"Professor?" I squeaked, my hands gripping the armrests of the chair until my knuckles turned white.
Adrian stopped. He looked down at me, his eyes filled with dark amusement. Then, without a word, he walked right past me.
He didn't touch me. He didn't push me onto the desk.
He walked over to a small cabinet, poured himself another glass of whiskey, and pointed a long finger toward the corner of the room.
"The computer is over there, Miss Lin. That pile of case files won't digitize itself."
I sat there, blinking. My heart was still hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"Did you think I was going to ravish you on the rug?" he asked, taking a sip of his drink. His voice was dripping with mockery.
My face burned so hot I thought I might catch fire. "I... You locked the door."
"I value my privacy," he said coolly. "I don't like to be disturbed when I work. And since you are now part of my work, you are locked in with me."
He sat down in his massive leather chair and opened a file, dismissing me completely.
"Get to work, Maya. Clock is ticking."
I scrambled out of the chair and practically ran to the computer desk in the corner. I needed to be as far away from him as possible. I sat down, turned on the PC, and tried to breathe.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, I scolded myself. He is a Professor. You are a student. He hates you.
For the next two hours, the only sounds in the room were the clicking of my keyboard and the occasional turning of a page from his desk.
But the silence wasn't peaceful. It was heavy.
Every time I moved, I felt his eyes on me.
Sometimes, when I looked up, I caught him watching me over the rim of his glass. He didn't look away. He just stared, intense and unreadable, until I looked down first.
My fingers ached. The legal notes were dry and boring—complex corporate laws and old precedents. It was torture.
"Break," his voice cut through the silence.
I stopped typing. "I'm not tired, Sir."
"I didn't ask if you were tired. I said take a break. I don't want you making typos because your blood sugar is low."
He stood up and walked over to the fireplace. He picked up a tablet that was resting on the mantelpiece.
I stood up to stretch my legs. I was stiff. I walked over to his desk to place the stack of finished papers.
"I finished the frantic files, Professor," I said.
He didn't answer. He was engrossed in whatever he was reading on his tablet. His expression had changed. The cold, hard mask was gone. He looked... captivated. His lips were parted slightly, his breathing a little heavier.
Curiosity got the better of me. I leaned forward just an inch to see what was so important that it made the Ice King look human.
I froze.
I knew that text.
I knew that font.
On the screen, white text on a black background, was a chapter from a book.
My book.