Free The Jinx by Jennifer Sturman Page B

my fall, the warmth I felt in my cheeks could only be blamed on simple, old-fashioned lust. He seemed to be having even more of an impact on me now than he had when I was eighteen.
    He leaned against the wall. The elevator had long since come and gone. “So, what are you doing here? Are you a student at the business school?”
    â€œNo, at least not now. I graduated years ago. I work in New York. At Winslow, Brown. And you’re a professor?” Now I knew why Professor Beasley’s name had sounded familiar, but somehow the title of professor had managed to blot out the less-than-professorial associations I had with the name Beasley. This Professor Beasley was a far cry from the bow-tied, lockjawed curmudgeon I’d imagined.
    â€œBelieve it or not. Organizational behavior. Incentive systems, things like that. I put in some time on Wall Street and then went to Columbia for a Ph.D. I’ve been teaching here for three years now.”
    I remembered, with great difficulty, why I was there. “You know, it’s funny, running into you like this. I was actually on my way to see you. Only I didn’t realize it would be you, specifically. I didn’t realize that you were Professor Beasley.”
    â€œReally? Why?”
    â€œIt’s about Sara Grenthaler.”
    His expression changed from friendly to somber, but it was equally enthralling. “How do you know Sara?”
    â€œWell, she’s sort of my client. I mean, Grenthaler Media is. And she worked with me last summer at Winslow, Brown.”
    â€œSo you’ve heard what happened to her.” His voice was laced with concern.
    I nodded. “In fact, I just came from UHS. I was talking to her roommate, Edie Michaels, and she explained about the letters Sara was getting. I told her I’d come talk to you. She’s anxious that the police know about them, just in case there’s a connection of any sort with the attack.”
    â€œLet’s go up to my office,” Jonathan suggested. “I can fill you in there.” I willingly let him escort me up to the third floor and lead me down a corridor, nodding to various colleagues and staff along the way. He ushered me into his office and took my coat, hanging it next to his own on a peg on the back of the office door. I looked around while he cleared a stack of papers from one of his guest chairs. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and I scanned his collection. It was extensive and varied, ranging from the usual business texts to history and biography. I even saw the familiar double volume of Norton’s Anthology of English Literature, its bindings worn and tattered.
    â€œEnglish 10,” he said, following my gaze.
    â€œI know. I’ve got the same set.” I sat down in the now-empty chair, relieved to no longer have to trust my shaky knees, and he settled himself across from me at his desk.
    â€œI was an Economics major, but I took that course senior year. I loved it. It made me wish I’d taken more English courses, but it was too late.”
    â€œIt would be great to go back and take all of the courses that I missed. Well, except for the exams and papers.”
    â€œI know exactly what you mean,” he replied with a rueful smile. “So, now that I think about it, it’s all coming back to me. You know, my roommate had such a crush on you.”
    â€œHe did?” I didn’t remember his roommate. I’d had eyes only for Jonathan.
    â€œIt was almost pathetic. Clark Gibson. Do you remember him? He would spend every class staring at you and then make me rehash everything you said for the rest of the day. He was obsessed.”
    â€œOh.” I thought back and dredged up a hazy image of Clark Gibson. He had seemed to stare a lot, but I’d assumed he was staring at Luisa. Most men did. “Why did he never ask me out?”
    â€œWell, you were always with your boyfriend. What was his name? The guy with the dark hair