When Fred turned onto Lexington Avenue instead of my apartment, which was in the opposite direction, I knew my guess was right. I just had a smooth ten-minute drive in a cool car that smelled like berries and brambles. The plush leather upholstery makes me feel like I’m sitting in the most sumptuous seat in the world.
Stopping in front of the Le Papillon, I notice Professor Sebastian’s car pulling over the driveway, and a valet opens his door.
Fred opens mine. “Ms. Anya.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, and then I step down. Ahead of us, I catch my professor’s watchful gaze, observing me.
I make my way toward him.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Yes, but we’re eating dinner here?” I know I asked the obvious, but having dinner with him here is not a good idea. Somebody from the school might see us.
“Y
