Chapter 2 02 | green

This wasn't the first time I was going over to Professor Mallard's home, but regardless I still felt the anxious wrench in my stomach that happened to surface, leaving me a bundle of nerves. She was in her early fifties and the reverence I had for her was unmerited. Maybe it was because of her stern but calm nature, or the fact that she had a grandmother aura enveloping her, I wasn't sure, but whatever it was, I liked it.

Her electric gates drew open after I signed in at the intercom, guiding my car into her wide spanning driveway. I inhaled after I got out of my car, smiling in approval at her impeccably kept lawn and flower beds. She had at least two dozen trees scattered around and a lot more manicured hedges growing by the sidewalk.

An elderly man welcomed me into the house and I stood in the foyer, my hands linked in front of me. The man who I recalled as Gregory, her steward in charge of domestic affairs in the house, sent me a small curt smile that eased my nerves.

"Go right up to Madam Genevieve's Study, miss." He said with a wave of his hand up the winding staircase. I nodded and turned to the stairs but hesitated, realising it had been a couple months since I first came here and I couldn't recall the way to the said study.

Gregory seemed to have sensed my hesitation and gave a knowing look. "The last door on the first floor," he said and I thanked him before clambering up the stairs, my hands finding the intricately carved banister.

Genevieve Mallard's home had a certain rustic appeal to it, containing vintage artworks and an earthy decor you didn't encounter often in the city. I learnt that she lived alone and her husband was busy off in London as a prolific business man unprepared for retirement.

Walking down the hallway on the first floor, I slowed my pace to appreciate the artworks and family pictures hung on the wall. Most of the portraits were of her family, some I assumed could be dated back as far as decades, telling by her two sons who looked to be not much older that eight.

I knocked softly on the door. A few seconds ticked by and no response came. I took a deep breath and pushed it open. I scanned the room quietly and spotted a figure that wasn't her. A man stood in front of the huge drawn windows with his hands buried in his pockets, his broad, coat clad back to me. Bright sunlight poured in, bathing the room in a soft yellow glow.

"The lawn has to be suffocating with all the flowers you have outside." I heard his deep voice say. He thought I was Genevieve, but all I could do was stand in awe. I wondered if he was one of her sons.

When seconds ticked by with no response, he must have sensed something was off because he turned to me.

My breath caught in my throat, my eyes taking in the presence before me.

His eyes were the first things I caught. They were a starling shade of green, fixated on me. I decided that this man was unarguably good-looking. Dark blond hair styled impeccably and features I knew I'd spend nights thinking back on, I sucked in a breath. The placid look on his face morphed into uncertainty and his hands slipped out of his pockets.

"You're not Genevieve."

All of a sudden I lost my voice.

There was something about him-hard to pinpoint-but he held himself with an air of elegance and authority, like he damn well owned the place.

"I'm-" I cringed at how hoarse my voice sounded and swallowed, willing myself composure. "I'm her student. Well, ex-student."

He kept silent but didn't refrain from studying me and I shifted uncomfortably under his burning stare. Fortunately Genevieve came into the room before I could be subjected to more scrutiny.

"Oh, Finn! You didn't tell me you were coming over," her gaze shifted to me and her blue eyes brightened. "And it looks like you've met Amanda."

Finn finally tore his eyes from me and paced to the corner of the room that held two couches in slow, confident strides. Carefully, he sat on the arm of one of them.

"I didn't know you hosted your students to your home often. Well, ex-student, pardon me." His dark gaze slid from Genevieve and fell on me, only that this time it didn't look so sardonic. A ghost of a smile fleeted across his beautiful face.

Genevieve waved him off and sat on the couch where he stayed. "Amanda isn't just any student. We have a kind of friendship going on."

I suppressed a smug look from overcoming my features. It wasn't everyday that an acclaimed professor like Genevieve Mallard passed someone an acknowledgement of such high degree.

Finn shrugged like he couldn't care less, shifting his attention to Genevieve. "Octavia is hosting a dinner next Saturday to celebrate our recent partnership with a new investor. I need you there."

Genevieve looked overwhelmed as she placed a hand over her chest. "I haven't been to one of those since George came last fall. And it's been forever since I saw your mother."

I bit my lip, glad that I hadn't referred to him as her son. That assumption would have been embarrassing.

Finn cleared his throat. Genevieve's face lit up. "I mean, I haven't seen Octavia in ages."

It was like they'd momentarily forgotten I was in the room as I stood awkwardly, feeling like I was eavesdropping on a private conversation, only they knew I was here.

"Well, I'll be there. Although I can't fathom being there alone. You know I'd hate that." She shot Finn a stern look.

He frowned and toyed with the sleek smartphone in his grasp. "You can bring anyone. A friend, a fellow professor from the university... even Gregory. As long as you're present."

I felt my legs begin to tire and made for the unoccupied couch when Genevieve's head snapped to my direction and her face burst into a bright smile. "Amanda?"

I stopped midway like a dear caught in headlights. "Me?"

She clapped her hands in glee. "Ah, yes. You don't mind accompanying me, do you?"

My mouth fell slightly ajar. There was no way I was going to a dinner party that would be undoubtedly filled with business people, politicians and high profile personalities. No way.

Genevieve sat, anticipating my answer while Finn continued his visual torment with a questioning brow arched at me. Was he always this reserved and uptight?

Before I could answer, his phone began to ring and he stood up, lifting his index finger in excuse before answering it.

"I'll be right there," he said almost immediately, pocketing the phone and turning back to Genevieve. "I need to return to the office. Apparently I can't leave that place for even thirty minutes." And I saw a look of discomfort flash through his features, but it was soon masked by a calm sheet of indifference.

Genevieve sighed. She lightly patted her blond hair that was peppered with a few streaks of white. "Alright. Thank you for stopping by, Finn. And don't overwork yourself, my dear."

I watched in total silence at their little exchange, as Genevieve Mallard stood close to him, completely dwarfed by his height. She smoothed the collar of his dark coat and smiled. He stayed still, like the whole gesture was foreign to him.

He turned towards the door but spared me a little nod of acknowledgement. "Amanda," he said and I revelled in the way his full lips formed around my name. What was wrong with me?

In the wake of his leave, Genevieve turned to me. "I'll take that as a yes?"

"What?"

"The dinner. You will accompany me, won't you? It's nothing to be scared of, if that's why you're hesitant."

Of course I couldn't say no to her. I'd seriously have to be out of my mind. "It would be my pleasure." I glanced at the door for a brief moment. "I initially thought he was your son."

Genevieve walked to the office table that stood near the window. "No, he's my nephew. I'm sure you've heard about him, he's quite popular in the business scene and media." I racked my brain but failed to recollect anything, shaking my head. She looked taken aback as her brows shot up. "Really? CEO of Harris Enterprises? That's surprising. He's even popular among the ladies."

Oh, I could see why. He was smoldering hot.

I watched as she traced the content lining her bookshelf, pulling out a thick stack of books.

"I don't recall him."

She stopped by her table and pressed an intercom button, leaning over it. "Grace, I'd like some coffee sent up to my study immediately, thank you." Then she turned to me. "Well, I'm sure you'd know if you were into business, not medical science," she chuckled.

She dropped the books on her table and sat, smiling at me as I did the same. She picked up an aged looking book with a worn leather bind.

"Now, I'm not sure if I'll ever publish this one, but you'd be surprised to know that it was written when I was around your age. It's a tragic love story."

"You write romance?"

"Not anymore." She stared at the book as I flipped the first page open. "It's about a man and a woman who fall in love under undesirable circumstances. It's a beautiful relationship, but he looses her, not before she leaves a monumental piece of herself with him."

*

"You get to go to a dinner party?" Ingrid exclaimed as she sat on my bed while I sifted messily through my closet. "With business people and socialites? That's swanky as shit."

Remember the nutcase roommate with the perverted boyfriend? That was Ingrid, only she wasn't that much of a nutcase and was actually a nice person. Nice enough for me to stick with anyway. But she never knew of her boyfriend's intentions and dated a new guy every month so he was so twelve boyfriends ago.

"Do I need to have deep knowledge on etiquette and social gatherings like this one? Because the closest to a fancy dinner I have ever gone to was one my mom dragged me to in tenth grade that her boss hosted. And it was filled with obnoxious kids. I don't think this one can be compared to that."

"Hmm. You can start off by leaving that poor closet alone because you have to get something new."

I turned to her and feigned a hurt expression, my hands on my chest as I gasped. "Are you trying to say I don't have nice clothes?"

Ingrid rolled her eyes as she tangled herself in my sheets. "Of course you have great stuff in there. But won't you like to get something way more elegant? You want to look like you attend dinners very often and blow those fuckers away."

I bit my lower lip in thought. She was right. I didn't have a dress suited for the purpose in my closet. "I guess you're right."

"As always," she drawled. "After labs tomorrow I'm dragging you to go dress shopping with me."

"Yes, mom."

I left the pile of clothes sitting idle and laid beside her on the bed.

"Do you by chance know who Finn Harris is? He's Professor Mallard's nephew, the person hosting the dinner. She said he's really famous."

Ingrid's eyebrows came together in a frown, her lips in a pout. "I don't know. Try Googling him."

I turned to her. She wiggled her brows. I slipped out my phone from my jean pocket and unlocked it, pulling out Google. I typed his name in the search bar and watched as the results came out in a flash.

Ingrid snatched the phone from my grasp and read with her mouth slightly open. I reached for the phone but she held it out of my reach and shuffled to my headboard, her eyes darting with speed as she read.

"Ingrid!" I exclaimed in a huff.

"Damn. I'm seeing some serious man candy. And man candy in a suit? Better."

"Stop being a bitch and give me back my phone!"

She held me away with her foot. "It says here that he took over his father's company at the age of eighteen. He got admission into the university at thirteen, that's mad as fuck. At thirteen I was still asking my parents for pocket money to buy pop tarts." Her eyes lit up and she flashed the phone in front of me. "Check out his cover on Forbes! At nineteen, bitch. Nine-freaking-teen. Damn."

I squinted my eyes at the picture, adjusting to the bright screen. He did look good, although way younger. "When was that?"

Ingrid took another look. "Six years ago."

Finn definitely had himself made early. He was the epitome of success and beauty, like something concocted in a science lab.

"Ooh, check out his gurl-friend," Ingrid sang and flashed the phone in front of my face once again. I steadied myself so I could see properly. A slender woman who looked like she belonged on the pages of fashion campaigns graced my screen. To say she was stunning was an understatement.

"Hailey Ford, Russian-American model," Ingrid mused, finally returning the phone back to me. "That dinner is going to be the craziest."

I closed the tab and sighed, my hands tucked behind my head. I couldn't believe that was the scene I'd have to face in less than a week.