11

Cathy

Why did I say yes? Why didn’t I bolt out of that café and put a serious amount of space between us?

Because I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.

And now, walking next to Jonathan is some kind of serious torture.

I’m aware of the minutiae of his every movement. His scent. His light step on the pavement. The way the air creates a bubble around us. The way perspiration coats my skin, hot and heavy. The way I’m flustered. Not quite myself but more me than I’ve ever been here.

His arm brushes mine, his shirt material whispers against my denim jacket. I grab the strap of my backpack and glance up from the corner of my eye.

He watches me, his gaze shadowed in the darkness. My skin prickles, making me aware of the clothing I wear, the weight of my bag and the relative silence of the campus.

I glance through the windows of a nearby dorm, seeing students lounging on sofas, chatting and laughing. Living a normal life I’ve never been a part of. One glimpse of the wrong social media post and I’d be outed. A couple ahead of us strolls from the path and onto the damp grass.

Jonathan has kept up a line of conversation. His voice is a deep rumble that washes our bubble with calm. I smile and nod and respond, entranced with the picture he paints of his home town that is nothing like the hectic streets of New York where I grew up. After they split, my mother decided to stay on for the sake of her career. Dad may be a business mogul, but Mom is no slouch when it comes to business and property. Her agency doesn’t sell condos under three million. Ever since I was little, she’s been the driving force behind her own business.

But I share none of that with Jonathan.

I don’t want to even think about my parents. All I want to is to hear more about Jonathan’s home town. His parents. His brother.

“I never had a sibling,” I admit. The words slip out as though I have no control over them. I’m surprised, but not. I have no control when it comes to Jonathan.

“So you’ve always been alone?” he asks.

There’s no way he could find out about me if I admit I’m an only child. There are plenty of single children families. Not so many who are the sole heiress to billions, but the reference is broad enough that it couldn’t be used to trace my real identity.

“I have a friend now,” I say, thinking of Adeline.

Jonathan stops and another frown creases his brow. He does that a lot around me. “Now? As in, recent? What about your childhood? School friends?”

I’ve said too much already. “Of course!” I lie. “I did all sorts of typical teenage stuff. Sneaking out, pulling pranks, that kind of thing.”

“Sounds like you had a fun childhood.”

“Super fun.” His gaze burns through me, as if sensing the lies, so I turn and keep walking, hoping he’ll follow. After a while his steps catch up.

“My brother made sure I never had a dull moment. We were always getting up to something. We made Mom and Dad’s life very colorful. We played cops and robbers, knights and dragons and any childhood game we could come up with. Big yard in the country, you know. We were always outside, building forts, climbing trees. My mother used to dress us in matching clothes, so we looked like twins when we went out, to make it easier for her to keep track of us. I hated it, but looking back, those were the best days of my life.”

Cathy bites her lip as if trying but unable to stop a grin that transforms her expression. “Matching clothes, huh? That must have been a sight.”

Jonathan chuckles, the sound making my stomach flip with awareness. “The worst was when she made us wear matching bow ties. Every Sunday for church.”

“Bow ties? I’ll never be able to look at you the same way again.” The mental image of a young Jonathan with his dark curls and adorably bright blue eyes wearing a bow tie makes my stomach tighten with something akin to desire.

Jonathan’s gaze on my face is hot enough to sear my skin. “You’re such a mean woman, Cathy Evans.”

I shake my head, breathless. “Not mean. Just honest.”

But not honest enough to tell him who I really am. My stomach tightens again, but in another way. I don’t like that he doesn’t know, but knowing would change him and me. I like seeing the real Jonathan shine through. Not the professor. Just him.

I don’t want to admit the truth and lose him.

“And here I was thinking you’d say something nice about my beautiful face.” There’s an added husk to his voice and I get the feeling this conversation is taking a turn I don’t want to go down.

“I—” I feel my cheeks heat because he really does have a beautiful face and when I glance up at him, the look he has trained on me is wholly intense.

“What were you going to say about me?” he asks, leaning in close. Too close. I could lean over and kiss him if I wanted to. That’s what makes my heart thud against my ribs, my stomach clench for another reason entirely.

“That playtime is over and now it’s time to get back to work,” I say.

Thankfully we reach the steps to the library and Jonathan swipes us in. The familiar scent of books and coffee reach my nose. The few nightlights left on guide us to the reference section, but even if they were off, I know the way intimately.

I set my pack on the ground at my favorite table in the corner of the vast space and pull out my laptop. Jonathan settles into the chair next to mine. His fresh aftershave wafts over me as he leans in close. “Now, where did we get up to?”

I try to focus on the task at hand, pulling up the planning document we’ve worked on. I need to lose myself back in the work so I don’t think of impossible things. I can’t ignore these growing feelings for Jonathan. I just need to be careful not to act on them.


“We’ll need to get onto the JSTOR database,” he says.

He opens a spreadsheet of available articles and I dare to dream that one day, ours will be published alongside consummate professionals such as Thomas H. Davenport and Cathy O’Niel. It doesn’t take me long to slide closer to him as more names reel me in. I tap the screen, excitement washing away the lingering fatigue. “That one!”

He brings up the article I pointed to as we begin to read information on leveraging big data for competitive advantage, an analysis of emerging trends on business analytics. I read how various companies across different industries harness the power of big data to gain a competitive edge. I read through a comprehensive analysis of current methodologies and technologies and study how the authors provide insights into data-driven strategies in shaping market dynamics and decision-making applications.

Something pings in my head. The information is good, but for our dissertation, I need case studies. “We need the encyclopedia of business analytics and data science.”

Jonathan follows me between the shelving. It’s dark back here, but I’d know the height and width of these books in my sleep. I kneel, fingers tracing the hard cover of the tome I want before I pull it out.

The book is heavy and I’m more tired than I realized. The corner catches on the rail and I reach out to stop it tumbling onto my boot. Before it can do so, Jonathan drops to one knee and catches the book. He slots it back into place, his warm fingers brushing mine. “It’s heavier than it looks.”

I wait for him to move away, but he doesn’t. He stays there and the bubble of air settles around us once again. The world contracts.

“Jonathan…”

“Why won’t you tell me anything about yourself?” he asks.

I don’t expect him to ask that and it sends a charge of adrenaline through my system. “Because there’s nothing to tell.”

He reaches out, fingertips trailing my cheek. My heart hammers as I lean against the bookshelf, trapped between Jonathan’s hard body and the books at my back. “I don’t agree. I think there’s a whole universe of things to learn about you.”

He leans close enough that his breath mingles with mine. Close enough that if I tilt my head my lips would brush his. He stills and I vaguely realize he’s waiting for me. Giving me time to pull away if I want to.

I give into the urge rising through me and stay where I am.

Too hard to do anything else.

Don’t want to.

“It would be a small universe,” I whisper.

I shiver as his fingers find their way down the column of my neck and his palm firms on my nape. His eyes flare and I’m lost in startling blue. I can’t stop from closing that last little space between us. My lips press against his and a shivery breath steals out of him. “When are you going to learn there’s nothing small about you?”

His fingers twine in my hair, tilting my head as his tongue traces the seam of my lips. I part them on a sigh and he takes advantage, sweeping into my mouth, tasting me, touching me in a way that smashes through my sorry excuse for willpower.

I melt against him, my hands clutching his shirt as every thought scatters from my mind. All I can do is feel as a moan escapes from deep inside me. The sound seems to encourage him and he deepens the kiss.

I fall. Tumble through space as though we really are surrounded by our own universe. I never thought a kiss could be like this. I’ve known nothing compared to this.

His hand burns on my cheek and he pulls back, his chest rising and falling hard. He cups the side of my face, his eyes dark. Dangerous.

“Tell me to stop, Cathy.” His voice is rough as sandpaper and thick with emotion. “Please. Tell me now before I can’t.”

I should tell him to stop. This is a bad idea. This is the thing that will lead to more hurt. For both of us. But the look in his eyes is enough to quiet the logical part of my brain. For just this moment, I want to forget who I am and how I’m supposed to behave.

“I won’t,” I whisper.

Whatever is between us has only one ending, but before the inevitable I want to experience what it could be like for a man to want me for who I am. Not what I am. Or what is in my father’s bank account.

His thumb presses on my lips, smoothing over the skin before he leans down. His lips close over mine in a soft caress, as though I’m something precious. Something cherished. Something that he doesn’t want to break.

This will hurt. But that will come later. After this once-in-a-lifetime affair.

After I know what it’s like.

His eyes meet mine, searching, as though he needs confirmation that this is really what I want.

I want all of Jonathan. Not the professor. Not a man who’s going to be careful with my tender feelings. I bury my fingers in his shirt, clenching hard. I don’t want him to misunderstand. This is me. This is now.

He moans and swoops down, claiming my lips. His hands are everywhere. In my hair, on my face, skimming down my neck to the swell of my breasts. He massages my breast and I arch into his touch. I’m lost in a sensation I never thought I’d have. I could kiss him forever, lose myself in the heat of his body, the silk of his tongue, the roughness of his dark stubble against my smooth skin. “Come back to my apartment.”

His words barely register as a bad idea before I say the only thing I can. ‘Yes.”