Jane Air

turning my back to the well-intentioned 19-year-old. “Thank you.”
“No problem!” She practically shouts, still standing in the doorway.
“Thank you Cynthia,” I say again.
She nods, her eyes staring straight past me and towards the beautiful bastard who’s now helping himself to a box of Thin Mints on my desk.
“That’ll be all.”
She continues to stare and I reach for the door, shutting it just as she realizes what I’m doing, mouth open as if to protest.
Door handle in hand, I pause, realizing what I have just done.
We are now locked in my office. My tiny office, with one small path from door to desk. The rest of the room filled with books .
Books on shelves.
Books on the floor.
Books on the one chair I have, in theory, for someone to sit on. Really, it’s just a chair-shaped shelf for more books.
Turning, knowing there is nowhere for me to sit since he is sitting in my chair, behind my desk, in the only place there is to sit in this room, I square my shoulders and clutch my photocopies to my front, hoping it isn’t too obvious I’m using them as a shield.
Or a second layer of clothing.
Which is ridiculous, considering…
“You’re messy,” he smiles as he says it, bringing another Thin Mint towards his lip, pausing with the dark, round cookie a breath from his lower lip. My indignation must be apparent because he grins and pops the whole thing in his mouth, chewing triumphantly.
“Stop that,” I move towards him, tiptoeing as quickly as I can across my narrow path. “It’s not cookie season for another eight months.”
“So how do you have these?” His brows arch as he pops another one into his mouth.
“Hey!” I’m at my desk now, able to reach across and swipe the box from where it rests near his hands. “I ration those.” I peer inside. He’s taken an entire sleeve.
Jerk.
He grins again, licking the crumbs from the edge of his mouth.
God, he’s got a great mouth.
And he knows it too, the way he’s watching me watching him. It must be the thing he sees more often than anything else, women ogling him.
The thought stops me. Like a splash of cold water, I remember who I’m really dealing with.
Not some hot new neighbor.
Not some cookie-stealing harmless flirt.
Not some delicious pervert who molests sex-starved women in the woods.
He’s David Jacobs.
Rich.
Famous.
Privileged.
Used to getting anything and anyone he wants.
The thought almost makes me smile. Like a secret glimpse into an alien life, I briefly wonder what it must be like, to have anything and everything, to want for nothing. To have achieved and obtained more than you could even dream of. Where do you go from there?
I mentally shake myself.
Why do I care about his inner workings?
It doesn’t matter.
“Did you break into my office to steal cookies?” I put the box behind me, wedging it between two books on a shelf above my head. Ridiculous, I know, to think I am tall enough to put something out of reach of him.
He shakes his head, and I notice he has a pile of books next to him. A new pile. I recognize all my piles of books and that one, I am certain, was not there when I left here last week.
“Did you…” I pause, genuinely confused, “need something to read?”
He looks at me, brows drawn down as if puzzling something.
“We have a library,” I reach forward slowly, moving the pile of books away from him and closer to me. He watches my movements, no doubt amused at my obsessive hoarding. “That’s where you should go to borrow books.”
He’s silent and I briefly wonder if he’s lived in L.A. so long he doesn’t know what libraries are.
“Libraries are places where-”
“I know what libraries are.”
“Ok.” He doesn’t say anything else. “What about the internet? You can order books online. They get delivered to your house.” Slowly I bring the pile into my arms, cradling my precious ones.
He remains silent, watching me gingerly replace the five texts, tucking them into the shelves like children at bedtime.
“We also have a bookstore downtown. I know the owner. He’ll help you find something.”
He nods. “Can he recommend a book about what to do when naked women break into my property?”
The breath leaves my lungs in a huff.
“I didn’t know it was your-”
“I’m not here for books.”
I adjust my glasses and turn towards him. “Then what are you here for?”
“I’m here for you.”
Well.
Wasn’t expecting that.
“Excuse me?”
He pushed himself back from my desk, my ancient chair creaking slightly under his movements.
“Considering your criminal behavior, I figure you owe me a favor.”
“A favor?”
This is ridiculous. Fully dressed, in my own office for heaven’s sake, and I still can’t form a sentence around this man.
“I never called the police.” He moves closer, walking towards me.
“Thank you.”
“But I still could,” he grins, only a few feet from me now, and I finally understand the word wolfish.
“Wha-” I back up, despite the feel of the shelves against my back.
“Unless you help me.”
“Are you blackmailing me?” I lean back farther, or try to. There’s nowhere for me to go.
“Yes.” He’s closer to me now, the size of him seems to swallow the remaining air in my stuffy office. Even the overhead light dims against the shadow of his shoulders.
I almost laugh. It’s so ridiculous. Blackmailed in my office. Threatened with arrest.
This is not a typical day.
I can imagine the newspaper headline: Professor caught naked, stalking new neighbor.
There it is again. The splash of cold water. Because, as unusual as it is to be threatened with a prison sentence, the reality is I have a job, a reputation, and a life. And no one, not even someone as sinfully tempting as this man, gets to take it away from me.
I take in a deep breath and wish I didn’t notice the way his eyes flicker downwards. I swear I feel the heat of his breath on my breasts.
“I wouldn’t have thought a man like you needed to coerce women into sex.”
He grins, the son of a bitch.