Tour Wars, page 2
To be fair, a lot of academics were just as boastful as TJ, but none of them grated on Emilia’s nerves like he did.
She continued. “Then, in December, we got into a month-long debate on ArchForum.”
Dusty groaned. “No. That online forum is full of toxic archaeology bros.”
“No kidding. I made the mistake of starting a discussion about Bronze Age climate change. Naturally, TJ came at me with his own theories and got his buddies to take his side. He’s always looking for ways to undermine me, like at today’s panel.”
What made it infinitely worse was that TJ never got riled up the way she did. He was so sure of himself that he sailed through life with a smug confidence she secretly envied.
When Dusty didn’t reply right away, Emilia’s hand tightened around her cocktail glass. “I sound paranoid, don’t I? Do you think I’m blowing things out of proportion?”
Her friend gave her an impish smile. “What I think is that you mention his name a lot. I get that you’ve decided he’s your personal nemesis, but…”
A rush of heat flooded Emilia’s cheeks. “But what? Are you suggesting I’m secretly pining for him and trying to cover it up by acting like he’s my sworn enemy?” The words tumbled out with more fury than she’d intended, but Dusty’s grin only widened. Like she knew she’d hit her mark.
Dusty raised her wineglass in a salute. “You said it, not me. For what it’s worth, I don’t think TJ was trying to sabotage you today. Sounds like he was just presenting his own research. I mean, the topic of the session was contrasting theories on the collapse of the Bronze Age.”
While her friend’s logic made sense, Emilia couldn’t bring herself to agree. “Sure, but he didn’t have to be a dick about it. Now I’m worried I botched everything.”
“You have more interviews tomorrow. Maybe then you’ll be in a better frame of mind.”
“Maybe.” Pushing aside her anger, Emilia tossed back the rest of her drink and crunched the last bits of ice between her teeth.
Dusty drained her wine and set down the glass. “If it helps, last year when Stuart did his interviews, he was sure he’d tanked. Then he landed an awesome teaching job at the University of Boston.” She scanned the room. “This whole scene makes me so grateful I dropped out of grad school last fall. I’m just happy to be here as Stuart’s plus-one. Speaking of which…” She waved him over. “He must be done schmoozing.”
In Emilia’s opinion, Stuart was a little too tightly wound, but Dusty adored him, and he treated her like a queen. The two of them had known each other since childhood, but they’d only started dating last August, after they worked together at Troy.
Stuart came to stand beside them at the bar. He placed his hands on Dusty’s shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “Having fun? Or plotting future shenanigans?”
Dusty grinned up at him. “What makes you think I would ever get up to any trouble? I’ve only had two glasses of wine.”
“Do you want another round?” he asked. “Or are you ready to call it a night?”
Emilia couldn’t miss the way he caught Dusty’s eyes and the smile she gave him in return. That secret, knowing smile of a couple that can’t wait to get into bed and start screwing like rabbits. She waved them away. “Get going. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?” Dusty asked.
“Yeah. I’m just about done for the night. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”
“Definitely. Let’s meet up for lunch. I’ll text you.” Dusty pulled a few bills out of her wallet and left them on the bar. “Have a good night. I’m sure you’ll crush those interviews.”
Emilia fought off a pang of wistfulness as she watched them walk away. Her romantic life was nothing like Dusty’s. For the past year and a half, she’d been on a self-imposed dating hiatus. All because her last partner had broken her trust and left her emotionally gutted.
Rather than go up to her room, she ordered another mojito. She sipped it slowly, savoring the taste of mint and lime. If she was lucky, the buzz would ease the negative voices in her head.
Until another, more annoying voice broke into her thoughts. “Anyone sitting here?”
And because fate was such a fickle goddess, of course it was TJ.
CHAPTER TWO
Emilia scowled at TJ, who stood beside her, holding a bottle of beer. He’d changed out of his business attire but still looked maddeningly attractive in jeans and a dark green Henley.
He gestured to the empty seat. “Okay if I join you?”
“Go away.”
“Come on, Em. Don’t you know you shouldn’t drink alone?”
“I wasn’t drinking alone.” Did he think she was that pathetic? When he raised his eyebrows, her scowl deepened. “Dusty was with me. She and Stuart left a few minutes ago.”
“Right. So?” He pointed to the barstool.
“Whatever. But I’m not going to talk to you.” She downed the rest of her mojito in a hasty gulp, shivering as the rum coursed through her system. She was tempted to get up and leave but didn’t want TJ to assume he’d driven her away. Instead, she foolishly ordered another cocktail.
She was hoping he’d let her drink in silence, but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “How’d your interviews go?”
“Terrible. Is that why you’re here? To rub it in? I’m sure you aced yours.” She waited for him to tell her how well they’d gone. How he’d wowed the hiring committees with his knowledge and experience. Because he was nothing if not boastful.
He scraped a hand through his tawny brown hair. “I’m not usually lacking in self-confidence, but…”
Truly, that was the understatement of the century.
“I didn’t feel great about them,” he said. “Too much is at stake. You know?”
For once, this was something they could agree on. “Yeah. There are hardly any listings, and only four are tenure-track.”
She’d gotten a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach when she reviewed the available postings. Landing a job as a tenure-track professor—a position with guaranteed job security in the cutthroat world of academia—seemed as elusive as discovering a lost tomb laden with golden artifacts.
TJ drove out a harsh sigh. “There aren’t a lot of museum posts, either. If I can’t line up something, then I’m screwed.”
“There’s always contract archaeology.” Before starting grad school, she’d spent a year working in cultural resource management, or CRM, doing salvage archaeology in Arizona. Even if the pay hadn’t been ideal, she’d gotten hands-on experience conducting records searches, ground surveys, and excavations on sites designated for construction.
“You did that before, right?” he asked. “Would you consider it again?”
“Maybe. Now that I have a graduate degree, I could be a project manager, but…”
“But it’s not the dream, is it?”
She shrugged. “You’ve seen the stats. Most archaeologists end up in CRM.”
Some people—like her friend Rick Langston—preferred it to the academic grind. But if she went that route, her dad would be so disappointed. Though she’d warned him an academic gig wasn’t a sure thing, he’d already started referring to her as “Professor Flores” in the family group chat.
By pursuing a teaching career, she was carrying on the legacy left by her mom, who’d been a devoted third-grade teacher until her untimely death from a car accident sixteen years ago. A loss that had left a painful void in Emilia’s heart. Even though her extended Mexican American family provided her with plenty of love and support, no one could ever take her mom’s place.
“There’s always the post-doc option,” TJ said. “That’s my fallback. Get a sweet post-doc for a year or two, then look for something more permanent. If that fails, there are fellowships to travel and do research overseas.”
While she didn’t want to boost TJ’s ego any more than necessary, she couldn’t deny his idea had merit. “That’s not a bad plan. A paid stint in the Mediterranean would be awesome.”
“Wouldn’t it, though? Any preference on where you’d want to work?”
As hesitant as she was to reveal too much of herself to him, she couldn’t stop the response that slipped out. “Italy. Nowhere else comes close.”
In addition to working on three excavations there, she’d spent five months on a conservation fellowship in Florence. She’d never been happier than when surrounded by all that history and culture, not to mention the delicious food.
“I’m gonna look into those travel fellowships,” she said. “You okay with a little competition?”
“I’ve never been afraid of competition. You know that.”
“You don’t have to sound so smug about it.” She downed the rest of her cocktail in a quick swallow. Time to put an end to this miserable day. But when she eased off the barstool, her legs wobbled, and her head spun. She clutched her stomach, fighting off a sudden wave of nausea.
What the hell? She’d only had three drinks. Or was it four?
Four. Or five, if you counted the tequila shots she and Dusty had done earlier. Just enough to push her over the edge. Clutching onto the stool for balance, she tried to right herself. At least she’d had the sense to change out of her heels.
“I’d better get up to bed,” she said. “Big day tomorrow.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” A total lie. She was woozy as hell. If she let go of the stool, she’d go crashing to the ground.
“Let me help you.” He came over to her and put his arm around her waist.
Her first instinct was to pull away, but he felt so warm and solid. She leaned into him, masking her vulnerability with a growl. “I don’t need your help.”
“You really want to faceplant here?” He nodded toward the noisy bros seated beside her. “Those guys? Two of them are on the hiring committee for ASU. Don’t you have an interview with them tomorrow?”
She did. Acting like a drunken fool wouldn’t be a good look. “Fine. You can help me to the elevator.”
“I’ll do more than that. I’ll make sure you get to your room okay.”
“That’s not necessary.” She’d been traveling alone since she was eighteen. Ten years of working at archaeological sites in Mexico, the Middle East, and the Mediterranean meant she’d dealt with all kinds of shit. But she also didn’t want to make an ass of herself.
Rather than push TJ away, she leaned on him as they left the bar. They walked toward the bank of elevators located off the hotel lobby. When their elevator arrived, she pushed the button for the eleventh floor.
“Perfect,” TJ said. “That’s my floor, too.”
As the elevator made its ascent, her stomach pitched again. She wasn’t going to be sick now, was she? When had she turned into such a lightweight? During her summers in the field, she’d won more than a few drinking competitions with men twice her size. Then again, she’d been so anxious about today’s panel that she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.
Once they reached her room, she broke away from TJ. With painful slowness, she inserted her key card and opened the door. “I’m good for now.”
He wasn’t listening. Instead, he followed her inside like he had every right to be there. She made her way over to the bed and sat on the edge. Taking a deep breath, she rubbed her hands over her face. “I don’t get it. I usually handle my booze a lot better than this.”
“Maybe so, but you’re under a ton of stress right now. I’m going to grab you some water. You should take some ibuprofen, too.”
Why was he being so helpful? Did he have an agenda? “You’d better not try anything.”
He held up his hands and backed away. “As if I would? Even drunk, you could kick my ass.”
A hint of a smile crossed her lips. “True enough. My toiletries bag in the bathroom has a bottle of Advil.”
When he came back, she didn’t flinch as he sat on the bed next to her. For as much as he annoyed her, he didn’t seem like the type to take advantage. She shook out a couple of ibuprofen capsules and chased them down with a swig of water.
Even if he’d done nothing to deserve her anger, she couldn’t stop herself from lashing out. “Aren’t you going to mock me for almost humiliating myself in the bar? As a matter of fact, why didn’t you let me humiliate myself? You want that ASU job as much as I do.”
“Give me some credit. I’m not that underhanded.” He flashed her the cocky grin she was used to. “If I get that job—no, when I get that job—it’ll be on my own merits, not because my rival passed out at the hotel bar.”
“Ugh.” She drained the rest of the water and set the empty glass on the nightstand. “Do you have any idea how infuriating you are?”
“Yeah, but you kind of like it, don’t you?”
No. Of course she didn’t.
Dusty’s earlier words echoed in her brain. Did she like it? If she was being completely honest, she’d had a lot of fun sparring with him when they’d worked together at Troy. Every time she beat him at cards, shut him down with her exceptional language skills, or drank him under the table, she reveled in the thrill of victory.
But she’d never admit it.
“No,” she muttered.
“Really?”
He was sitting so close. Too close, but she couldn’t bring herself to push him away.
She caught a whiff of something delicious. His aftershave. Not too cloying but nice and citrusy. Behind his glasses, his inquisitive brown eyes were fixed on hers, like they could see right into the depths of her soul. Under normal circumstances, she would have denied her feelings and called him out on his arrogance. But she couldn’t do it tonight.
Instead, she asked the question that had needled her for hours. “Why did you undermine me today? Why didn’t you target anyone else on that panel?”
He gave a small chuckle. “Because you were the only one worth challenging.”
Damn. How was she supposed to respond to that?
“I tried to tell you earlier, but you wouldn’t let me,” he said. “I knew you could hold your own. You’re just like me—nothing excites you more than a good battle of wits.”
“I’m nothing like you.”
“So you say, but I’ve never seen you concede defeat in an argument. We’re more alike than you want to admit.”
Instead of firing back an angry retort, she stared at him in silence, unable to break free of his spell. She hated that she was even the slightest bit attracted to him. That she was suddenly gripped with the desire to break down their barriers and feel his mouth on hers.
Without thinking, she grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer until their lips met. Soft at first. Tentative. But then deeper, tasting beer on his tongue. And when his hands threaded through her hair and he plundered her mouth with a passionate kiss of his own, desire shot through her, igniting her entire body. An ache built up between her legs, reminding her it had been far too long since anyone had kissed her like this. With lust and longing. Like she was the only thing that mattered.
Until he pulled away and sprang up from the bed. Raking his hand through his hair, he stepped back. “Em…I…this is a bad idea.”
Fuck. He didn’t want her. Even if he’d kissed her back, he hadn’t meant it. Mustering up a tiny shred of dignity, she wiped her hand across her mouth, as though she was a prickly five-year-old trying to erase a kiss from her abuela. “You should go.”
“Right. Yeah. Sorry.” He inched away. “I’ll see you tomorrow. And…um…good luck with your interviews.”
Then he was gone, slamming the door behind him.
How could she have thrown herself at him? Even if he enjoyed their rivalry, he didn’t want any more than that. Neither did she.
She lay down on the bed and let out a groan.
Worst. Conference. Ever.
CHAPTER THREE
TJ leaned against the hallway, trying to catch his breath. Had he been hallucinating? Or had Em just kissed him?
Emilia Flores, who had once claimed she’d rather eat dirt than spend a minute alone with him. All because they’d gotten off to such a disastrous start last summer.
Even before he learned they’d be digging together at Troy, she’d been on his radar. Hard to ignore her when she’d already made a name for herself in Bronze Age archaeology. Three published articles, four presentations, and two panel sessions. He’d been keeping track. Since her theories conflicted with his, he’d quarreled with her in a few online forums. It didn’t help that they were academic rivals, what with him being a Harvard grad student and her being at Yale.
But last June, before leaving for Turkey, he’d offered her an olive branch. Upon discovering they were arriving in Istanbul on the same flight, he’d reached out to her. Thanks to a hot tip from a friend, he’d gotten a lead on a bargain-priced hotel in the popular Sultanahmet district. When he’d asked Emilia if he should book it for them, she’d agreed. But he’d screwed up.
His first mistake had been reserving only one room for the two of them as a way to cut costs. His second? Not taking the time to check the hotel’s reviews on Tripadvisor or Yelp. The place had been a filthy, one-star dump that smelled like a sewer. Naturally, Emilia hadn’t been impressed. Instead of apologizing, he’d gone on the defensive and accused her of being a diva.
He’d definitely been the asshole in that situation.
They’d spent the whole summer trying to one-up each other, until they’d bonded to save the project from their glory-hog of a dig director. By the last week at Troy, they’d started acting like friends. They’d even shared one memorable night where they’d spent hours talking about their shared Midwestern roots and the crushing weight of family expectations. But their animosity had returned after they’d flown back to the States and revived their academic feud. Now, they were competing for the exact same jobs.
