Sallinger, Elene - Reflection (The Chrysalis Series)

‘What page would that be, Dean?’

He smiled and stood, coming to stand behind her. The way he moved reminded her of a reptile, cold and slithering. She tensed and her skin prickled at the feel of him behind her.

‘My dear Bridget.’ He leaned over her, resting his hands on the back of her chair but brushing her skin in the process. She could smell his cologne; it was a spicy scent that on anyone else would have been intoxicating. Instead, it made her nauseous. ‘You know what I want. Playing hard to get with me is cute, but it’s wearing thin. I control your tenure review. If you want my signature on that page, you’re going to give me what I want. Do you understand? Because if you don’t I will make sure not only do you lose your job here, no one will hire you when I’m done with you.’

‘You bastard!’ Bridget hissed and lurched up, pushing the chair back as she did so. Whittier fell back, catching himself on the wall. Panic flooded her and she began to tremble violently from head to toe. ‘What do you think you’re doing? Threatening me with my job. This is harassment.’

Her heart raced and dizziness threatened to overwhelm her, but she refused to give in. She went on the offensive instead.

‘Besides, what do you have over me? Huh? The last time I checked I performed my duties as a professor here more than competently. My student evaluation average is one of the highest on campus and I’ve published more in the time I’ve been here than anyone else in the department. So, you’ll have to enlighten me as to what you’re referring to as it relates to my tenure evaluation.’

Rage suffused his face as he straightened and pushed away from the wall, smoothing his clothes before speaking in a cold voice. ‘Listen to me, Ross. Who are you going to run to? President Harvey? That doddering old fool does exactly what I tell him to do. He wants my family’s money in this university and he knows that harming me is harming his budget. So, good luck with that one.’

He was right. Harvey had acquiesced to Whittier so much it was a running joke that he needed a straw to suck up as hard as he did.

Either way, she wasn’t going to stay here and be preyed upon. Those days were over. She rushed to the door, wrenched it open, and almost ran headlong into Martha McBrand.

‘Oh!’ Martha cried out as she stepped back.

Bridget quickly pulled herself together and gently brought the door fully open, leaving it that way. As her colleagues began to file into the room, Bridget once again settled into the chair closest to the door and felt growing despair as Whittier’s threats sank in.

‘Stop, Daisy!’

Bridget admonished the dog who was currently carpet surfing on the area rug in Bridget’s living room. Normally, she found it amusing when the dog flopped on her back and began rubbing around as if she had the worst itch in the world. Tonight, however, there was no solace to be found. Not even the mint chocolate chip ice cream was helping and it was her go-to comfort food.

Bridget had come home hoping to find some comfort in her personal space. She’d taken great care in decorating her home. Her living room was eclectic yet modern with comfortable furniture that was soft and enveloping while still having clean lines. She’d decorated in warm tones of pale browns, gold and orange, with touches of flair in the art and knick-knacks. It reflected the woman she considered herself to be – warm, welcoming, and classy. She’d always found sanctuary in her home.

Tonight, she just felt alone.

She’d considered calling Connor, asking him to come over, but decided against it. She wasn’t ready to let him that close. Despite what they’d shared, she wanted to take this very slow with him. He left her unsettled and she didn’t like that.

On the one hand, they were good together. He made her laugh. But he challenged her in ways that made her want to run the other direction. His ideas about sex were intriguing, but they also meant she’d wasted almost 20 years of her life.

Uggh! Let it go, she told herself. You’ve got more pressing problems.

Dale Whittier could very well ruin her career.

She’d thought about calling Claire and Mona, but she already knew what they’d say. They’d tell her to report it. To not let him get the best of her. And, while Bridget agreed in principle, it wasn’t that simple.

This was her career at stake.

She could report the harassment, but even if her complaint was successful, she’d find herself labelled a troublemaker and have a hard time finding work elsewhere.

If she got her tenure successfully, she’d be almost untouchable. It was one of the reasons she’d selected Pinewood to begin with. With so few universities maintaining a tenure programme these days, a teacher was constantly auditioning for their job. They’d be lucky to get more than a one-year contract, but the responsibilities were still the same despite the lack of payoff in return for the professor.

When she’d been in that position, she’d still had to advise. Still had to participate in university activities. Still had to be accountable for the curriculum, passing rates, and student evaluations. She’d still had to publish and be relevant but had no assurance that the 50 to 60 hours a week she put in would result in her contract being renewed or her salary not being cut when it came time to renegotiate.

She’d suffered through a few of those types of contracts when she first began teaching and quickly determined she’d wanted a tenured position. When the position had become available at Pinewood she’d done her damnedest to land it and she deeply resented the dean for putting her back up against the wall this way.

She probably wouldn’t have taken the position if he’d been in charge when she interviewed. She wasn’t one to put herself into the line of fire if it could be avoided and she’d known the day she met Whittier that he was going to be trouble. His eyes had lingered too long. His tone had been suggestive and he’d made her feel like a piece of meat under inspection for consumption.

Dean Winslow, Whittier’s predecessor, had been a kind man with a compassionate face that lit up when he spoke of the research he did in addition to leading the department. Her interview had taken place over coffee in the teachers’ lounge because he’d said he wanted all the candidates to get a feel for what it was really like in the department rather than a sterile interview in his office. They’d gone much longer than the 45 minutes he’d allotted for the interview as they’d discussed their passion for teaching and how satisfying it was to see the light bulb go off in a student’s eyes when they finally grasped complex chemical concepts.

She’d instantly liked him and they’d become close that first year. Winslow had become a mentor to her. Unfortunately, his heart had begun to fail and he’d decided to retire. He still served on the board of directors, but he spent most of his time in his garden now or with his children and grandchildren.

President Harvey had hired Dean Whittier. It had not been a popular decision. The search committee had recommended another candidate: a woman with a stellar record and a charismatic personality. Whittier had seemed coldly arrogant throughout the entire interview process. Bridget had been on the search committee and universally they’d agreed that Sheila had been the better candidate. The president had overridden their recommendation, giving the position to Whittier. A month later, the university was getting a brand new fitness facility. You didn’t have to be Einstein for that math to add up.

Either way, she was stuck with him now, and he was leaving her little choice. She had to find a way to expose him and his harassment without getting herself fired. She already knew how the victim in a situation like this could be turned into the villain. She’d seen enough women made out to be the criminal despite being horribly violated. She’d never been willing to be one of them.