Market Street Read Online Free Page A

he loved to hear himself talk, he wasn’t afraid to offend students if it made his lectures more interesting, and he had the sexiest mouth of any professor on campus. Girls signed up for ethics in modern society just to see him pout.
    Cassie had made the class a last-minute add. It was her final semester, senior year, and the philosophy of cooking class she wanted was full. Thomas Keller and Alice Waters were creating such a buzz with reduction sauces and seven-course tasting menus that cooking was the new rock ’n’ roll. Undergrads lined up for culinary courses and spent their evenings prowling Williams-Sonoma.
    Cassie’s roommate suggested Professor Blake’s ethics class, so she climbed three stories to the top of Newberry Hall and tried to blend in with the desk chairs.
    “Cassie Fenton,” she replied when it seemed Aidan wouldn’t continue his lecture until she answered.
    “Miss Fenton, ethics, if you read the course guide, is about the pursuit of good within the confines of society. We do not murder, rape, or steal from our fellow men, and we do not”—he paused to put emphasis on his words—“interrupt a class that is already in progress.”
    “Would you like me to leave?” Cassie’s voice was very small. She wondered if it reached the podium.
    “And disrupt the class further? You make an attractive addition to the back row; just make sure you take notes. I’ve kicked students out for less.”
    Cassie wished she had signed up for conversational French. But as she listened to Aidan, her pen filling her notebook, she became interested in the lesson: Plato, Aristotle, the pursuit of good, the idea that happiness was attainable. At the Convent, moral code had been laid out in inarguable language while her mother had one God: Fenton’s. Aidan put new ideas in her head, and when the lecture was over she put her pen down reluctantly.
    “Miss Fenton,” Aidan addressed her as she stuffed her backpack. Cassie gazed at Aidan up close and blushed a deeper pink. Her roommate’s description hadn’t done justice to his black curly hair. Not only was his mouth gorgeous, but his chin was chiseled, and his eyes were the color of raisins. His shoulders belonged on a quarterback and his waist was as small as a dancer’s.
    “Yes, sir.” She swung her backpack over her shoulder and stood up. She wore white capris and a collared Ralph Lauren shirt. She had a J.Crew sweater tied around her waist and her favorite navy Tod’s on her feet. Even after four years of college she shopped at Fenton’s, and she suddenly felt preppy and overdressed.
    “I keep office hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays from two to four, if you need help catching up.” He smiled and walked out of the room.
    *   *   *
    It took more than a month for Cassie to get up the courage to knock on his door during office hours. She sat at his oversized metal desk, wearing a tie-dyed shirt and denim cutoffs borrowed from her roommate, and tried to ask intelligent questions about the reading. Cassie told herself she was there because she was interested in the material, but whenever she was close to Aidan, she felt like there was a magnet drawing her even closer.
    “What does a department store heiress do with her diploma?” Aidan asked one afternoon in late April, when graduation was just weeks away.
    “How did you know about Fenton’s?” Cassie looked up from her lecture notes.
    “Students don’t just gossip about professors, they run a pretty thorough commentary about one another.” Aidan didn’t seem to notice that she was blushing. He wore a black cotton T-shirt, khaki pants, and his signature leather jacket. His teeth were blinding white and his fingernails were smudged with ink.
    “I’ll probably join my mother at Fenton’s.” She shrugged.
    “Is that what you want to do? Sell overpriced merchandise to women whose closets will swallow it up like a black hole?”
    “It’s what I should do,” Cassie said. She had spent every