Her weakness disgusted her. Irene’s flesh and bones had never been more than a device to haul her brain around in. Now they were alive with needs and feelings.

Bastard.

A knock on her door jolted her and she had to calm her breathing before she said, “Yes?”

The door pushed open and one of her grad students stuck her head in. Jenny Fairgrove. Or, as Irene privately called her, the Perfect Jenny Fairgrove. Long blond hair and warm blue eyes, Jenny was everything Irene was not. And, unlike Irene, she’d never have to fight for a damn thing. Because pretty people never had to.

“Hi, Dr. Conridge.”

“Miss Fairgrove.”

“I just wanted to drop off my paperwork for the TA position for next year. I wanted to get it in early.”

Irene was one of only eight professors in the university who handled their own TA program. Students submitted for the position directly to her and she chose however many students she wanted or needed. The other professors who had to share TAs or couldn’t choose their own hated her for it, too.

“Put it in the bin over there.”

Jenny walked in and dropped the forms in the basket. Irene watched the girl from the corner of her eye. Jenny had on a short denim skirt with leather boots and a tight T-shirt and short denim jacket. She actually looked her age of about twenty-three. Irene always felt like she looked forty. Hell, she felt forty. Until last night. Last night she’d felt her age for the first time in her life.

“Wow. Is that the new IBM PC AT?”

Irene glanced at her computer. She’d practically had to put a gun to the dean’s head for him to authorize the damn thing. “Yes.”

“Wow,” Jenny said again, with annoying enthusiasm. “I heard it had a color screen but that looks great, huh?”

Perky and blond. Any more annoying a combination, Irene didn’t know of.

“Yes.”

The girl stood in front of her desk. “Um . . . Dr. Conridge, I just wanted to say that I would love the opportunity to work for you. I’ve really kept up with your career and I think you’re just amazing.”

Irene turned back to her computer and started to run her programs. “You all say that . . . in the beginning.”

“Wow, Dr. Conridge!” If the woman said “wow” one more time . . . “Is this your boyfriend?”

Irene’s head snapped around. “What?”

Jenny handed her a picture frame and Irene gazed into the smugly grinning face of Niles Van Holtz.

“Where did you get this?”

“Right here on your desk.” Jenny wiped her brow. “He’s gorgeous, Dr. Conridge. How lucky are you?”

When did the man even get into her office? Then it suddenly occurred to her that he’d put a framed picture of himself on her desk. Like somehow hisbig, gorgeous, worthless face belonged on her desk.

Irene gripped the sterling silver frame in both hands and snarled, “Bastard!”

By the time she looked up again, Jenny Fairgrove was long gone.

“Is that the best you could do, Reeny?”

Irene smirked and stared after the retreating form of her date, Bradley St. James of the Boston St. Jameses. “He’s quite knowledgeable on art history and has tenure.”

“Oh. Well, there you go.” Paul snorted. Irene had cared for Paul since Jackie brought home his drunk hide after a Devo concert one night. Jack said she couldn’t just leave a shifter lying in the middle of the road like that. The next morning, Irene found them huddled up on the couch having one of those painfully long personal discussions over coffee that people liked to have. Irene knew then they’d be together forever. Because he was so good for her friend, Irene actually allowed him to refer to her as “Reeny.” He was like the big brother she’d never had or even wanted. But if she’d been forced to have a brother, she’d have wanted Paul.

“You know what I just realized, Reeny, my love?”

“What, my sweetness?”

Paul motioned around the enormous room packed with people in their finest clothes and jewels, waiting for the lights to signal that the concert was about to begin. “All these people are here to see my woman.”

“Yes, they are.” Irene glanced at him. The man had been in an awfully good mood all night. “Your woman, eh?”

Paul shrugged, but he couldn’t stop the grin. “She is now.” He leaned in and whispered, “I marked her last night.”

Irene clapped her hands together before throwing her arms around Paul’s neck. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Thanks, Reeny. I was so nervous she’d say no.”

“Are you insane?” Irene leaned back to look into his face. “She loves you. Of course she said yes.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m very happy for you both. And I’m glad you asked her first.”

“Of course I did. I’ve gotta make it right for m’lady.”

Irene stepped back and readjusted her dress. She hated it but Jackie had picked it out for her and insisted it looked good on her. She felt . . . exposed.

“How much do you hate that dress?”

“A lot.”

Bradley returned from the men’s room just as the lights flickered twice, letting them know the concert would begin soon. Together they all walked into the hall and took their seats. Because of their connections, Irene and Paul got to sit in the ridiculously overpriced box seats.

As the accompanying orchestra tuned up, a page stepped into their box and whispered into Bradley’s ear.