My mission had become to make him smile via email at least four times a day, and so far I was winning. He received copious notes on the comings and goings of the office, including the odd historical fact and various concerns about Carol’s liquid consumption, which was, in all honesty, mainly tea and coffee. In return, I learned about his siblings: Jackson, Claire, Payton, Callum, Ava and of course, Seph, mostly Seph. By Friday evening, I felt as if I knew them personally having been told about—amongst other things—how Jackson lost his virginity; Claire’s past irrational hatred of Max’s best friend Killian but now they were together; Payton’s no gender preference in relationships in the past; Ava’s ridiculously stupid comments and enough about Seph to fill a novella. There was very little about Callum and I had wondered why, but for once my filters had been working and I hadn’t asked.

I sat on my bed, facing what would be called my wardrobe (except there were no doors or top to it), wearing just a bra and matching panties. I was debating Carol’s statement that pants were optional as I literally had nothing to wear. There had been a couple of heavy downpours during the week, summer ending with a bang rather than a whimper, and the roof had leaked, soaking half of what I owned. The half that I would’ve chosen to wear to a ‘soiree’. Generally, I would’ve also chosen to not give a shit, cobble something semi decent together and had a story to tell, but tonight I actually wanted to make a slight effort to look attractive and it had nothing to do with a certain medical negligence lawyer that I had emailed for most of the week.

Nothing at all.

I picked up my phone and dialled Jacob. His sister was staying with him and she was a similar size to me, so there was potentially something I could borrow there.

“How’s the drowned rat?” he said, the background noise suggesting his Friday had already started.

“Clothesless,” I said. “I need a fairy godmother.”

“Well, my father called me a fairy a couple of times when he found out I had boyfriends,” he said.

I laughed. I knew for a fact his father had called him no such thing as he didn’t particularly care what sort of relationships Jacob had, as long as he was discreet and careful.

“Drawers. Black leather pants, black bra and the semi-sheer top that tucks into the trousers and makes your waist look tiny and your butt look bazinga. Stick a smoky eye on, contour like I taught you and the pink nude lipstick—I think it’s called Confession—and wear the heels that should be classified as a weapon and he won’t know what’s hit him.”

“Why do you know my wardrobe better than me?” I groaned, opening the drawer and finding the trousers. I hoped they still fit: I hadn’t worn them for months and the gym had been an expense that wasn’t on the essential list. “And I’m not trying to impress him.”

“Don’t try and bullshit me, Victoria. I’ve seen the emails. Now get dressed and take a selfie.” I heard a loud cheer, followed by an obscenity and the line went dead.

Professor Niall McInery’s house was a ten-minute walk away from my rundown apartment, but the neighbourhood was far more upmarket. I’d managed to find a decent bottle of red wine that Jacob had brought round one night but we’d never drank, so I wasn’t empty-handed. One of my colleagues answered the door and relieved me of the bottle, passed me a glass of something sparkly and I started to mingle, aware of the difference in how I looked given the glances I was receiving.

Most of the law faculty were there, plus a couple from the history department and a guy I recognised from the economics staff. But there was no Max. I tried to quell the feeling of disappointment in my stomach and focus on having a good time with people I was coming to genuinely like. There were egos in the department—why wouldn’t there be, given the wealth and success that some had accumulated—but most were kind and interesting and as my grandad had always told me, I struggled to dislike someone as much as I struggled not to argue.

“Wine, dear?” Carol said, brandishing a bottle of something that had a layer of dust coating it. “Niall’s actually cracked open the good stuff, although I’m hoping Maxwell is still bringing the whisky.”

A pixie in my stomach started to do a happy dance. “Is he still coming? I noticed he wasn’t here.”

She smiled. “He’s had to visit one of his sisters somewhere, so he’s running late, but he is coming. I’m surprised you noticed his absence, given your exchange of words last week.”

“We’ve been emailing since to sort the rooms out. I think we’ve moved past some of our differences. Maybe,” I said, sipping at the wine and trying to pace myself. Alcohol would only induce me to call someone else a cockwomble at some point.

“That’s good. I’d like Max to take on another few lectures, as David’s had to go back to Harvard, but I know his schedule’s rammed. If you’re on his good side try and persuade him for me. He’s a good man, but rather intense. Had a difficult childhood.” She tipped back her glass, drinking what was left and then topped it up with the bottle she still had hold of.

“I thought his family were well-off,” I said, puzzled. I had googled Max Callaghan and read his bio, a few articles on his family and a rather breath-taking feature in a magazine from a few months ago which had some rather well-taken photos.

“They are. Doesn’t mean his childhood was happy though, especially with him being the oldest. Keep an eye on how patient he is with the undergrads. He can be a bit passionate with what he teaches and if they aren’t well-motivated he becomes a tad agitated,” she said. “This wine’s delicious. Want some more?”

I held out my glass, although I had barely drank any.

“You’re a bad influence, Carol.”

I turned around and nearly left Carol pouring onto the carpet. I’d only heard Max’s voice once and we’d been shouting towards the end, or using raised voices at least, but I recognised it.

“Maxwell! I’m glad you made it!” She flung her arms round him, glass in one hand, wine in the other. “How’s your sister? Did you help her sort the issue?”

He nodded and smiled, although it didn’t reach his eyes. “To a certain extent. She’s in court next week on a big case. I’ll be glad for her sake when it’s over.”

“You remember Victoria, don’t you? Our history lecturer who’s covering admin so she can support her studies,” Carol said, backing out of the way so she wasn’t standing in between us.

Max’s eyes seemed to drink me in like a long glass of iced tea. His hair was neater and his beard was trimmed; the suit replaced with a pair of Levi’s and a white shirt. I took a sip of wine in the hope of covering any drool that had escaped. As irritating as he had proven himself he was one damned fine male specimen.

“She’s been the highlight of my week,” he said, not taking his eyes away from mine. “I’ve had a thorough education in emoticons and the soap opera that is the law faculty. Would you mind passing me a glass, Carol? I’ve left some whisky on the table in the kitchen.”

“Super!” Carol said. “Back in a sec!”

He nodded at her and then focused back on me. “You look nothing like a librarian,” he said, his eyes flicking down to my chest.

It was one look, just one look, and I was glad the trousers were leather rather than cotton as my panties had been incinerated. That was clearly Maxwell Callaghan’s super power: melting panties. “That’s because I’m not a librarian. I’m a historian.”

“Same difference.” His eyes shone like polished toffee. “It’s all stories.”

“History has huge relevance on how we live today, from the history of the country where we live to our family’s history. You can’t dismiss it as stories. Look at your own subject: what’s gone before has led to what’s relevant and important now…” He took my arm and guided me over to a chaise longue, covered in fabric that looked like it had been spewed up by a fifties housewife. “This chaise, for example. It’s a living piece of history. The fabric, its quality and colours tells us about… You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

The bastard folded to the side of the chaise, laughing silently, his face creased with mirth. I smacked his arm. “Fucker. I was just about to give you the whole history of this sort of furniture. You really are a git, aren’t you?”

He managed to sit up, still laughing. Carol passed him a glass of wine, tapped his shoulder and moved on, as if seeing Maxwell Callaghan having a laughing fit was an everyday occurrence.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to stutter. “But you were so sincere and genuine.” His gaze locked on mine, suppressing more laughter. “Now I feel bad. Really bad. You look like someone just told you they’d bought you a whole new wardrobe of clothes but they were two sizes too big.”

I sighed and my shoulders dropped and his laughing stopped for real.

“Victoria, shit. What did I say? You can tell me about the chaise. I didn’t mean to make you sad.” He rubbed his chin, which I’d figured was his go to nervous tic.

“It’s not what you said. You were a bastard for the chaise, by the way. I’ll make you listen to my speech at some point. I need to practice it for my first lecture anyway. The roof in my apartment leaked and ruined most of my clothes. This is pretty much all I have left to wear for going out until I get paid,” I said, cursing myself for bringing it up. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to dampen the evening. Fuck knows my week’s been damp enough.”

His arm slipped around my shoulders and pulled me in. “Why didn’t you tell me? We’ve been emailing all week.”

I shook my head. “Because it’s one of those things and I’m used to coping with those things by now. I’m claiming on my insurance, but it’ll take a few weeks to come through, if I’m lucky.”

I wanted to lean my head on his chest, take on some of the heat that was radiating from him, but thirty-two years of life told me now and here was not the right time or place.

“Yet you still managed to look beautiful,” he said. “No glasses tonight?”

“I only need them for reading. Or computer work.”

“So most of the time, then?” He smiled, his hand still on my shoulder, arm still around my back.

I notice Leanne, one of the law lecturers, giving us a curious look. Niall came by and started to chat, discussing a recent change in law that I was semi-aware of. All the time we were talking, Max stayed close by; a hand around my waist, a gentle graze of my shoulder, a smile.

His words were generally brief, to the point and without unnecessary descriptive detail. He answered questions, talked about his father and siblings and a couple of cases that had completed, and enquired after his colleagues. The egotistical bastard from last week had taken a break for the night, it seemed.

But I wasn’t in the market for a man. A temporary fix, maybe, but nothing with the potential to last. I didn’t know where I would be in twelve months’ time—I had to go where a good position was, at a university where I could continue studying and writing, working towards becoming a professor with tenure and a reputation that would mean something to me, and to my grandfather. For a moment, my thoughts drifted to my brother, Francis, and his determination to keep my grandfather’s inheritance to himself. I knew I should push the solicitors. With the money my grandfather had meant for me, I wouldn’t be struggling to complete my doctorate or living somewhere damp climbed up the walls and the lock didn’t quite work. He’d have hated the predicament I was in at the moment.

“Hey. Where’ve you gone?” Max said, and I realised we were standing together, just the two of us. “Back in that wardrobe?”

I looked up into eyes I could happily drown in and then argue into a rough, but exciting ocean. Taking a deep breath, I decided not to consider what I was about to say next. Sometimes I figured it was best to just jump straight in.