Chapter 3

“Why are you fidgeting?” Sebastian asked her as they sat outside of the dean’s office, his tone laced with annoyance. “You’re making the entire bench shake.”

In the waiting room of Dean Morgan’s office was a pew-like bench made of what Naomi considered the most uncomfortable wood known to man. It made her feel as if she were waiting to enter a confessional. She also wondered, since Hainamor had no religious affiliation, why something that evoked such a religious feeling would be found suitable in the office of the Dean of Faculty Affairs. Unable to find a better reason, she chalked it up to its presence satisfying Morgan’s God complex.

“Stop being dramatic. Nothing’s moving,” she hissed at him as she stilled her leg and threaded her fingers together on her lap.

She felt Sebastian’s stare on her, but she didn’t turn her head to meet it. “You’re behaving as if you’ve been called to the principal’s office,” he said. “Or are you sad that you’ve had to cancel your hair appointment?”

This time, she did turn to look at him, her eyes narrowed. The fact that it was a hair appointment she’d had to cancel only added to her ire, especially since she should have known better than to tell him any shade of the truth. “Sebastian, I swear to whatever satanic oracle you worship that if you don’t stop talking to me, I’m going to make you sorry we ever met.”

He snorted. “You act as if I’m not already sorry.”

“Sebastian,” she warned.

He crossed his arms over his chest and sank back into the bench. “And what exactly would you do to me? Write a scathing poem about me that no one will ever read?”

That quip cut, but she refused to let him see he’d hurt her. He’d be like a shark in bloody waters. “Well, I am sincerely sorry that I’m not able to comfortably rest on the laurels of a book I wrote twenty years ago.”

His eyes darkened as his body went unnaturally still. It seemed she’d hit her mark.

The truth was, Sebastian had had a few books sell well over the years. But none had ever reached the peak of his first, which topped out on the New York Times Bestseller List at number four. That he was unable to attain that level of success again had to gnaw at an arrogant man like Sebastian. A hypothesis that was only further substantiated when, upon the release of his last book, he spent weeks clomping around like a black cloud hung over his head and sniped at everyone who dared to congratulate him on its release. For the first time, Naomi had been thankful that she wrote poetry, which held little promise of extensive renown. It must be very difficult to keep coming in second to yourself.

“Eleven,” he finally gritted out.

“What?” she asked, startled he’d responded at all.

“Such a connoisseur of words,” he quipped. “I said ‘eleven.’ As in it’s been eleven years since I wrote my first book. And I was only twenty-two at the time, so stop trying to portray me as some elderly has-been.”

Naomi was actually stunned to hear that he was as young as he was. Not because he looked older, but because he acted like someone in his late forties. And the way his gait sometimes hitched, as if he were prone to becoming stiff, had also made her think he was older than he appeared. She’d always figured his misery had preserved him like some kind of cocoon. The news that he was only three years older than her was shocking.

“Sorry. I’ll start mentally portraying you as a young has-been from here on out,” she replied, since letting him have the last word would have eaten at her soul.

He opened his mouth but was interrupted before he could say anything by Dean Morgan’s assistant. “He will see you now.”

Naomi did her best to control her breathing. She had no idea why the dean would want to speak to them, but with the way her day was going, it had to be something bad. Especially since she was there with Sebastian. Nothing positive had ever come out of the two of them being in the same room ever since her first formal department meeting. That was the day Sebastian and Naomi went from casual enemies to heated nemeses. Despite the rocky start they’d had, they’d mostly ignored one another for the rest of the summer session. But come the week before the fall term was scheduled to begin, Ron had informed them of a last-minute schedule change: Naomi was picking up a class previously taught by Sebastian. One would have thought Sebastian had been required to extract a kidney on the spot with the way he’d reacted, explaining to the entire department just how unqualified Naomi was to teach the literature course that focused on works written in memoriam of someone.

Granted, Naomi barely knew Sebastian, but it struck her as odd that he’d had such an aggressive reaction to the news. It wasn’t like she’d been given one of his writing courses. The content was actually quite morbid in her opinion. She endured approximately forty-five seconds of his belittling tirade before she’d risen to her feet and unloaded on the man who’d pushed her buttons from day one. It wasn’t until Ron had yelled about taking disciplinary action if they didn’t stop their nonsense that they finally quieted down.

And thus, their rivalry was born. They typically managed to exist in grudging neutrality, but neither of them had ever seemed able to let the issue go. They carried their hatred for one another like a millstone around their necks. The only relief Naomi experienced was during their verbal sparring sessions, when she was able to release some of her pent-up anger.

She and Sebastian sat in the chairs on the other side of Dean Morgan’s desk while he read over a file, completely ignoring their presence. Finally, after a few minutes, he set the file down and splayed his hands on it.

“I bet you’re wondering why I’ve asked you here,” he said as he looked at them pointedly.

“The thought crossed my mind,” said Sebastian dryly.

The comment made Dean Morgan’s mouth turn up slightly on one side before he schooled his features. “I’ll cut to the chase. You’ve both been nominated by the student body for the Distinguished Professor Award.” He folded his hands atop the folder. “It’s actually rather exciting. We’ve never had two members of the same department up for the honor.”

“That’s…amazing,” Naomi said, mostly meaning it. It was a massive honor to be nominated, but the fact that Sebastian had also been nominated made the news lose some of its luster.

“Are you both familiar with how it works?”

Naomi glanced at Sebastian before shaking her head. As far as she could tell, Sebastian didn’t move at all. She’d obviously heard of the award before and knew that the professors were chosen based on surveys students filled out at the end of the semester for each of their classes. But she knew very little about the process beyond that.

“We always choose the top four professors from the surveys, then the Personnel Committee narrows the pool down to two based upon the written feedback the students provide, as well as the professors’ dedication to fulfilling the mission of Hainamor. From there, we notify the chosen candidates, and offer them a chance to further prove their worthiness of the honor.”

“Worthiness?” Sebastian asked, his voice sounding wry and slightly disbelieving.

Dean Morgan seemed unperturbed as he continued. “We’ve found the friendly collegiate competition enhances the overall prestige of the award. Makes the recipient even more honored to be chosen.”

Naomi’s stomach rolled. It was bad enough she and Sebastian often seemed to be competing over the right for each of them to exist. Adding this into the mix was going to result in blood loss.

“The winner is granted a semester of leave, to be taken at any point within the next two years to further academic pursuits beyond the classroom—writing a novel or collection of poems, for example, or traveling—while receiving a full salary, as well as a five-thousand-dollar monetary award presented at the ceremony.”

“Who decides?” Naomi asked, nearly hyperventilating at the prospect of paid leave. Naomi had plans for her future—ones that she’d only let her brain process because she was scared to let them settle in her heart. She’d figured she’d have to bide her time to bring them to fruition. But with an entire paid semester off, her future could begin within the next two years. The possibility was enough to make her teary-eyed, but she quelled the urge to cry, not wanting to ruin her chances by crying in the dean’s office.

“The Personnel Committee will make the final decision after observing your dedication to the university over the course of the next semester.”

Sebastian snorted. “Sounds like pledging allegiance to a cult.”

Dean Morgan raised an eyebrow at him. “If you’d like to withdraw your name, Professor Blake, I’m sure another faculty member would gladly take your place.”

Sebastian sat back in his chair but didn’t reply.

“That’s what I thought,” the dean said. “You were both chosen for a reason. You merely need to keep doing what you’ve always done.”

Which was bullshit. Naomi couldn’t—wouldn’t—lose to Sebastian. She had to do whatever it took to win the award, if for no other reason than she wouldn’t be able to fit in the office with his ego if he beat her.

“Does our work beyond the university factor into their decision?” Sebastian asked.

“You mean in terms of your publishing history and such?” At Sebastian’s nod, the dean said, “Anything that brings a positive light to Hainamor will be considered. So, yes, your contributions in your respective literary fields will factor in.”

Rubbing his hands together, a smile ghosted over Sebastian’s lips.

Naomi didn’t like how smug he appeared. “You seem to think that gives you an advantage.” She knew she shouldn’t start with him in front of Dean Morgan, but she couldn’t help herself.

“My publishing credentials do far exceed yours,” he replied.

“I’ve published more than you give me credit for,” Naomi snapped back.

She could see him finish his eye roll as he turned toward her. “Facebook posts about your cats don’t count.”

Naomi had never been more thankful she didn’t own any cats. “I should’ve figured you for a dog person since you were clearly raised by wolves.”

A throat clearing interrupted their argument, though neither looked away from the other for another moment. It was as if that would cause immediate death.

“I sense an interesting few months ahead of us,” Dean Morgan said, sounding almost giddy at the prospect. “The committee will make its decision in January,” he added as he stood and extended a hand to each of them, which they took in turn after rising. “Congratulations and best of luck.”

They both thanked him and made their way silently back to Kellerman. No words were needed—action would speak louder. And Naomi was going to defeat Sebastian Blake if it killed her.