October, Junior Year

HARPER WARDEN SAT in the back corner of the lecture hall waiting for the room to clear. She took her time shutting down her laptop and putting everything back in her messenger bag. She shifted to grab the black hoodie from the back of her chair, trying to ignore the group of girls walking by her desk to get to the aisle.

“Oh my God, did you see Declan the other night?”

Harper’s heartbeat picked up speed, but she managed to keep her gaze trained on her desk, her face expressionless as the three girls chatted. Not that any of them bothered to look her way.

“He was drunk off his ass.”

“Yes, but what an ass.” One girl fanned herself with a hand, while the other two fell into fits of giggles. The conversation faded as they headed down the stairs, but the giggles continued to float back to Harper.

Yeah, what an ass. Harper grimaced and pushed all thoughts of Declan Cooper from her mind. He was the last thing she needed to dwell on right now.

She turned her attention to the podium at the front of the room. A few students stood talking to Professor Costa as he packed his notes and laptop into a battered leather bag. She bit her bottom lip and plopped back down into her seat as she waited for the last of the students to leave. Her gaze remained fixed on the professor. She hoped to catch him alone, but she didn’t want to wait so long to approach him that she missed him entirely.

A fine trembling started in her hand where it rested on top of her bag. How could a middle-aged guy in a blue striped button down and khaki pants be causing the cartwheels in her belly and the shaking in her body?

But she knew the answer. This particular man wasn’t just another middle-aged professor in khaki pants. He was the middle-aged professor who held her future in his hands.

Her hands clenched. She closed her eyes and practiced some deep breathing. At a rustling from up front, she popped her eyes open. The last of the students moved towards the door. And Professor Costa was right behind them.

She pulled in a deep breath and, leaving her bag on the desk, jogged down the steps to the front of the room.

“Professor?” Her voice came out on a barely audible squeak. She cleared her throat and reached for his arm just as he was about to step through the door. “Professor!”

Heat rushed into her face. Her panic turned her voice from a squeak to a desperate yell. Her professor stopped in his tracks and raised an eyebrow at her before shooting a look at the hand she rested on his forearm.

She snatched it back. “Sorry, sorry.” Shit, shit. What’s wrong with me? “I-I just didn’t want to miss you before you left.”

“Perhaps coming to the front of the room as soon as class ended would make more sense than making a mad dash from the back of the room as I’m walking out the door, Miss…?”

“Warden. I’m Harper Warden. I meant to talk to you….” She bit off the rest of whatever she was about to babble and swallowed convulsively. She shook her head. Not off to a stellar start. Her mouth felt like sandpaper and her heart beat against her chest like it was trying to jump out. Shit.

Professor Costa turned fully towards her, crossed his arms over his chest and stared.

Now she knew what a bug felt like under a magnifying glass on a sunny day. She wouldn’t be surprised to see smoke coming from her skin. The most important thing she’d ever had to do, her future riding on the outcome of this conversation, and she was fucking speechless. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides while she did her best to pull herself together.

“The mentor program,” she finally managed to get out between parched lips. “I want to be considered for the mentor program.”

Thank God. Her shoulders sagged. She’d actually managed to put together a coherent sentence. Now all she had to do was wait for his answer. Her stomach churned.

Professor Costa stared at her a long moment before turning back to the podium. She followed behind and waited while he threw his bag on the desk and rifled through it without saying a word.

Harper’s fingers twisted in the string of her hoodie, twirling it around, her skin coming through in bulges of bright red. She focused on the slight pain and tingling that came when she pulled a little harder while he took his time pulling out a spiral bound book and a couple of files. When he began flipping through the book, still without looking at her or saying a word, she gnawed on her bottom lip. He finally looked up just before she drew blood.

“Your grades are good in my class.”

Harper quickly untwisted her finger and stood up straighter. She inhaled deeply. This was her chance. She’d speak up for herself if it killed her.

“All my classes. I have a 3.9 grade point average.” Not like she had a choice. A drop in grades meant having her scholarship yanked.

He nodded and opened one of the manila files. He flipped through a few pages. “You’re a junior?”

“Yes.”

“And your major?”

“Microbiology.” She bit her lip and focused every bit of energy on not fidgeting.

He stopped at a page in the file and ran a finger down it. “My T.A. recorded grades for you, all good, but no comments.”

“Comments?”

“Comments. I instruct my teaching assistants to write down a few notes during labs. They let me know about any students who make more than a minimal effort to participate. Anyone who takes a discussion in an interesting direction or shows a remarkable aptitude during experiments.” He turned the folder around to show her the page.

Her name and student number were typed across the top. Below that, a column of numbers. Her grades, a quick glance told her. Beside each number was a large section of white page, the top of which was labeled “comments.” In her case, the page was pristine, not even a few words jotted down.

Looking at the completely blank side of the page, all that white space, her head felt light, as if she’d taken a double dose of cold medicine.

“No comments.” Her voice came out as little more than a whisper.

“No comments.”

He flipped through the other pages in the folder, fast enough that she couldn’t make out the names at the top. But not so fast she didn’t see that most of the pages had scribbled notes in the comments section.

“Do I need to have comments to be considered for the mentorship program?”

“It’s not the only thing I look for, but it does give me an indication of the type of work a student is capable of.”

She gave a sharp nod and her gaze moved away from him, focusing on the red and white stripes of the American flag in the corner just over his shoulder.

She pulled in a deep breath through her nose and turned her attention back to her professor. He seemed to be scrutinizing her features, looking for God only knows what, as she squared her shoulders.

“Is there anything else I can do to be considered?”

He closed the folder with a snap and started to load his papers and notebooks back into his messenger bag. He kept his attention on what he was doing as he threw questions at her. “You belong to any organizations on campus? Volunteer anywhere? Play any sports?”

A leaden ball formed in her stomach. She stared at him, now completely mute. She could only shake her head at each question. No volunteering. No sports teams. No club memberships.

She cleared her throat and finally found her voice. “None of those things. I’m here on scholarship. I spend a lot of time focusing on my grades. I can’t afford to let them slip.”

A humorless laugh fought to make its way up her throat but she bit down hard on the inside of her lower lip, refusing to allow it to bubble up. Had she ever spoken truer words? She literally couldn’t afford to lose her scholarship. Though looking up at her professor, it didn’t seem as if he was clued into her little joke.

Suddenly, she could feel it. Feel it as clearly as if he’d already spoken the words out loud. This moment, right now, the one she’d hinged all her plans on. It was slipping through her fingers.

Her mind searched frantically for something to give him. One thing to show him she was up to the challenge of the mentorship program she knew would be her ticket to the medical school of her choice. But she came up blank.

No comment.

“Listen,” he said, “for now, it’s going to have to be a no. I’m sorry. But the students I consider for this program need to be standouts. I need to get the sense that they have the potential to make a real impact in the medical field. Right now, I just don’t see that from you.”

“Stand out?” The laughter was threatening again, this time much closer to the surface. He wanted her to stand out? She’d spent the last two years trying to do anything but stand out. It was the only way to get through each day as she lived through a college experience much different from the one she expected when she first sent her application.

He nodded. “Last year I accepted three students into the program. They were all involved in several organizations, participated in class, and did special projects. Each one of them was on my radar before they ever approached me about the program.”

Numbness stole over Harper. He wasn’t going to accept her into his program. She wasn’t on his radar. She turned to go back to her seat, at the last moment looking over her shoulder. “Thank you.”

She didn’t know how she made it back to her desk to gather her things. How had she been stupid enough to leave everything here?

But she knew the answer. She hadn’t expected to be turned down. She might be lacking in social skills—spending your teenage years doing your best to avoid the notice of your classmates doesn’t make you a candidate for homecoming queen—but she’d always excelled in academics. Her grades were always good. Her papers always well researched and well written. She was valedictorian of her high school and got a full ride to Warren College with an academic scholarship.

She didn’t gather her stuff up before she approached her professor because it hadn’t even occurred to her he’d refuse to consider her for the mentorship program. Hell, forget about consideration. She’d just known if he saw her grades, he’d all but beg her to be part of his program.

She kept her back to the room and reached out to grip the back of her chair. But her grades weren’t enough. She wasn’t enough. A wave of nausea, cold and sick, rose through her. What was she going to do now?

“Hey, Professor Costa.”

She froze. She knew that voice. Her hand clenched the chair back harder, her knuckles turning white. Every muscle in her body strained and her eyes squeezed shut. What was he doing here?

Her eyes popped open and she scanned the back of the room for a place to hide. Nothing.

She glanced over her shoulder and her eyes riveted on him. Declan Cooper.

Professor Costa’s voice carried to the back of the room, easy and casual, joking. “Mr. Cooper. If you’re here to audit my Genetics class, you’re late.”

Declan snorted. Snorted! She’d barely managed to get a few coherent sentences out when she approached her professor and Declan comes in cool as a cucumber, acting like he was hanging with one of his buddies instead of one of the most esteemed professors on campus.

“Not quite,” Declan said.

“Then is it safe to assume you’re here to talk about your grade in Biology?”

“Caught that did you?”

“Hard to miss when the guy with the most to say in my class is also the guy with the lowest grade.”

Harper turned fully forward and plopped into her seat, fascinated. Declan lifted a hand and rubbed it through his dark hair, his fingers leaving tracks through the spiky mess, but not managing to make him look any less attractive.

No, that wasn’t possible. Declan Cooper was hot. Her gaze traveled down over his face. His cheekbones were so perfect, they’d almost be feminine if it weren’t for the squared jaw with its perpetual five o’clock shadow. She dropped her gaze lower, taking in the broad shoulders encased in a double-layer of t-shirts, the top one short-sleeved and black, the bottom long-sleeved and dark gray.

She’d avoided Declan for the better part of the last two years. Though he’d tried to start conversations with her a few times after the party they’d gone to October of her freshman year. Like she wanted anything to do with him after that party.

“I fell a little behind,” Declan said. “But I was hoping I could make things up. Maybe do an extra project? Or get a tutor?”

Her attention moved to Professor Costa. Even with the sick feeling swirling in the pit of her stomach, her lips tilted. The man had just yanked the rug out from her so hard and so fast, it was tough for her to breathe. Maybe her consolation prize would be seeing Declan getting the same treatment.

Professor Costa folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. His lips tightened as he stared at Declan.

Unlike her own stuttering, trembling mess of a self, Declan stood firm under the professor’s scrutiny. He held the older man’s stare and waited patiently, looking like he had not a care in the world.

Harper held her breath. Her heart beat so hard, her hand moved to her chest. For some reason she was as invested in the professor’s response to Declan as she had been to his response to her.

Professor Costa nodded and dropped his arms. “Okay. We can work something out.”

Harper gasped. The hand over her heart moved up to cover her mouth, pressing so hard, her teeth cut into the tender flesh in front of them. What. The. Fuck?

Declan’s trademark half grin, half smirk twisted his lips. “Thanks.”

“Don’t get too excited. I’m going to make you work for it. I want you to write a proposal on how you intend to improve your grade. You can’t retake a test and since you failed an exam and haven’t shown up for a few labs, it’ll take more than just a little research paper to make it up.” Professor Costa picked up his bag and slung the strap over his shoulder. “Have the proposal to me by tomorrow.”

Declan nodded. “I will. Thanks, Professor.”

Professor Costa clapped Declan on the shoulder and headed out of the room. Declan slid his phone out of his back pocket and stood a long moment scrolling over the screen.

Harper sat motionless in the back of the room. The metallic taste of blood sat sharply on the tip of her tongue as she flicked it over the spot where she’d bitten through skin. Professor Costa hadn’t had to pull out files or grade books to find out who Declan was or how he was doing in Biology class. He knew right off the top of his head.

Tears prickled behind her eyes and she squeezed them shut, refusing to let even one leak out. She opened them and her eyes narrowed on Declan as he slid the phone back into his pocket and moved towards the door.

Being a standout had nothing to do with getting perfect grades in all your classes, even Professor Costa’s advanced Genetics course, known for being impossible. But apparently being the overly entitled son of an aging rock star fit the bill. She grasped the sides of her desk, her gaze firmly on Declan, willing him to leave so she could get the hell out of there.

Declan paused with his hand pressed against the door. He resettled his backpack on his shoulder and then with the precision of a laser, he turned his head and homed in on her.

Her breath stuttered in her chest. He held her stare for a long moment before she regained her senses. He saw her, so there was no reason to sit here another minute. She narrowed her eyes then turned her gaze deliberately away from him. She jerked up the zipper on her black hoodie and snatched up her bag.

She clamped her jaw tight, preparing to storm past him to get out of this room. She took one step forward and finally returned her gaze to the door.

He was gone. She was alone.

* * *

DECLAN STOOD AT the end of the hallway, somewhat hidden from the door of the lecture hall by a freestanding bulletin board. He dug a baseball cap out from where it was tucked in his backpack and pulled it on, giving it a tug so it sat low over his eyes. What was she doing in there?

The door to the lecture hall opened and he shifted to hide himself even more. It didn’t make a difference. She shot out of the room and headed down the hall in the opposite direction, never once glancing his way.

He stepped out from behind the bulletin board and kept his eyes glued to her tiny form. She walked with purpose, but kept her head tipped down slightly toward the floor. The knot of blonde hair pulled up in a messy twist bounced with her movements. He drank in every detail until she slid out of the glass double doors and disappeared into the quad.

The crack of the door banging closed snapped him from his intense scrutiny. His head dipped, and he shook his head at the floor. Fuck. When the fuck did he become a stalker?

But he knew the answer. Almost to the day. It was at the end of the semester about two months after that party he’d invited her to. The one where he listened to some bitch spewing shit about Harper and left her standing alone, dismissing her like she was nobody in front of a good enough portion of the student body that it didn’t take long for the news to get to the rest of it.

At the time, he didn’t give a fuck. Didn’t take the time to examine what that lost look on her face meant. But when, instead of moving onto the next wealthy prospect, she all but disappeared, an almost constant sick feeling took up residence in his stomach and he realized he might have been wrong.

He’d tried to talk to her. Tried to apologize and make things right. But first, he couldn’t find her. Then those times he did cross her path, she looked right through him. Her roommate gave him the cold shoulder.

He’d gone home for Christmas never having spoken to her. And then things at home were…well, like things at home. By the time he got back for the new semester, he’d decided things had worked out for the best. She didn’t need to add his crap on top of what she was dealing with because of his asshole move. She was better off without him.

But that didn’t mean that his gaze didn’t stick to her whenever he came across her. Something about her pulled him. Had pulled him from the first moment he saw her. Over the last year or so he’d even found himself seeking her out at times.

So he’d become a stalker to the invisible girl.