“This isn’t going to work for us.” Matt tosses a hacky sack to me from across the table as he checks the dates on the calendar in my office. “We have the Vegas appearance that week.”

“And Ryan is going to be in New York for Christmas. Can you do the second week of February?” I squeeze the hacky sack and throw it underhand back to Matt.

Mr. Craft sighs through the speakerphone, and I can hear him tapping his desk with his fingers. “I shouldn’t have to compete for you guys,” he jokes. “I made Ryan Hart what he is today.”

“We’re doing our best to fit you in,” Matt sighs, pushing out of his chair and walking over to the window.

Since joining Dirty After Dark, I’ve taken one of the offices along with Ryan and Kayla. They’re in the studio, finishing up the recording for this week’s show, and Matt and I are trying to finalize scheduling with Mr. Craft for an upcoming appearance back in New York.

I was able to hire my own assistant, and I knew Matt would be the perfect fit.

“Shit,” I say, checking my phone and realizing what time it is. “I’m late. Matt, you got this, right?”

He nods and squeezes the hacky sack, throwing it in the air above his head and catching it again.

I grab my purse and rush out the door, popping in to the recording studio to say goodbye to Ryan and Kayla. Ryan isn’t there and the recording light is on, so I wave goodbye to Kayla and she gives me an enthusiastic thumbs up.

I hop on the elevator and pop out downstairs quickly, bursting into the fresh air and sunlight. The sun feels good and warm against my skin, kissing my shoulders and mixing with the breeze coming off the ocean.

Quickly dashing across the street to the parking lot, I hop in to my new cherry red convertible and take the top down.

I’m not sure where I’m going, exactly. At the first stoplight I grab my phone from my purse and pull up my email to confirm the address. I have a vague idea of where it is, and I drum absently on the steering wheel, just hoping the light will change fast.

I hug the curves of the road all the way across town, hitting every green light from here on out, cruising along smoothly even though my insides are about to explode with excitement and nerves.

Slowing down when my phone tells me to, I realize this is it. I drive past security after informing the guard of the purpose for my visit, and after getting my name badge, I cruise into campus.

I love colleges and universities. One of my earliest memories is of driving around the campus of my mom and dad’s alma mater one early fall afternoon when we were there for a basketball game with another one of the local schools in the area. The game wasn’t even that great; I didn’t care who won. But I loved the smell of the trees and seeing the students on their way to class, clutching their books to their chests and talking as they strolled along the tree-shaded paths.

I spot the building I need to get to and pull into the small parking lot outside. I check myself out in the mirror quickly before flipping the visor back up and getting out.

I can do this. I am more than qualified. I have worked hard for this. I have aced my exams. I got stellar grades in college. Hell, my dad even thinks it’s a great idea now.

Checking my phone again, I confirm the room number and start up the stairs. The building is covered in ivy, the lush greenery snaking up the sides of the old grey and beige stone, where the building is flanked with steeples on the left and right sides of the roof.

I can’t help but look up, and I close my eyes as the soft wind dances through my hair, whispering possibility into my ear. Drawing the strap of my purse up tight around my shoulder, I put one foot in front of the other and start to climb the steps to the entrance.

“Sara, right this way.” A familiar voice bounces through the hallway to me, and as I pass through the vestibule of the building and take a left down a hallway, I see the man with the voice.

My heart flutters as Ryan holds out a bouquet of red roses.

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” I say as he wraps his arm around me and holds me to his chest.

“I know,” he says, that gorgeous smile making my stomach flip, as though I’m not already nervous and excited enough. “I just wanted to see you off. I’ll be here waiting for you. You don’t want to be late.”

Ryan gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and a pat on the butt and leans against the wall covered with flyers looking for roommates, announcements about symposiums and free pizza for volunteers for various events.

I start to walk away, and the butterflies in my stomach start to fade. I can feel Ryan looking at me, watching over me, there for me just in case I fall. But I know I won’t.

The dean’s office is clearly labeled with a small placard on the wall just outside the door. I realize how lucky I am to have this one-on-one interview with the dean himself. His secretary told me that he usually has a panel of professors interview candidates once the admissions committee has gone through the applications and identified people they want to learn more about.

But she said the dean was impressed and wanted to meet me personally.

I pause just before knocking on his door, glancing down the hallway, where Ryan’s standing tall and proud.

“Dean Westport?” I say, rapping my knuckles softly on his door. “I’m Sara. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” I take a deep breath and smile. “I hope I’m in the right place.”