The smell of old parchment and expensive mahogany always clung to Professor Harrison Reed’s office. It was a heavy, masculine scent that mixed with the faint aroma of black coffee and the ozone of a rainy Tuesday in the city. I leaned against the doorframe, watching him.
He didn't look up from the stack of essays on his desk, but the slight tightening of his jaw told me he knew I was there.
"You're three minutes late, Miss Vance," he said.
His voice was a low rumble, the kind of sound that vibrated in the pit of my stomach. He finally looked up, his grey eyes sharp behind silver-rimmed glasses.
He looked every bit the prestigious academic—crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms dusted with dark hair, a tie loosened just enough to be dangerous.
"I prefer to think of it
