Uncross My Heart by Austin, Andrews & Austin Read Free Book Online Page B

While I felt stressed at having been cornered, I felt freer at having spoken my mind in an unguarded way, as if to tell Vivienne Wilde, do what you will with this information. I’m saying it in the presence of others so you can’t misconstrue and misquote.
    We stood for a moment at the front of the room and thanked people for coming. Vivienne lingered not far from me, while Professor Gladys Irons, her gray-splashed, wiry hair sticking out as if in shock, rushed me like a linebacker.
    “You were caught off guard. That liberal, crazy woman who writes terrible things about the school jumped you. Jesus was man, but not man in the carnal sense. But you looked wonderful.” Gladys eyed my outfit and drifted away, leaving me morose at being her personal poster child, thanks to Vivienne— another reason to hate Vivienne .
    And like a spirit summoned in the night, she stood before me looking out of place with her golden hair and her perfectly lined orange-red lips framing her ungodly beautiful mouth. Where in hell did that thought come from , I wondered.
    “Good answer,” she said.
    “Glad you approve. Any reason in particular that you’re here?”
    “Yes, I’m completing a follow-up work in my series called The Untruths , and I’m focused on religious beliefs. This conference provides background for that subject. And by the way, if you had given me a straight answer the other day in your office, I would have put that in the paper instead.”
    “I see. Short of an answer you want, you make one up?”
    “You said Emerson’s suicide was an indication that he wasn’t cut out to be a priest.”
    “That was a private conversation, not an official interview, and I didn’t say suicide was a natural-selection process for priests.” I was building up steam now that I had her in front of me. “Did you ever stop to think that what you printed might offend his family?” I started to leave, then whirled back to face her. “And I said nothing to you about wanting to be chancellor of Claridge.”
    “But you do.”
    “And you’re a psychic in your spare time?”
    “I’m psychic enough to know you could be chancellor, if you would get out of your own way.”
    “If you would get out of my way, I would greatly appreciate it.”
    I turned, determined this time to desert this annoying woman, but her high heels clattered behind me.
    “Why have you sold your soul to them? You used to rail against the very institution to whom you’re now in bondage.”
    What does she know? I faced her. “I want you to stop quoting me or Claridge in the press unless we’ve both agreed to what you’re going to say.” I glowered at her and for a moment thought I could see the innards of her brain clicking like castanets.
    “Then you’ll have to talk to me and stop taking me on PC tours of the campus. You’ll have to spend time with me…to educate me on your viewpoint.”
    “I have no desire to do that.”
    “This isn’t about desire—at the moment,” she said. My heart slammed against the wall of my chest as if trying to escape and avoid capture. “It’s about one hour a week.”
    I was angry and nervous over the physical reaction she produced in me, despite my desire to dislike her . Keep my enemies close to me. If she gets too close, there’s an even greater chance she’ll use something I’ve said against me. She strikes me as a woman who won’t be ignored, and pushing her away might create worse press about Claridge.
    Her head tilted at an angle, and she stared at me. I was becoming dizzy under her gaze. “Hello?” she said in response to my silence.
    “All right, but—” I felt pressured to accept, or maybe that was an excuse because I wanted to accept.
    “Fridays at three at your place.”
    “See you next Friday.” I felt hypnotized.

Chapter Seven
    The rest of the conference was a blur. I couldn’t stop thinking about our upcoming meeting—how I should prepare, what I should say, what I should never say, and what I