“One more thing,” Jack said. “The VP came to see me.”

  Ruth’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Oh? What did Alice want?”

  “Another faculty position. The math department wants to hire, and she’s supporting them.” He held out his palms. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”

  Ruth scoffed. “Oh, come on. Another hire in math?”

  “Well, they lost a full-time faculty when Donnie retired. They want to replace him.”

  “For God’s sake.” She rolled her eyes. “They lost a grouchy, old crank who was out on medical leave every other semester. Now they’re pretending it was a devastating loss to the department?”

  Jack cracked his knuckles. “I hear you. But the argument they’ll make is that we could hire a new tenure-track professor for less than half of what we paid Donnie, so we’d still save money.”

  “God, some of these full professor salaries are obscene. He made almost as much as a dean.” Ruth shook her head. “Remind me, how much does a new tenure-track professor make?”

  “Sixty thousand, plus benefits—so, eighty-five thousand.”

  “And how much would we pay an adjunct to cover his courses?” She asked the question slowly, as though prompting a small child.

  Jack chuckled. “About twelve thousand per semester.”

  “Exactly. You’d think the math department could arrive at that point on their own, but I suppose I’m expecting too much. Anyway, we need that money in ten other places. Student services, for one.” She glanced over to make sure Chloe wasn’t transcribing her frank comments, then did a double take.

  Chloe sat with her back straight and her fingers clenched into fists, eyes flashing with unmistakable fury.

  “What’s wrong?” Ruth asked.

  Startled, Chloe dropped her hands into her lap. “Nothing.” She softened her scowl into a more neutral expression, but her jaw remained tense.

  Was Chloe angry on behalf of the math faculty? Why would she care? Ruth sat back and leveled a stern gaze at her. “If you have an opinion about our budget discussion, I’d be fascinated.”

  “I don’t have an opinion.” Chloe looked down at her lap.

  Ruth pushed to her feet with a heavy sigh. Why even bother? “Okay. I’ll deal with the math department. Keep me posted on summer revenue. Chloe, please send me the notes and then delete them.”

  “Okay.” Chloe closed her laptop, slid out of her chair, and scrambled to the exit.

  Jack jerked a thumb at the door. “What’s up with her?”

  “No idea.” Then a sudden thought occurred to her. The scratching, the odd behavior, the irrational anger. Was Chloe on drugs?

  Ruth massaged her temples. She had vowed to wait until noon before taking her second aspirin of the day, but she already knew she wouldn’t make it.

  * * *

  When Piper stepped into her office, Ruth took one look and knew there was bad news. Piper’s inability to hide her true feelings was her only flaw as a public relations director.

  “Oh God, what?” Ruth rubbed her forehead. “Just tell me.”

  “Okay.” Piper wheeled a chair over to the desk. “The Tribune called, seeking comment about various faculty complaints.” She sat with her notepad and crossed her legs.

  Great. “Which complaints? There are so many—you’ll have to be more specific.”

  “Enrollment is down, blah blah blah. The administration only cares about numbers and money. I gave them the usual spiel about our recruitment initiatives, but the reporter didn’t seem interested. He asked about canceled summer classes, which makes me think he’s been talking to Steve Stubbons.”

  “Of course.” Ruth dug her fingernails into her palms. “Steve probably made a big deal about being faculty council president, as if that means he speaks for the entire faculty. Meanwhile, he only got elected because no one else wanted the job.”

  Piper consulted her notes. “The reporter said something about an arbitrary enrollment cutoff, basically that you canceled any class that fell below a certain threshold regardless of the circumstances.”

  “Oh, come on. Do you know what that arbitrary cutoff was? Five. Faculty wanted to run courses with four students. Meanwhile, the college is bleeding. We can’t lose money year after year and stay in business. Why am I the only one who understands this?”

  “They don’t want to understand.” Piper gave her a sympathetic smile. “If they engaged with the facts, they’d have to accept that no amount of ranting will make everything how it was twenty years ago. I think deep down, they know that, but it’s easier to blame you.”

  Ruth shook her head. “Did you know math wants to hire? They want a new tenure-track position to replace Donnie.”

  Piper frowned. “Isn’t math over budget?”

  “They’re all over budget,” Ruth snapped, then instantly regretted her tone. “Sorry, it’s not your fault. I suppose the Tribune needs money too. ‘College president tries her best’ doesn’t generate clicks.”

  “I know you’re trying.” Piper’s thick glasses magnified her kind eyes.

  The sound of laughter drew Ruth’s gaze to the window.

  A group of students clustered in the center of the footpath outside her office, having an animated conversation. One young woman gave her friend a playful push on the shoulder.

  “Have you ever heard of the iron law of institutions?” Ruth asked, still watching the students.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Math cares about math. Steve Stubbons cares about Steve Stubbons. A nuclear bomb could wipe out the campus tomorrow, and the union’s first priority would be a raise. Everyone cares more about their own interests than the success, or even the survival, of this college.” Ruth turned back to Piper, determination welling in her chest. “So that’s my job. I’m going to get us through this enrollment crisis even if it makes them all hate me.”

  “I’m not here to make friends.” Piper drawled the last two words in a twangy accent.

  Ruth gaped. “Huh?”

  Piper blushed. “It’s what they say on reality shows.”

  “Ah. Your guilty pleasure.” Ruth picked up a pen and twirled it between her fingers. “Well, the saying is apt. A college president has no friends. Only adversaries and a handful of sycophants on the administrative staff—present company excluded, of course. I know you’re on my side.”

  “Of course I am.” Piper patted Ruth’s arm. “So much is out of your control. The press may not understand that, but I do. All you can do is your best.” It was the kind of thing Piper would say because their friendship predated Pulaski by fifteen years.

  A notification appeared on the computer screen, announcing an email from Zachary Thomas, the chair of the board. The subject said, Call me. Ruth knew the body of the message would be blank, but she clicked anyway to be sure.

  “What?” Piper asked.

  “It’s Zachary demanding a phone call. Which means he’s mad about something.”

  “Ah.” Piper stood. “I’ll give you the room.” She squeezed Ruth’s shoulder, walked out of the office, and closed the door behind her.

  Ruth leaned back and shut her eyes. She’d call Zachary in a few minutes. First, she needed a moment of calm.

  The stress was getting to her. She knew what her doctor would say. Work less. Get more exercise. Take a vacation.

  On the desk, her iPhone buzzed. Ruth opened her eyes and checked the screen: Zachary Thomas.

  Her break was over.

  Chapter 3

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll make sure Dr. Holloway gets the message. Goodbye.” Caitlyn plunked the phone into the receiver, willing it to stay silent so she could fume in peace.

  Two hours after the meeting, she still hadn’t calmed down. Of course, she was well aware of the practice of hiring cheap adjuncts instead of full-time faculty, but she had never imagined she’d hear an administrator—a president, no less—speak about the cost savings in such callous terms. It was infuriating.

  How dare Ruth mock the faculty for wanting to hire a full-time professor instead of offering poverty wages and zero security to someone with an advanced degree? People like Ruth were the reason Caitlyn and most of her classmates couldn’t find permanent jobs.

  Her righteous anger washed away any guilt she’d felt about lying to Ruth. If this was how she governed the college, she deserved an indifferent assistant who sent a stand-in to cover her duties—but that didn’t mean Caitlyn could tolerate four more days assisting a woman who represented everything she despised. If the stress of impersonating Chloe didn’t give her an ulcer, the rage she felt in Ruth’s presence would eat her from the inside.

  I’ll finish the day, and then I’m done.

  Peppy footsteps interrupted Caitlyn’s thoughts. A tall man with wavy, black hair and a well-trimmed beard came through the doors.

  Caitlyn flinched and averted her gaze. She didn’t recognize him, and she had no idea if he expected her to know his name. Hoping to appear busy, she typed a string of gibberish on her keyboard.

  “Hi there.” He waved a hand to get her attention.

  Act natural. Caitlyn straightened her back and looked up. “She’s in a meeting.” So far, two different people had entered the office, seeking “a few minutes” with the president. Per Chloe’s instructions, she had told them no—except for a woman named Piper Flemming, who had unrestricted access.

  Ignoring her words, the man walked right up to the edge of the desk and grinned at Caitlyn with twinkling brown eyes. “Oh my God. We need to talk about Brenda.”

  “We do?” Caitlyn squirmed. Who the hell is Brenda?

  “I always knew she was hiding something, but damn. Defrauding her own grandma?”

  “Yeah… Wow.” Caitlyn was utterly lost. “That’s awful.” It seemed like a safe response.

  “I can’t believe Nikolai hasn’t dumped her yet. Do you think he just wants a green card?”

  Caitlyn blinked at him. “Maybe…? I mean, it’s possible.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “Sorry, I’m a little out of it this morning. Could you just remind me—um, what are we talking about?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “90 Day Fiancé. You haven’t seen it yet?”

  “Ah, right! Of course.” Caitlyn laughed, but it came out false and near hysterical. “Wow, I totally spaced on that.” She swished her hand. “One of those days. No, I haven’t had time to watch it.”

  “Well, I came to grab you for lunch. Not a moment too soon, I can see.” He gestured at the door. “Shall we?”

  “L-lunch?” Whoever this guy was, he clearly had a personal relationship with Chloe—one she’d neglected to mention. How could she fake her way through an entire meal with someone who expected her to be conversant in Chloe’s pop culture interests? “Thanks for the offer, but I’d better stay here and get some work done.”

  His jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

  Oops. Wrong thing to say. “Er, what I mean…” Her voice cracked. Oh God, I’m blowing it.

  “Okay, what’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you possessed?”

  “No.” It came out in a squeak. “Of course not.”

  “But something’s going on. You even look different. Your hair…” He gestured at the headband.

  Shit! He was getting suspicious. She had to distract him. Say something. Do something. Caitlyn jumped to her feet. “I’d love to go to lunch.” She swayed and caught the desk as she processed the words that had popped out of her mouth. Oh no.

  “Great! Do you need to call Gary?”

  Gary? Gary. Caitlyn knew that name. He was the vice president’s assistant, and sometimes he covered Ruth’s phone line while Chloe was away from the desk. “Of course.” She plopped back down in the seat.

  “I’m sure he’ll oblige.” Miguel’s mouth quirked as though they were sharing a joke, one that was beyond Caitlyn.

  “Uh-huh.” Caitlyn consulted the list of extensions on the desk, then tapped the speaker phone button and dialed.

  “My dear Chloe,” Gary answered within seconds. “How may I be of service?”

  “Hi.” Caitlyn frowned at the odd greeting. “I’d like to take a lunch break, so would you mind answering Ruth’s line until I get back?”

  “Anything for you, fair maiden.” Gary spoke in an accent that was clearly American, but with an affected lilt. “May I ask what is on the menu?”

  “Um, I’m not sure yet. Thanks. Bye.” She hung up and looked at Miguel.

  Miguel smirked. “I guess he still isn’t over his creepy crush.”

  “Guess not.” Caitlyn wrinkled her nose. Chloe’s briefing hadn’t included anything about Gary’s weird behavior. What else didn’t she know?

  “Let’s go.” Miguel inclined his head toward the door. “The usual joint?”

  Oh God, something else I’m supposed to know. “Of course.” Caitlyn followed him out of the building, taking deep breaths as quietly as she could manage. Be calm. Act natural. There will be plenty of time to panic in prison.

  Miguel led her across the small campus past clusters of modest brick buildings. It was nothing like the research university where she’d spent the past seven years, which had majestic buildings with arches, plus glistening structures that advertised the wealth of the business and medical schools. Pulaski’s campus reflected what it was—a small liberal-arts college with a modest endowment.

  “So how did Nick take the news?” Miguel asked.

  Caitlyn’s footsteps faltered. Miguel knew about Nick? And the trip? They had probably talked last week, before Caitlyn had agreed to step in—but the question was so vague, she was afraid to assume any specifics. “Oh, about how you’d expect.”

  “That’s too bad. I hope you’ll find a way to meet up soon. Maybe he can come visit you here.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” Caitlyn’s fingers twitched as she fought the urge to scratch her arms. Chloe had told her all about Pulaski College—well, minus the detail of her good friend Miguel—but she hadn’t prepared Caitlyn to talk about Nick. Maybe she could steer the conversation into less dangerous territory. “Honestly, I’m still bummed, and I don’t really want to talk about it. How are you doing?”

  Miguel let out an exaggerated sigh. “I spent the whole morning on last-minute course prep. Then the copier ate my syllabus, and it took half an hour to find the jam. I really needed a break.”

  Course prep? He must be a professor.

  “Sorry about the copier. How’s the course prep going?” Caitlyn asked, careful to not use any terms Miguel hadn’t used himself.

  “Not bad! We’re starting with Sylvia Plath and then Anne Sexton.”

  Poetry. Good to know. “That sounds great.”

  “It’s nice to start in the twentieth century. Students are less intimidated.”

  “I bet.” Caitlyn rotated the campus map in her head as Miguel turned a corner. She’d memorized each building and how to navigate between them, but traversing the campus in person was another matter. She kept her footsteps just behind Miguel’s, hoping he wouldn’t realize she had no idea where they were going.

  They arrived at a small café attached to an academic building. It was deserted with one bored-looking employee hunched over the counter, immersed in his phone.

  “Do you want to just eat here?” Miguel asked. “Since it’s not crowded.”

  The thought of conversing as Chloe on campus, when anyone could walk in, made her squeamish. But a trek to some other location she was supposed to know could present more pitfalls. “Sure. Sounds great.”

  Miguel grabbed a flatbread sandwich and a Diet Coke, while Caitlyn selected a Caesar salad and a root beer. She’d been trying to drink less soda, but today wasn’t the day to forgo all of her vices.

  They sat across from each other at a small, square table, each starting with their drinks.

  “So,” Miguel said as he unwrapped his sandwich.

  Dread curled within her as she waited to hear what he wanted to ask “Chloe.”

  “Did your sister get here okay?”

  Caitlyn choked on her root beer. Coughing, she grabbed her napkin and hid her face behind it.

  Miguel knew Chloe had a sister? Did he know they were identical twins? Keeping her cover would be even harder if Miguel was aware that someone else in town looked exactly like Chloe. The day just kept getting worse.

  Regaining her composure, Caitlyn took a throat-clearing sip and set down her root beer. “Sorry. Wrong pipe. Yes, Caitlyn arrived this weekend.”

  “Cool. How’s that going?” Miguel’s expression was open and curious, providing no indication of what he already knew about Caitlyn and Chloe’s relationship.

  What would Chloe say? “Oh, you know—Caitlyn is still wallowing about the academic job market. I guess a fancy sociology degree isn’t worth as much as you’d think.”

  “Whoa, did something happen?” Miguel looked startled.

  Caitlyn frowned. What had she said wrong? “What do you mean?”

  “Well, last time we talked you were a lot more sympathetic. Like, you seemed genuinely heartbroken that it didn’t work out for her, and now you sound a bit…callous. Did you two have a fight?”

  The words squeezed Caitlyn’s heart. Chloe had said all the right things, but she’d had no idea Chloe cared so much. Caitlyn was ashamed that she’d assumed otherwise. “I didn’t… Yeah, you’re right.” Caitlyn shook her head. “Of course I’m sorry for her. I guess I’m just in a weird mood.” She shoved a forkful of lettuce into her mouth, still reeling at Miguel’s words.

  After a minute of awkward silence, Miguel checked his phone. “Oh, you texted me. It must have been while I was coming to see you.”

  I did? Caitlyn straightened and sucked in a breath. She hadn’t texted Miguel, obviously—she didn’t even have his number. Chloe must have done it from the airport. Oh no.