Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“Dr. Creighton, I can’t tell you how happy we are to be here. We booked our flights months ago. I feel like a teenager at a rock concert,” Penelope twittered.
“I assure you, I will not be shaking my hips onstage,” Alistair deadpanned.
His audience howled as if they’d just heard the funniest joke ever. I chuckled along with them, plucking a champagne flute from a passing waiter’s tray.
“Honey, you should,” I piped in. They all turned to me expectantly. “Oh, hello. I’m Winnie Rodriguez.”
A British woman with short curly hair gave me an appraising once-over. “Lovely to meet you. Are you with the Louvre?”
“Louvre? Me? Work there?” I snort-laughed. “I think they’d put me on the ‘only hire if desperate’ list. And let me tell you, they’d have to pay me big bucks. I’d rather watch paint dry. But…it’s a nice place to visit,” I added in a rush, noting the six-way blank stare.
“Winnie is from Los Angeles,” Alistair said in an unmistakably affectionate tone. “That would be a rather long commute.”
They snickered politely but seemed more curious than ever now.
“I’m the professor’s assistant while Raine is on vacation,” I explained.
“Ah!” Apparently, that made sense. They nodded and resumed interrogating the professor.
They weren’t rude, but they were single-minded in their love of ancient history and had correctly guessed that I wasn’t going to quench their thirst or broaden their horizon on their favorite subject. I totally understood. If I’d had a hard-on for hieroglyphs, I wouldn’t bother with me either.
But this wasn’t my rodeo. I had nothing to prove to anyone here. My only job now was to look pretty and keep the champagne and canapés coming. Done.
I stuck to the professor’s side with a smile pasted on my mug while I witnessed a remarkable transformation. Alistair didn’t suddenly loosen his tie and demand the deejay play his favorite Gaga tune, then challenge his work bros to a drinking game, but the shell around his carefully guarded façade had cracked. He was open, friendly, and talkative.
It was nice to see him so comfortable in his skin. He knew these people, knew his role here, and he shone. I had no idea what the fuck he was talking about half the time, but he did it with such passion and excitement that I found myself wracking my brain for those darn Wikipedia trivia tidbits to add to the conversation.
But I was a good boy. I didn’t do anything embarrassing. I didn’t even ask if anyone knew how to walk like an Egyptian. Seriously. The force was strong with me all night…until Gerard made his entrance with a stunning blond man on his arm.
Colin.
I was curious about this guy. I’d read about his work in antiquities and his marriage to a prominent archeologist, but nothing online revealed his personality…if you know what I mean. No one said Colin was the best dude ever, and no one said he was a dick. It was all unsatisfyingly neutral.
First impression: he looked like an angel with golden hair, aristocratic features, and a sophisticated air.
Second impression: Colin and Gerard made a formidable team. They were supermodel gorgeous and ridiculously smart. That didn’t seem fair.
Third impression: I didn’t like him.
Yeah, yeah, not surprising. No doubt that was me being a judgy asshole, but I never claimed to be perfect, as the white-hot flare of jealousy racing through my veins indicated. It was totally irrational. Colin didn’t have anything I wanted. His romance with my professor was over eons ago, so what did I care?
Well, here’s the thing—it didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess we were nothing alike and had zero in common. Fine by me. I took pride in my “uniqueness.” Usually, anyway.
At that very moment, not so much.
“Oh, we must say hello to Dr. Poitier and Dr. Farrington,” a woman in a shimmery pink sequined gown chirped.
“Is everyone here a doctor? It’s sort of like Grey’s Anatomy for ancient civilizations,” I quipped, mostly to myself. Alistair was speaking to a heavyset gentleman with a bushy mustache that curled at the corners.
Penelope heard me, though. She chuckled good-naturedly. “That’s clever.”
I bowed. “Thank you.”
“However, doctorate degrees outnumber medical degrees by the dozens here.”
“I figured. Are you a doctor?” I asked conversationally.
“Yes. And so is my husband.”
“Hmm. And what about him?” I pointed at a random person.
“Yes. Dr. Shaw is a historian from Yale.”
“And her?”
“Yes,” Penelope confirmed. “Dr. Katzan is an archeologist and antiquities expert.”
I inclined my head toward Colin. “Him?”
Was it my imagination or did Penelope actually blush? “Oh, Dr. Farrington is a linguist and Demotic expert, second only to Dr. Creighton, his former mentor. They worked together for years until Dr. Farrington met Dr. Poitier. That was a shocker. No one knew Dr. Farrington was…”
“Gay?” I supplied.
“Yes. Not that it matters, of course, but he always had a girl on his arm at these soirees. One day, out of the blue, he left a prestigious post at the British Museum and moved to France. For love. Sweet, isn’t it? I’m sure poor Professor Creighton was gutted to lose him. They’re very close friends. Or they were,” she singsonged in a tone that implied there might be drama between the two men. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to say hello to them.”