“So, you’re interested in potentially making a switch to a new publisher, is that right?”
I sipped my water, startled by the abrupt dive right into the topic at hand. “Yes. As I mentioned on the phone, I’ve been with Lantern for several years now, and while not ungrateful, we seem to be have reached an impasse at the moment. I have three books languishing on my computer, waiting to be published.”
“Well, if you think you’d like to come on over to the dark side—I mean, Archer & Stowe,” he winked, “I can certainly help with that. I’ll start the ball rolling when I get back to the office and see about getting you a contract.”
Really? Just like that? “Thank you,” I said, still not quite believing it. “I’d appreciate that a great deal.”
“Not to throw you for a loop, and please, keep this on the down low—but have you considered self-publishing?”
I nearly spit out the water. Self-publish? I knew his offer had been too good to be true. “No, I can’t say that I have. Isn’t that mostly a market for romance novels? That big of a genre shift might shock my readers just a little bit, don’t you think?”
Sean laughed. “That might indeed. Yes, romance does well in self-publishing but recently, there’s been a real upsurge in sales of self-pubbed thrillers.” He glanced quickly over his left, then right shoulder, and lowered his head. “But don’t tell anyone I told you. My boss would definitely frown on that. Just something to consider—always good to have options. Oh, look, here’s our food—-doesn’t that smell divine?”
He closed his eyes and inhaled the delicious aroma of sweet pineapple and spicy curry.
We ate our lunches and chatted about publishing, occasionally sharing stories about Brian. Sean was so energetic and open and likeable that by the time we stood to leave, I felt like I’d known him for years, too.
I held out my hand to shake but he reached forward and gave me a one-armed squeeze. “So great having lunch, we should do this again some time and drag Brian along. I’ll give you a holler once I hear something.”
He trotted away, whistling to himself. My legs buzzed with newfound energy as I went in search of my car. For the first time in a while, excitement sparked when I considered my writing career and the future of my books. Sean was right—it did feel good to have options. Up until now, I hadn’t realized what a drain my stagnating manuscripts were on my enthusiasm.
That little extra spark still zinged through me when I was leaving my campus office later that day. The dual prospects of spending time with Seb and exciting new publishing options bolstered my spirits, so much that a student even stopped me after class to comment on how animated I’d been today.
I carried some of that animation down the narrow hallway that led to the atrium of my building, where students and faculty alike bustled around with books, or clustered in little groups, chatting away. I smiled and nodded hello to the familiar faces I passed, but was waylaid before I reached the door.
“David, I was just looking for you.” Stewart Craig frowned at me, making the creases in his craggy forehead all the more prominent. With his pale skin and deep-set eyes that almost looked like they were bulging at times, some of his students had christened him with the unfortunate name of Professor Fish Man behind his back.
I’d feel bad for him if I liked him better.
“Hello there, Stewart. How’s your day going so far?” I said amiably.
Stewart didn’t return my smile. “Well enough, I suppose. Do you have a moment? I need to talk to you about something.”
I glanced at my watch—a vintage silver Omega, handed down by my father—and shrugged. Professor Craig and I weren’t really the chatting sort. “Of course. Is everything okay?”
“Not here.” He turned sharply and motioned me to follow him, back down the hallway that I’d recently exited, toward his office. I heaved an impatient sigh before following after him.
Once we were safely inside, Stewart turned to face me, his usually prim mouth even more puckered than usual, like he’d tasted something sour.
“I’ll just cut to the chase. I was out taking a stroll to meet a friend for a drink on Saturday night and I saw you and that grad student leave Bellisimo’s together.”
Shit. I managed a passable smile, even though a knot started forming in my gut. “That doesn’t really seem like pressing news, Stewart.”
He shook his head impatiently. “Together. You were clearly together, David. On a…date.” He spit the last word out as though he found the whole thing exceedingly distasteful. “With a…student.”
I got the impression he’d wanted to say more, but he’d held back. A combination of emotions assaulted me, so I took off my glasses and proceeded to polish a nonexistent smudge to buy myself time to respond. Anger bubbled entirely too close to the surface right now. I needed to take a deep breath and calm down. What business of Stewart’s was my personal life, after all? The flame was quickly doused by a cold pour of shame, and my cheeks burned with mortification.
No, I’d never allow anyone to tell me how to conduct my personal business, but Stewart had a point. Seb was a student here, and even though I didn’t act directly as his professor, the power dynamic was still amiss.
“This is so unlike you, I’m not sure what to think,” Stewart said. “Are you having some kind of midlife crisis? There are ways to go about that without drawing negative attention upon the university. Is...whatever it is you’re doing with a graduate student half your age really worth the damage to your reputation? Or the university’s?”
The fact that he didn’t mention the same-sex nature of our relationship was probably what swayed me the most. That, and gnawing sensation in my chest. He was right. Up to this point, my reputation on this campus was impeccable. Ideally, I’d like to keep it that way.
I lifted my chin. “I see what you’re saying. I don’t have Seb in any of my courses—we’re more like colleagues than anything, since he edits my books—but I do take your point to heart and I plan to give the issue careful consideration.”
Stewart nodded. “Good, that’s what I’d hoped you’d say. I don’t know that we can afford a scandal here like they had at Southern Christian or Temple University.”
He even offered me a restrained smile as we shook hands and I exited his office—with a lot less spring in my step this time around.
Damn. This was exactly why I hadn’t wanted to entertain Seb’s notion in the first place. Let’s just hope any talk stopped here, before things got out of hand.
At a local bar later than afternoon, a couple of men in suits yelled at the ball game on one of the numerous TVs while at a nearby table, two women giggled loudly over martinis, while I unloaded the events of the day on my old friend, Neil Macdonough. He was a large man with a ruddy complexion. A professor friend from a more liberal university on the other side of the city.
“I never much cared for Stewart—he’s such a pompous prig—but damned if he doesn’t have a point. The thing that kills me is I knew as much, before I ever entered into this with Seb. But I chose to brush my reservations aside for once. See? This is what I get for acting impulsive, for once in my life.”