’d be able to replicate all that in San Francisco.”

“You could,” he said. “If you really wanted to.”

“Why would I want to uproot my entire life and start over somewhere else?”

“Because there’s more to life than work, Anna.”

She poured the soy sauce mixture over the stir-fry, sending up a cloud of steam. “So?”

“So…if we’re going to build a life together, it would help if we’re at least living in the same city.”

For a moment, she thought she’d misheard. She took a deep breath and turned off the burner. “What exactly are you saying?”

“I want more than this…commuter relationship. I want to come home to you every night. I want to make love to you without worrying about getting up in the morning and flying out and then going days or weeks before I can clear my schedule enough to fly down here and do the same thing all over again.”

“Oh.” She looked at him. “That’s kind of fast, isn’t it? I mean, we haven’t known each other long…”

“We’re not exactly kids, Anna. And I know what I want.” He closed the distance between them and lifted a hand to cradle her cheek, caressing her skin with his thumb. His other hand settled on her waist. “I want you, Anna. In my life. In my house. In my bed.”

It wasn’t a declaration of love, but it was certainly more than she’d expected. But was it what she wanted? Did she even know what she wanted anymore? All the anxiety that had been building over the last few weeks settled like a lead weight in the pit of her stomach.

We’re not exactly kids
, he said. Meaning…what? That he felt the ticking of his biological clock, and here she was, as good a prospect as any? Right time, right place, compatible in bed, and not too boring a conversationalist?

What was he offering, anyway? Cohabitation? Marriage? Children?

Before she could even formulate the question, he drew her closer still, lips brushing hers. Her thoughts stalled. One minute she was full of misgivings, and the next she was rising up on her toes, clinging to his shoulders, sliding her tongue against his.

He was the one to pull back, just enough to suck in a ragged breath and lean his forehead against hers. “Say the word, Anna, and I’ll make some calls, arrange a meeting with the dean.”

Dean? What dean?

Oh. Right. Stanford. He was still talking about rearranging her life for his convenience. She sighed and stepped away, thankful when he let her go with no more than a momentary hesitation.

“What did you do?” she said. “Donate a wing?”

His smile seemed forced. “Something like that.”

She nodded, glanced at the stir-fry. Blinked. “I forgot the rice.”

“Anna…”

“You don’t mind, do you? Skipping the rice?”

“That’s fine,” he said. “If we can get back to the subject…”

“Of course. Stanford.” She opened an overhead cabinet and started pulling down dishes. “I thought you were categorically opposed to the whole university system. Now all of a sudden you’re willing to put that aside and pull strings to get me a university job?”

His lips thinned. “One thing has nothing to do with the other.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I still want to reform the system. The cost of a four year degree is outrageous, and it just keeps climbing. Kids need more options beyond the traditional bachelor’s, masters, doctorate programs. As a society, we need to start thinking outside the box. But that doesn’t mean I expect things to change overnight. And in the meantime, we still need to educate and train new doctors and lawyers and scientists so we can compete in the global marketplace.”