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She’d thought she was healing until she saw Hez’s face again.
* * *
Savannah’s heart still throbbed against her chest wall when she entered the president’s office, and she tried to slow her breathing. Ellison Abernathy wasn’t her favorite person, and to have to face him after seeing Hez again was more distressing than usual. “Sorry I’m a little late, Ellison.”
He raised a brow and pointed his pen at the chair on the other side of his massive desk. Bookcases ran the length of the south wall all the way to the ten-foot ceiling, displaying pictures of Abernathy with politicians and carefully curated mementos of his career. The sun streaming through the mullioned windows would illuminate her distressed face, but she had no choice so she sank into the leather chair.
Abernathy’s blond hair was perfectly styled, and his trademark Armani suit was gray today. The white shirt and yellow tie finished the look. He believed clothes made the man, and she’d never seen so much as a piece of fuzz on his jacket.
He steepled his fingers. “You wanted to talk about tenure?”
She nodded. “I have seven years of strong experience already, and I’m working on a book about the Willard Treasure. It’s basically finished, but I have to verify a few details.” The boast about it going well was a stretch. While the subject was wildly exciting to her, she wasn’t certain her passion for the project came across in the manuscript.
“I hope it’s accepted before the committee meets. I know when you were hired two years ago, you’d already published a few articles about the Willard Treasure, and with your family connections, you clearly know a lot about the subject. However, Professor Guzman is here now as well. His credentials are stellar with his PhD from Yale and his strong history with pre-Columbian artifacts in general. He’s been working on cataloging the Willard Treasure, and once it’s done, it will be even more of a draw to pull in archaeology and art students. It will also increase TGU’s reputation. So it’s a toss-up between which of you would be our best expert on the treasure.”
She’d expected this, but it still hurt. The treasure had been part of her family for decades. Some of her earliest memories were of wandering the warehouse and poking through crates of terra-cotta masks and jade statues with her father. The artifacts of an entire city were in those crates, and she had dreams of seeing them set up in the museum. The problem was, much of the art wasn’t the shiny objects that drew in visitors, and the museum was still too small to display even a fraction of what the warehouse held. A new wing for the Willard Treasure would be wonderful, but that goal wasn’t high on the list for the trustees.
She moistened her lips. “You don’t make it sound hopeful. Who is on the tenure committee?”
“I’m not quite certain just yet. Any tenure committee for a history professor will, of course, include the provost and the history chair.” His left brow rose. “I’ve heard you’re friends with Beckett Harrison. You might make sure to cultivate that, um, friendship. And it wouldn’t hurt to be extra friendly to Erik Andersen.”
Abernathy’s practiced smile made her skin crawl. If he meant what she thought he did, it was a disgusting suggestion. “Beckett and I are merely friends. Not friendly in any kind of questionable way. I’m not sure what you mean, Ellison.” She kept her voice even, but she clenched her fists in the folds of her skirt.
“I didn’t mean anything by that, of course. It never hurts to help the process along by being agreeable and on good terms with anyone who holds the reins to your future. Surely you can understand that.” His gaze flicked over her legs before rising to linger on her chest. His leering smile left no doubt as to his meaning.
“Thank you, Ellison. This has been very illuminating.” Determined not to let him see the tears of rage gathering in her eyes, Savannah rose on wobbly legs. She swung on her heels and stalked out the door. It shut behind her, and she caught a glimpse of his secretary’s surprised face as Savannah stormed past. She shoved open the exterior door and stepped outside to draw in air untainted by the odious president’s presence.
That tenure position belonged to her. Ellison had practically promised it to her when she accepted the professorship. She couldn’t leave here. Too much of her past anchored her to this place, and she couldn’t leave the little grave in the family cemetery. Not yet. Maybe not ever. And now Hez had shown up. Could the day get any worse?
Chapter 2
Divorce. The ugly word hung in the classroom’s stale air after the sound of Savannah’s steps faded into silence.
Hez wanted to go after her, but it would be futile. No one ran away from problems as fast as Savannah Webster. He’d just hoped she might not think of him as a problem anymore.
He had spent the last two years getting clean, rebuilding his life, and laying the plans for the Justice Chamber. It had been grindingly hard work, but he hadn’t given up. Always in the back of his mind, he imagined how Savannah would react when she saw the finished product, how thrilled she would be by the new Hez. She would immediately see that he was a much better man than he had ever been during their marriage. Then, after a few suitably gushing words, she would melt into his arms.
He’d played that stupid scene in his head a hundred times, most recently on the drive down from his court hearing in Mobile today. Reality had actually matched his fantasy, at least for a few seconds. He spotted her a moment before she saw him, and she’d been just as breathtaking as the first time he’d seen her. The late afternoon sun caught the red-gold highlights in her shoulder-length auburn hair, and her sleeveless top showed off her toned arms.
She noticed him walking up and turned, giving him a quick glimpse of her profile—still perfect at thirty-five. Then he was looking into those big green eyes again, so close he could see the tiny flecks of gold. He’d always liked that she was tall so he could study those amazing colors in her eyes. He had been about to launch into his big planned speech . . . and the moment was over before it began. She hadn’t listened to a word he said. New Hez, old Hez—it was all the same to her.
It didn’t matter if he had changed—the past hadn’t. And Savannah still blamed him. Of course she did.
His vision blurred and he wanted a drink. Just one to take the edge off the pain. He took a deep breath and shook his head. No. He knew where that path led.
He had kidded himself that the door back into Savannah’s heart was still open a crack because she hadn’t filed for divorce. But she probably just hadn’t gotten around to it because thinking about their marriage—about him—had been too painful. She had stuffed their failed marriage into that enormous mental closet full of things she didn’t want to deal with. Until now.
A new idea hit him like a kidney punch: Did she have a boyfriend? Was that why she’d finally filed for divorce? That would also explain why she pushed him away so hard just now.
If she was seeing someone, he couldn’t blame her. The last time she had set eyes on him, he was “all messed up with no place to go,” as he admitted at the time. He was a workaholic alcoholic who had destroyed his family and his future. Why would someone like her wait around for two years on the slim chance that he might turn himself around? It would make perfect sense for her to move on.
He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Maybe it was time for him to move on too.
“Can I help you?” a reedy voice said.
Hez turned and saw an ancient security guard standing in the door. The guy’s uniform was probably as old as he was. His name tag read Oscar Pickwick.
“I was just visiting someone, but I’m done now.” He walked out past the guard, who trailed him until he left the building.
