Beyond the Ivory Tower (5 page)

The phone rang. And rang. And rang.

Anna groaned and rolled over, fumbling for the receiver.

“’lo.”

“Anna?”

She winced and shut her eyes against the shards of sun coming through the open blinds. Her temples throbbed, and her mouth felt as parched as a dried-out river bed.

“Anna, are you there?”

“Hi, Bec,” she rasped. “Could you dial it down a bit?”

There was a beat of silence, and then Becca’s cautious voice, “Are you alone?”

She risked another glance around the room before closing her eyes again. “Yes.”

“You weren’t answering your cell,” Becca said. “The front desk put me through to your room. Are you all right?”

That was debatable. On a humiliation scale of one to ten, where would she rank getting drunk and throwing herself at a man who looked like the “after” shot in a workout ad?

At least she still had her clothes on. She popped one eye open to double-check. Yep. The dress was a little wrinkled, but definitely intact.

She wondered what Ethan was doing this morning. Probably thanking his lucky stars for his narrow escape. Vague memories of the night before made her cringe. Good thing she was heading back to L.A. today. She didn’t think she could face him in the sober light of day.

Which reminded her of what she’d nearly forgotten: there was a reason she didn’t date. As her sister would say, she sucked at it. Big-time.

“Listen, Bec, can I call you back?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure?”

That was the trouble with best friends: they could tell when you were lying. And they weren’t shy about sticking their noses into your business.

“Fifteen minutes,” Anna promised.

~

A hot shower, two cups of coffee, and three ibuprofen later, she felt slightly more human and in control.

“You did what?” Becca shrieked, after hearing an abbreviated version of yesterday’s debacle.

“Just a little louder, Bec. I don’t think the citizens of Kansas heard you.”

“Wow. Ethan Talbot. I can’t believe I had to drag it out of you.”

Anna switched to speaker phone and lifted her suitcase atop the bed. “It’s not like I planned it,” she said, gathering discarded items of clothing and tucking them into a laundry bag. “It just happened.”

“Period cramps just happen. Weight gain just happens. Ending a three-year-old dry spell with Ethan Talbot doesn’t
just happen
.”

“I didn’t exactly end the dry spell.” She shoved the shoes into a different bag. “He dropped me back at the hotel and left. End of story.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense. When are you seeing him again?”

“I’m not.” She debated dumping the unused box of condoms. It wasn’t as if she’d need them any time soon.

Then again….She glanced at the expiration date. Two years. A lot could happen in two years.

“Why not?” Becca prodded.

“Because I’m heading home.” What the hell. She tossed the condoms in her suitcase. “Besides, we have nothing in common.
And
he refused to release Klara from the Fellowship.”

“Anna, sweetie, sorry for pointing out the obvious, but most people view the Talbot Fellowship as something prestigious.”

“It’s not a degree, Bec. It’s not even a certificate.”

“Maybe not, but it’ll still look good on Klara’s CV.”

Anna ducked into the bathroom for her toiletry bag.

Becca’s voice followed her. “You know Klara will do what she wants, regardless of what you say. Which means you’ve got two choices: prolong the battle and risk alienating her completely, or accept what she’s doing and move on.”

Anna returned to the bedroom. “What’s option C?”

“It wouldn’t kill you to be a little more flexible. Klara’s the only family you have. Shame to lose her over something that’s going to be over in two years.”

Anna sighed. “Bec, the problem is, we’re not just talking two years. We’re talking her entire future.”

“Does the word hyperbole mean anything to you?”

Anna ignored her attempt at humor. “If Klara doesn’t finish her education, she’ll end up regretting it. Maybe not now, but someday.” She glanced around to see if there was anything left to pack.

“She can always go back to school,” Becca said. “There are plenty of returning students of all ages.”

“I guess.”

“And look on the bright side. Now that Klara’s moved out, you have the whole place to yourself. You can finally have a social life.”

“Is that supposed to cheer me up?” Anna said, zipping the suitcase.

“It’s all in the attitude. Now tell me more about Ethan Talbot.”

“Nothing more to tell.”

“Come on, you have to do better than that.”

“Seriously, Bec. I’m lucky if the guy doesn’t turn around and walk the other way the moment he sees me.”

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay, so what did you do?”

“I threw myself at him.”

“You what?”

Anna winced and lowered the cell phone volume. “I may have had a little too much to drink.” She waited for Becca’s laughter to taper off. “It’s not
that
funny.”

“Sorry. I’m just trying to picture it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk.”

“Yeah, well don’t hold your breath.” Anna lifted the suitcase off the bed. “I have to go check out.”

“Wait—that’s it?”

Anna sighed. “It’s a long drive, Bec. I’ll talk to you when I get home.”

Two hours later, her phone buzzed. She ignored it. Another hour passed before she pulled into a rest stop to use the facilities and check messages.

She read Ethan’s text while standing in line for coffee.

How are you feeling?

Oh, boy. Mortified would just about cover it. Hung over would work too. And determined to put the entire unfortunate interlude with Ethan behind her.

“Next.”

She dropped the phone back in her bag and stepped up to the counter.

Two and a half hours later, as she unlocked the front door of her Santa Monica apartment, another text came through:

You OK?

Clearly, the man wasn’t going to let it go until she responded.

She dumped her belongings in the living room and typed:

All good. Back in LA.

His response was immediate:

Didn’t get chance to say goodbye.

She sank down on the couch.

Sorry
,
she wrote.
Goodbye.

And that should have been the end of it. Except for some reason, Ethan seemed determined to go off script.

When are you back in SF?

Was he asking because he wanted to see her again, or because he wanted advance notice so he could avoid running into her? She wouldn’t blame him if it was the latter. She’d never made such a fool of herself before. The only thing that would have been worse was if he’d taken her up on her offer, and then she’d vomited all over him. Or passed out in the middle of things. Or woken up naked and alone and not remembering a damn thing about how she got that way.

Considering all the worst case scenarios that hadn’t happened, she supposed she should be grateful. But that didn’t mean she wanted to see Ethan again. Ignoring the little voice in her head that said
liar, liar
, she texted back:

Busy with work. Have to stay in LA.

Then she shut off her phone and headed for the bedroom. She squelched any residual guilt by reminding herself that they had nothing in common. If he tried texting or calling her again, she’d simply ignore him. The same way he’d ignored her emails and phone calls when she’d first attempted to contact him.

Of course he hadn’t known her then. He probably got a ton of spam and solicitations, and her messages might have gotten lost in the shuffle—assuming they ever reached him at all. Now that they’d met, the dynamics had changed.

But that was beside the point. She didn’t belong in his world, and he had no place in hers. Best to cut her losses before anyone got hurt. And by anyone, she meant herself. Because she really couldn’t imagine a man like Ethan Talbot getting too hung up on a woman whose IQ far exceeded her bra size.

She toed off her sensible flats, stripped off her clothes, and climbed into the shower. Time to get back to real life.

“You’re trending again,” Colette said, in lieu of a greeting.

Ethan put her on speaker phone and picked up his Hefeweizen. “What now?”

The aroma of pot roast wafted in from his parents’ kitchen and his stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since getting off the plane earlier today. The housekeeper had offered to make him a snack, but he declined, preferring to wait until his parents arrived.

“Some woman lambasted you on her blog,” Colette said. “It’s gone viral. Apparently you’re the devil incarnate, offering college-age kids a Faustian bargain that threatens to undermine the foundation of Western civilization. That’s a direct quote, by the way.”

He leaned back in the recliner and took another sip of beer. “No kidding.”

“Don’t laugh. It’s all over Facebook and Twitter, with hashtags like #StayInSchool and #NoToTalbot.”

“Sounds like the writer had an ax to grind.” He sighed. “It wasn’t my ex-wife by chance?”

“Not unless she changed her name to Anna Lazarev.”

“Shit. Really?”

“I’ll send you the link.”

So much for a quiet evening of good food and relaxation.

He took his time reading the article. She was eloquent, he’d give her that. But the arguments she made were also narrow-minded and elitist. Exactly the sort of garbage he’d expect from someone who had spent her entire life in the insular world of academia and as a result felt threatened by anything beyond the ivory tower.

This was the Anna who’d stormed into his office, demanding that he discharge her sister from the Fellowship program.

What happened to the other Anna, the warm, funny, adventurous Anna who’d laughed and teased and flirted with him less than a week ago?

If he closed his eyes, he could still see her teetering on those ridiculous heels, still feel the imprint of her body against his, still taste the seductive heat of her mouth.

How could she, after all that, return to L.A. and write this dreck?

He scrolled back to the top of the page and saw something he’d failed to notice earlier. The post was dated ten days ago.

She’d written this diatribe before they met. Most likely when she’d been pissed because he wasn’t responding to any of her emails and phone messages. He’d discovered those buried in his inbox and beneath piles of paper on his desk—after she’d left San Francisco. Reading the words post-factum, he found himself smiling at the imperious tone.

He wasn’t smiling now. Even if her very public attack predated their weekend together, there had been enough time since for her to take the damn thing down. Or at least write another post to soften the criticism. He didn’t expect an apology. But an acknowledgment that she might have misjudged him, that he wasn’t
the devil incarnate
, would have been nice.

A Google search for the hashtags Colette had mentioned yielded thousands of hits—on Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, other blogs, and even a few mentions on mainstream news media sites.

The one voice that seemed to be missing from all the chatter was the voice that had started it all. As if, having tossed a bloody carcass into shark-infested waters, she was now content to stand back and simply watch the feeding frenzy.

Maybe he’d underestimated her anger over her sister’s situation. It wouldn’t hurt to find out more about Klara and how she was doing. That way he could at least alleviate some of Anna’s worries about her sister.

Assuming he ever managed to get through to Anna again. Her failure to respond to his last few texts didn’t bode well. A lesser man might have taken it as a sign of rejection.

Ethan preferred to think positive. They’d made a connection, and he knew the attraction wasn’t one-sided. It was there, simmering beneath the surface, the entire time they played tourist.

But as much as he fantasized about getting Anna in bed, he drew the line at taking advantage of her alcohol-fueled disinhibition. He was an adult, not some green kid on the make who was too stupid or hormone-driven to pull back when the woman in his arms was clearly drunk and incapable of consenting to anything. If—when—they finally did come together, he wanted her fully aware of everything that was happening. Not just a willing participant, but an eager and fully engaged partner.

Later that evening, over dinner with his parents, he found himself unexpectedly revisiting the topic.

It was his mother who brought it up. “You know,” she said, “I’ve had five patients ask about you today.”

“Really?” Ethan said, pausing with the fork halfway to his mouth. “Why?”

“Well, many of them saw you grow up,” she said. “Naturally they’re interested in how you’re doing, especially now that you’re famous.”

“I’m not exactly famous,” Ethan protested.

“More like infamous,” his father said. “You’re all over the news these days—and not in a good way.”

“Daniel,” his mother chided.

“It’s okay, Mom.” Ethan pushed away his plate. “Not everyone is a fan of the Talbot Fellowship, that’s all. There’s bound to be some bad press.”

His father glanced at him over the rim of his reading glasses. “Maybe you should hire a publicist, Ethan. Have a professional clean up your image.”

“My image isn’t the problem, Dad.”

“You sure about that, son? Seems to me people would be a lot kinder if you didn’t go out of your way to piss them off. What’d you do this time?”

Ethan gritted his teeth. It didn’t matter that he was an adult, that he’d helped kick-start a handful of tech companies now worth billions, that he was the managing partner of one of Silicon Valley’s most successful venture capital firms, that he was being courted by the boards of multi-national corporations, non-profits, and think-tanks—all eager to tap into his expertise and track record for success. His father was a perfectionist who would find fault with Ethan no matter what.

When Anna asked if he was close to his parents, Ethan had waffled on the answer. While he respected his father, no one would ever accuse them of being bosom buddies. His mother was forever trying to smooth the waters. If not for her, Ethan doubted he’d bother visiting Clifton Park.

“I didn’t do anything,” Ethan said in response to his father’s gibe. “Other than offer some very bright kids an opportunity they might not otherwise have had.”

“And I’m sure they’re grateful,” his mom said. “Now who wants dessert? I picked up some strawberry cheesecake on the way home.”

His father groaned. “Laura, that’s exactly the kind of food that keeps me in business.”

She smiled and patted his hand. “A little indulgence every once in a while won’t kill you.”

She rose and started clearing the table. Ethan got up to help, but she waved him off. “I’ve got this, sweetie. You and your dad relax and catch up.”

The silence stretched for several minutes after she disappeared into the kitchen. Daniel finally cleared his throat. “She’s something, isn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“She worries about you.”

Ethan glanced at his father. “I’m fine.”

“Let me rephrase that. She worries about you being alone.”

“Ah.” Ethan leaned back in his chair. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m rarely alone.”

His father frowned. “I’m not talking about your Hollywood floozies.”

“Floozies? Wow, Dad. I didn’t think people still used that word. I think the politically correct term would be female companion.”

His father’s frown deepened. “Don’t give me that politically correct bullshit, son. You know exactly what I mean. You’re forty years old—”

“Not for another six months.”

“It’s time you settled down. With someone who’s interested in
you
, not just your money.”

Ethan winced at the dig. His father had been right on the mark about Stacy, Ethan’s ex-wife. Unfortunately, Ethan had brushed off the warning—and paid for that hubris many times over.

“I hear you, Dad. And let me assure you: I don’t repeat my mistakes.”

“Good.” Daniel nodded.

From the kitchen, Ethan could hear the clatter of silverware. He wondered if he should go and see if his mom needed help after all.

His father’s voice stopped him. “While we’re on the subject…some grandkids would be nice, too.”

Ethan sucked in a breath. Thought about the years he’d spent arguing with Stacy about this very thing. She hadn’t wanted children. In the end, he supposed it was a blessing. The divorce had been nasty enough, even absent the issue of custody.

Could he see himself trying for kids with someone else?

Anna’s image flashed across his brain.

Ridiculous. She wasn’t even talking with him. There was no guarantee she’d agree to see him again, let alone invite him into her bed. But if she did…

He grinned, imagining. “I’ll see what I can do, Dad.”