"You know Dr. Engel? Isn't he a fox?"

I shrug. Every man in the world right now looks about as interesting as a bowl of cornflakes. "I guess. I dunno. He's kind of old."

"You've met Dr. Engel?" Clara asks this with the excitement usually reserved for bona fide celebrities, not adjunct professors at a community college.

I nod, recalling that day last summer when I'd moved into the condo, started college summer classes and soon after, told Griffin I loved him.

"He was in the pharmacy studies office when I went to grab a brochure. At least I think that's him." I'm not sure of anything these days, and my memory sure as hell can't be trusted. Another side effect of heartbreak.

"God. I can't believe he didn't leave an impression on you. Dr. Engel always leaves an impression on people."

I glance at Clara, wondering what the hell she means. Human interactions have been like this since the news about Griffin. It's as if I'm looking at life through a monochrome kaleidoscope, unable to figure out why everything is swirling and turning, unable to stop the motion. Incapable of fully comprehending words and sentences.

It's better to ignore Clara's last statement because I have nothing to add. I don't want to think about that day I met Dr. Engel in the pharmacy studies office, because that was when I was happy. When I was in love. When I had hope for the future.

Now, my only priority is to put one foot in front of the other and go to school. I think I've tried to do too much by socializing tonight. The toxic mix of sadness and anger inside my chest is threatening to spill over. Not to mention the brain fog, which is making me the worst conversationalist in the world.

"I think I have to go soon." I glance in the direction of the exit.

"No, you have to wait for Dr. Engel to speak."

I grimace. That's another thing that's happened in the last three months. I've stopped being a good girl. I swear, I snarl, I ask questions without apology. "Why?"

"Because it's polite." Again, she's acting like I should know a key piece of information.

"I'm sorry. Why would Dr. Engel care if I stay for his speech or not?"

"Are you sure you're a pharmacy major? Don't you know that he just donated millions of dollars for scholarships to the program? More than anyone's ever donated to the school. Ever. That's the whole point of this party. That and to mark the start of the spring semester."

"I see," I mumble. How did I not know the purpose of this event? Yeah, I have no business being out in public around civilized people. Clara's mention of the word scholarship triggers something in my brain.

I frown. I'd gone to see the financial aid team the other day, and they said I'd be eligible for a new scholarship. I'd filled out some forms, not really caring. I'd only done it because Victoria says any time anyone wants to give out free money, I should take it.

Plus, Griffin's cash would run out sooner or later, considering I gave about three quarters of it to Mom and Ash to pay for his medical bills. Which are still mounting. Another thing I didn't want to think about. The damned healthcare system in this country is broken...

I look at Clara, then at the front of the courtyard, where a lectern's set up. Oh God, there will be speeches. "Well, I guess that is kind of important, him being a huge donor and all. I'll stay for a little while."

"It's nice to get face time with people like him, especially since he might be able to hire us later on."

I only half listen as the president of the college addresses the crowd, then introduces Dr. Engel.

He's exactly as I remember: bald, with a strong brow, intense eyes. Tonight, he has dark stubble on his jaw and I wonder why he didn't bother to shave. He sounds smart, if not a little dull, but his remarks are mercifully brief.

"I'm hoping that this donation will leave a legacy not only for Miami Dade College but for Miami and all of Florida. We'll be training the next generation of pharmacists here." He grins at the president of the school, who is an older lady. She seems captivated by him. Probably because of all his money. I snort softly and take a drink of my soda.

He steps aside, and the president and the board of trustees line up to shake his hand.

"Isn't he a medical doctor?" I have a fuzzy recollection of his business card. "Why is he so interested in pharmacists?"

Clara leans in conspiratorially and speaks in a low tone. "Because he runs pain clinics and employs lots of pharmacists on staff to help the patients. He thinks it's far more efficient that way. Bald men are so masculine. Don't you think?"

I nod. I'm going to have to study harder and read up on this industry if I want to get a job. Right now, I feel like I'm drowning in knee-high water—able to see the shore and touch bottom, but without the strength to lift myself up. Maybe enrolling in school this semester was too much to take on.

I turn to Clara and paste on a smile. "Well, it was great talking with you. Maybe we can get coffee sometime." She's nice enough, but I don't want coffee, anytime, with anyone. I figure this is the best way to extricate myself from this situation. "I'm going to head out."

Why is she looking at me with huge eyes? Am I acting that strange, as strange as I feel inside? Wait, she's looking slightly above me. Over my shoulder. I blink.

"Leaving so soon? But the night is so young."

I turn slowly at the sound of the masculine voice, and Dr. Sebastian Engel is standing there, grinning.

"Hey." Then I realize I'm supposed to say something more appropriate, be deferential to an older person, respectful to an esteemed doctor and philanthropist. Anything but hey. I could follow with a wassup to be super classy. Or call him bro.

The very idea makes me almost cackle out loud.

I clear my throat and paste on a smile. "Hello. That was a great speech, and a really wonderful thing you did for the school."

I quickly glance at Clara, whose cheeks are flushed. I'm hoping she'll jump in and start talking so I can leave.

"Miss Juliette Phillips," Dr. Engel extends his hand.

When he says my name my awareness snaps to attention. "You remember me?".

"Of course. I remember almost all of the students I meet."

I shake his hand, which is smooth and cool. "You must have a photographic memory or something."

He chuckles. "I've heard that before, or something."

I drop his hand and take a half step back. Something about him is entirely too professional...adult...familiar...for me to handle this situation with grace. I need to get home. An image of my bed flits into my mind. God, I want my pajamas.

I'll get the two of them talking and then excuse myself to go to the bathroom. That's when I'll wander away, straight to my car.

"This is Clara." I wave a hand in her direction. Well, duh, he must know that if he's remembered all of the students.

She thrusts her hand out and steps toward him eagerly. "I'm a fan," she gushes.

Ick. Why is she fawning all over this guy? Sure, he's rich, but whatever.

As they make pleasant small talk, I realize that my time with Griffin, and the wake of his death, has left me supremely jaded. Cynical. Hard.

One more reason to be pissed. How the fuck could you do this to me, Griffin?

I swallow, trying to push those thoughts aside. I'll have all night to rage over Griffin and his stupid judgment and how he ruined me for life. Now, I have to be present for like five minutes so this rich donor guy might take pity on me and put in a good word with the scholarship committee or offer me a job when I graduate in however many years I have left. It seems like I'm going to be in school for the next decade.

Fucking hell.

"Why don't I get us all some wine?" Engel stares at me.

"Perfect," squeals Clara.

Obviously Dr. Engel doesn't know or care that I'm only eighteen. "Sure," I say in a bored voice.

He walks off to the bar and Clara turns her back to him and fans her face with her hand. "God, he is so beautiful. Those eyes. I wouldn't be able to resist him if he wanted to take me home tonight. Could you?"

I open and close my mouth. How can I tell her that I can't even think about sex without weeping?

"And that accent." She lets out a swoony sigh.

This gives me an out from answering her question.

"Where's he from, anyway?" I pretend to care.

"Germany. But he also volunteers every year for a Doctors Without Borders kind of charity in Colombia."

I nod thoughtfully, mystified why she knows so much about him.

European. Maybe that's why he didn't think twice about offering a glass of wine to an eighteen-year-old. Or maybe because he has so much money, he figures he can do whatever the hell he wants.

I'm familiar with that attitude.

"I went ahead and got you both chardonnay. I hope that's okay." He's balancing three glasses in his hands and Clara hustles to relieve him of two. She hands me one.

"Here's to your generosity," she burbles, holding up her plastic glass.

I smile and hold my glass in the air. I'd gotten pretty good at giving toasts, after evenings of parties and clubs with Griffin and Victoria.

"Here's to scholarships and warm Miami January nights and new friends like Dr. Engel," I say, a twinge of sadness going through me as I recall going to that first party at Griffin's when I'd heard similar words. From Paul. Who is now dead.

"Sebastian," he corrects. "Please, Juliette. Call me Sebastian."

As I sip and smile absentmindedly, my eyes skim the room and land on a couple. They're laughing, and the man leans over to kiss the woman's temple.

I can't watch that sickening display of love, so I turn away. My eyes land on Dr. Engel..

"Sebastian." I look directly into his navy-blue eyes, which are framed by dusky lashes. He's an unusual looking man, that's for sure. "What a great name."

He looks like a fox, or possibly a wolf. Yes, a wolf. All teeth and glittery eyes.

____