Page 1 of Filthy Professor
Chapter 1
Kat
What to write, what to write . . .
Tapping my pen against my notebook, I struggled to come up with my next article idea. Working for I Dig It! Magazine was a dream come true. I’d always been fascinated with ancient cultures and the people that lived before us, and with my archaeology background, the job was a perfect match for me, but lately, I’d been having a hard time. I sighed and picked up my well-worn copy of Famous Archaeology Discoveries of the 20th Century. Maybe paging through would help inspire my next idea. While my editor assigned me pieces, I also loved finding things to pitch. It helped keep things interesting.
Paging through, I stopped on the discovery of the Valley of the Golden Mummies, twenty years ago. The team included one American—Harrison Keeler. He’d been only twenty at the time, and it was an early highlight for his career. As I glanced through the pictures, his bright smile captured my attention. He looked like a giddy schoolboy, and the corners of my lips lifted. That was the look of someone who clearly enjoyed what they were doing, never mind that he was handsome. “Brown-eyed handsome man,” I murmured, the Elvis song suddenly popping into my head. His piercing hazel eyes practically leapt from the photograph, despite the round glasses on his face. Those eyes couldn’t be hidden. He wore a white sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and it looked like this was just one of his many adventures—like he was excited for what the future had to bring.
Surely, this was a man who deserved a profile or a feature story. I frowned, realizing that while his name sounded familiar, I couldn’t think of another thing he’d done. I wondered what he was up to now. Was he still an archaeologist? Had he discovered anything since? I racked my brain before turning to Google. Scrolling through, I was disappointed to find this seemed to be his only notable discovery. He’d given up adventuring, settled down, and become a professor. My shoulders slumped. While I knew archaeology could be a hard career, he should have gotten a few good years in. Based on his bio, he’d only be about forty now. To make a discovery like that only to have it fall apart was tragic. The young man looked like he was destined to accomplish great things and have an impressive archaeology career, but he hadn’t.
I found a more current picture, and my breath caught. The man had been handsome when he was young, but he’d gotten finer with age. Those arms I’d gotten a peek of were more muscular in his recent picture. He was a fox; there was no doubt about it. Pursing my lips, I thought over my options. Was it so wrong to use the idea of an article as an excuse to meet this man? I’d met others in the industry, and while his discovery had been long ago, it had still been a huge one.
Digging deeper, I found out where he currently taught—Chicago. My smile grew. It was like it was meant to be. Living in Southeastern Wisconsin had a perk after all; it was only a couple hours from Chicago. And given that it was now early May, the timing couldn’t have been better. He would still be teaching before being out for the summer.
After finding the best contact at the college, I sent off a quick email asking if I could sit in on one of his classes. The reply came as I was still researching Harrison and getting drawn in by those eyes. It was difficult to pull myself away from them, even in a picture. When I read that I could attend his class on Monday, I emailed my editor to pitch the idea. Since the man was a legend in the industry, I was hopeful my editor would approve, although I was nervous about the spin he’d probably want to put on it.
Jamie was always after in-depth stories. He was a great editor, but I’d made a mistake and dated him for a while. Things had gone south, but I was determined to not let it ruin what I had in this job. Writing about archaeology was what I’d always wanted. I couldn’t go back to writing about snowmobiles, wanting to claw my eyes out to relieve the boredom. So, I’d sucked it up, and wouldn’t leave this place if I could at all help it. Besides, my boss, Byron Alberts, was the best boss I’d ever had, and I only interacted with Jamie to get his notes. He kept things professional and hadn’t given me much trouble.
Archaeology was way more interesting than any subject I’d written about before, especially given that I’d majored in history. Discovering—or at least writing about discoveries—was fun. Or it was most of the time. I longed to have a real adventure, but I haven’t been with the magazine long enough for them to send me anywhere on an on-location assignment. An in-depth feature where I got to travel and witness an actual discovery was my real dream. Maybe Harrison would humor me and regale me with tales of his adventures, even if he had given them up. As I daydreamed, an email popped up from Jamie.
Kat,
That’s a wonderful idea! We can really push the history angle and how archaeologists sell out. This is going to be a great piece.
I frowned. That wasn’t the point.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, not surprised at how Jamie wanted it spun. I’d just have to find something more interesting than that. Taking a deep breath, I began to plan for my trip. I’d stop for coffee on my way out of town at my favorite place—Adelaide’s Treats and Lattes. I’d need the sugar and caffeine boosts to get me through this. While I was excited to meet Harrison, I hoped he wouldn’t be too put out about me invading his space. I already knew if Jamie had his way, he’d probably be pissed about the final article. In the end, I would have to do what I’d have to do.
***
Early Monday morning, I got up and headed to Adelaide’s. I smiled as I saw the windows decorated for Memorial Day, which was next week. Adelaide’s granddaughter kept the place festive no matter the time of year. The door jingled as I opened it, and my gaze snagged on Adelaide’s daughter-in-law behind the counter, arranging pastries in the case.
“Good morning!” she called out. “You beat the morning rush. I’m not even done baking yet.”
“Yeah, I have to drive down to Chicago and need some refreshments.”
“You’ve come to the right place. What can I get you?”
“Dark chocolate mocha, and . . .” I trailed off as I gazed into the bakery case, my eyes snagging on the coffee cake. “One of those, please.”
She grinned. “Great choices. It’ll just be a minute and then you can begin your drive to the Windy City. I used to live down there, you know.”
I nodded. “I’m just going to cover a story.”
Her eyes lit up. “A writer? Me too! Though my time is kind of split between that and baking, and running our marketing and website.” She grabbed the ingredients and began making my drink.
“Oh, that’s cool. I write for an archaeology magazine.”
She hummed, placing the drink in front of me. “I can’t say that’s my jam, but whatever you love is what’s important when it comes to writing.” After grabbing a bag and putting the coffee cake inside, she handed it to me.
“Thank you. That’s the great thing about writing. There’s something for everyone, no matter what you’re into.” I grinned and thanked her again before heading back out to my car. Writing about history may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but that’s because they don’t see it through my eyes. A sip of my dark chocolate mocha had me humming as the delicious notes danced across my tongue. She made the best one of these I’d ever tasted. Taking a large bite of the coffee cake, I rolled the bag up and began the drive down to Chicago.
As I cruised along the highway, I turned on the Elvis station, and “Spring Fever” came on. I chuckled as I sang along. Their timing was on point; Elvis is still one of my favorites. My dad had made my sister Emma and I listen to his songs and watch all his movies growing up. A pang hit me at the memory of my father, who died last year. Elvis singing about his fever rising made me laugh again, even though a tear made its way down my cheek.
Emma’s a writer too, but her love for Elvis inspired her to write for Hoofers and Honeys, a classic movie site. I smiled, thinking about how we’d both followed our passions. Dad was so proud of us. He still would be. I kept the Elvis station on until I was navigating the crowded streets of Chicago, hunting for the parking ramp for the university. I’d scouted for it ahead of time because all the congestion made me nervous. After parking, I flipped the visor down and checked myself out in the mirror, my green eyes locking on themselves. My mascara was still in place despite the few tears I’d shed about my dad. Blowing out a breath, I texted my sister, asking for an Elvis movie night soon, then, stowing it in my bag containing my notebook and tablet, I exited the car and started making my way to the elevators and the entrance of the university.
After checking in at the front desk, I acquired my guest pass, suddenly nervous. Maybe I should have talked to Harrison on the phone first. I was sure they’d informed him of my presence, but my feet slowed as students rushed past me to get to the entrance of Albert Hall. I took a deep breath and followed the memories of when I’d gone to school here. I’d attended Archaeology 101 in this very room, the same as the other students, but he hadn’t been teaching here then. He’d been exploring.