Beyond the Ivory Tower (13 page)

The return to Los Angeles felt anti-climactic.

Ethan left for San Francisco, while Anna buried herself in work.

In her absence, a dozen different issues had cropped up, each of which required careful political maneuvering. She welcomed the distraction. Ethan’s declaration of intent had thrown her for a loop, and the person she usually turned to for advice—Becca—was too preoccupied by her own relationship crisis to be of much help.

Anna sighed, wishing she still had her parents’ wisdom to draw on. What would they have advised in a situation where emotions defied logic? Where the safe choice meant preserving her career, possibly at the expense of personal happiness—while taking a risk gave her a shot at achieving both, but without any guarantees?

Dwelling on the situation too much gave her a headache. Her lack of sleep didn’t help. Who knew that after a full week in Ethan’s company, she’d have such a hard time returning to her own empty bed? How was she supposed to make a decision, when she couldn’t even think straight from exhaustion, thanks to night after night of tossing and turning?

Maybe that’s why she didn’t immediately react when she heard the shouting. It was Friday afternoon. She’d just left a faculty meeting, and was heading back to her office, eyes focused on her iPhone, scrolling through the endless email messages that cluttered her inbox.

Several loud pops, like firecrackers exploding, startled her enough to look up. Some fifteen feet ahead, a door flew open, and students stumbled out, screaming.

Chaos ensued. Glass shattered. Running feet echoed down the hall.

“He’s got a gun!” someone yelled.

A man barreled into Anna, knocking her against the wall. Her ankle twisted, and sharp pain shot up her leg. She went down, losing her grip on the phone. It crashed to the floor a second before she did, the screen splintering on impact. She barely managed to scramble out of the way as more people streamed past.

A shrill sound pierced the air, repeating every few seconds. Someone must have set off a fire alarm.

In the distance, she could hear the wail of approaching sirens.

To her left, a low cry was abruptly cut off. Anna stared in horror as she recognized one of her graduate students. He pitched forward, shuddered once, and lay still. A dark red stain spread beneath his body.

She sucked in a breath, crouched low to the ground, and made a beeline toward him. Dimly-remembered instructions from some remote CPR class swirled in her head. Pulse? Airway?
Shit
. She was pretty sure there’d been no mention of what to do for gunshot wounds.

With shaking fingers, she searched for his pulse. Nothing. Sweat dripped into her eyes, obscuring her vision. She blinked, adjusting her grip. And there it was: a faint fluttering against her fingers.
Thank God.

“Police! Don’t move!”

A flurry of noise erupted. Shots. Yelling.

A streak of fire seared her upper arm.

“Get down, get down!”

I’m already down
, she wanted to say. But her lips wouldn’t move. Her fingers felt numb. She tried to catch her breath. What happened to all the oxygen?

The floor seemed to be moving toward her in slow motion. She closed her eyes. Something hard and gritty hit her cheek.

She thought about Klara. The way she’d practically danced on air when she found out she’d gotten a Talbot Fellowship.

“It’s going to be epic,” she’d laughed, hugging Anna before rushing off to make plans.

That was the moment Anna’s world had changed, spinning off its axis, thrusting her into the path of the one man she couldn’t ignore, out-argue, or resist. He’d offered her everything except what she thought she’d wanted the most.

And now…

Now, she realized the true cost of stubbornness.

She’d give anything to turn back the clock. Anything to feel his arms around her again. Anything to have the chance to say:
yes, I love you.

Yes—
to San Francisco.

Yes—
to a life together.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

It was her last thought before she passed out.

~

Ethan’s phone vibrated. Surreptitiously, he glanced down and frowned at Colette’s text:

You may need to do damage control. Sorry!

He clicked on the attached link. A tabloid headline leaped off the screen:
TROUBLE IN PARADISE.
Beneath it was a photo of him and Anna, ripped down the center, with the caption:
Are Ethan & Anna heading for Splitsville?

He scrolled down and skimmed the article.

Looks like one of San Francisco’s favorite billionaires is back to playing the field. After disappearing for a week with girlfriend Anna Lazarev, Ethan Talbot reportedly returned home alone. According to close sources, the couple was last seen together at LAX airport, looking grim-faced and barely speaking.

A few days later, Ethan appears to have recovered. Does old flame Colette Broussard have anything to do with his improved mood? The two recently enjoyed an intimate dinner and cruise aboard a private yacht. Back in June, they appeared together at a donor event in Los Angeles—an event sponsored by the university where Anna Lazarev happens to be a professor.

Ethan and Colette’s on-again/off-again relationship spans more than a dozen years, predating Ethan’s failed marriage to Stacy Talbot, and Colette’s own faltering union with biotech CEO Patrick Conroy.

Besides their personal connection, Ethan and Colette also share a working relationship. Colette is CEO of the Talbot Foundation, which is the charitable arm of the Talbot Fund, and the sponsor of the Talbot Fellowship. That’s right, folks: the same Fellowship that Anna so publicly blasted just a few months ago.

So are Anna and Ethan through? Is Ethan back with Colette for good? And where does Colette’s husband fit in to the equation? The lead actors in this drama are the only ones who know for sure—and none of them are talking.

All we can say is: stay tuned…

Shit
. If Anna saw this….He couldn’t imagine what she might think.

The most infuriating thing about it was how seamlessly fact, fiction, and innuendo were interwoven in the text. Yes, he and Colette had attended a dinner aboard a chartered yacht—along with some sixty other guests, including all the current and several former Talbot Fellows, a dozen Silicon Valley based mentors, corporate sponsors, and a select panel of speakers.

Given the arguments he and Anna already had on the issue of paparazzi, this latest filth was bound to create more problems. Even if he managed to reassure Anna yet again that she had nothing to worry about with regard to other women, he didn’t know how to defuse her anxiety over such persistent and intrusive coverage by the tabloid press.

“So, what do you think, Ethan?”

He blinked and looked up at the ring of faces around the conference table. “I’m sorry,” he said, rising. “I’ll need some more time to examine the figures. Let’s plan on meeting Monday. My assistant will set up a time. And now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen…”

Without waiting for a response, he left the room and headed for his office. Over the next few hours, between answering emails and taking meetings by Skype, he tried to reach Anna—first calling her cell, then her office and home numbers. Nothing. His text and email messages likewise received no response.

Damn
. If they were living together, if she weren’t so obstinate, this would be a non-issue. He’d simply go home, wrap his arms around her, and sweep her off to bed. Then he’d make love to her until they were both too exhausted to move, let alone think.

“Margaret.” He buzzed his assistant. “What’s the soonest you can get me to L.A.?”

“Commercial or charter?”

He glanced out the window. Rush hour traffic was just beginning. “Whichever gets me there faster.”

“Working on it,” she said. “By the way, a Klara Lazarev just called. She was quite insistent on speaking with you. Sounded upset.”

Ethan rubbed his eyes. No doubt Anna’s sister had seen the same article Colette had forwarded to him. Why else would she want to talk with him, when they hadn’t gotten around to being formally introduced?

“Fine,” he said. “Put her through.”

Upset turned out to be an understatement. The girl was hysterical, barely making sense.

“Slow down and take a deep breath,” Ethan told her, forcing himself to stay calm. “Now what’s this about a campus lock-down?”

“There was a shooting. Math Sciences Building—”

Jesus
. Ethan felt the bottom drop out of his world.

“—I can’t reach her,” Klara continued. “Becca went over, but they won’t let anyone through, and they won’t release names—”

“They,
who
?” Ethan interrupted.

“The police. I need to get down there, but the next flight isn’t till seven, which is almost three hours away and the best they could do was put me on standby—”

“Where are you?”

“At the airport. Terminal three.”

“Stay there. I’ll get us a flight.” He was already moving. “Margaret!”

~

Two hours later, they were in the air.

Ethan spent most of the flight calling in favors, while Klara flipped between news channels and scoured the Internet for any updates. The footage was chilling. Police and SWAT teams swarmed the building. Yellow crime scene tape stretched in every direction. Emergency personnel rushed blood-covered victims out to waiting ambulances. None looked familiar, thank God, but the names still weren’t being released. Seven dead, including the gunman. Thirteen injured. Two still unaccounted for.

Ethan’s father was the one who finally managed to locate Anna through an old colleague at the university hospital.

“She’s in surgery,” he told Ethan. “I couldn’t get any more information, other than the surgeon’s name. Leo Kogan. He’s an orthopedist, so I doubt it’s anything life-threatening.”

Ethan released a ragged breath. “Thanks, Dad.”

Klara’s reaction was even more reassuring. “Leo? Oh, thank God.”

“You know him?” Ethan said.

“Yeah. He’s the best.”

From the airport, they went straight to the hospital, where they were directed to the surgical waiting area.

While Klara huddled in one of the armchairs, Ethan prowled the perimeter of the room. The minutes crawled by.

“Are you sure there’s no news?” he asked the volunteer at the desk for the third time.

“Sir, as soon as your wife is out of surgery and in the recovery room, they’ll call.”

He nodded his thanks and resumed pacing. Ordinarily he’d use downtime to catch up on email or read through a backlog of documents awaiting review. At the moment, though, work was the farthest thing from his mind.

Regret burned a hole in his gut and rose like acid to his throat, choking off his breath, making his eyes water.

For a man who prided himself on thinking outside the box, he’d been remarkably short-sighted. Blaming Anna’s inflexibility for keeping them apart had somehow blinded him to his own unwillingness to compromise. He’d lost sight of the fact that love wasn’t about ego or whose job was more important. It was about building a life together, which sometimes meant putting another person’s interests ahead of your own.

Was he ready to do that? Absolutely. All he needed was the chance to set things right. As soon as Anna was well enough to hear him out.
Please, God
…

Klara’s hand on his arm startled him. “Becca called. She’s bringing some clothes and toiletries and stuff. She offered to do a Starbucks run. You want anything?”

“No. Thanks.” He shook off his uneasy thoughts and checked his watch. “Why do you think it’s taking so long?”

“I don’t know.” She hesitated. “Ethan…”

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted to say thanks. I mean, this—” she dropped her voice “—today, everything—is above and beyond. Especially since we’re not really family.”

“Mr. Lazarev?” The volunteer interrupted before Ethan could set Klara straight. “Your wife is in the recovery room. Just exit the double doors and go straight. The elevator will be on your right. Take it up to the second floor, and someone will meet you there.”

“Thanks.” He cupped Klara’s elbow. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, ma’am—” The volunteer hurried after them. “Only immediate family is allowed up—”

“She’s my wife’s sister,” Ethan said, without breaking his stride. He didn’t release Klara until they were in the elevator.

“I can’t believe you got away with that,” Klara said.

He pressed the button for the second floor. “You heard the woman. Only immediate family.”