Creep - Jennifer Hillier [100]
“How long have you been working with Sheila? A year?”
Wolfe’s expression was cool. “Just about. She was my mentor. I’m really disappointed she left because this is my last year. I would have loved to finish under her.”
And over her, and from behind, and any other position you get her into, blowhard.
“She’s the best professor at this school,” Wolfe continued. “Hands down. Her lectures were incredible, as I’m sure you know.” He sipped his coffee again, no longer rattled.
“I wouldn’t know, actually.”
“You’ve never heard her lecture?”
“Never had the privilege.”
“Wow.” Wolfe leaned back in his chair, smug. “I’d have thought being engaged and all, you’d have taken an interest in her work. She was the most dynamic—”
A knock at the door interrupted Wolfe midsentence. Morris realized he was breathing hard and forced himself to calm down. Turning his head, he saw Dolores in the doorway.
“Hi again, Morris.”
She gave him a warm smile and he forced himself to smile back. The woman had no idea she’d just saved Wolfe from getting his face smashed into the desk.
“What’s up, Dolores?” Wolfe sounded breezy.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you gentlemen, but, Ethan, Danny Ambrose is here. He’s really upset. He said Dr. Tao told him he was getting a B, but you entered a C into the system and now he’s having problems with his scholarship. Can I steal you for a quick sec?”
“This might take a few minutes,” Wolfe said, standing. He seemed amused for no reason Morris could see.
“I’ll wait,” Morris said.
Alone, he looked around at the dismal office, much smaller than Sheila’s and lacking personality. He poked hard at the Seahawks bobblehead to make it nod faster and contemplated how he was going to ask Wolfe about the affair. Should he come straight out with it? Or dance around it and try to make the kid squirm?
The bobblehead’s abnormally large cranium fell off its skinny body with a clatter and rolled around on the desk a few times. Morris made a grab for it before it could fall over the edge and hit the floor.
Shit, it was broken. Holding the plastic head in his hand, he allowed himself a smirk at the sight of the headless body. It was a nice parallel for what he felt like doing to Ethan Wolfe.
Fumbling with large fingers, he worked at reattaching the head. As he fiddled with the springs, something small and shiny rolled away from the base. Morris picked it up, assuming it was another broken part. But it wasn’t, not even close.
He knew exactly what this was, because it belonged to him.
Stunned, he traced the engraved initials on the platinum face. MG.
It was the missing cuff link he’d been looking for. What the hell was Wolfe doing with it? Morris’s mind raced.
Had Sheila given it to her boy toy? No, that made no sense. What would have been the point of giving Wolfe just one cuff link? Besides, they were personalized with Morris’s initials.
Had he left it at Sheila’s house and Wolfe had swiped it from there? No, impossible. Morris had never worn the cuff links to Sheila’s house.
Wolfe would be back any minute. Slipping the cuff link into his pocket, Morris made his way out of the office.
Six minutes later he was in his Cadillac. He closed and locked the car doors. In the privacy of the vehicle, he pulled out the cuff link and stared at it in disbelief.
What the hell did it mean? Think, damn it.
The last time he’d worn these cuff links was when he was working on the Okinawa deal. He’d had an early-morning breakfast meeting with two of the investors and had worn his charcoal suit with his favorite cerulean blue tie. Then he’d had a conference call with another investor in Japan. Afterward, if he wasn’t mistaken, he’d met with Randall’s friend Tom Young for a preliminary interview. They’d gone out to dinner later that evening.
Christ. Tom Young. The pieces fell into place.
He knew he’d remembered Ethan Wolfe from somewhere. The desire to leave the door open at the interview,