“You could come to London.” He lays his hand on my shoulder, pressing the pad of his thumb into the bone. “Spend some time with me, and I could see about getting you guest access.” Under the table, I dig my fingers into my thighs. How dare he. How fucking dare he. He thinks he’s going to get the fellowship—the fellowship I deserve, the fellowship that should be mine in the first place, that would be mine if he weren’t “Cambridge chums” with the goddamn curator—and he’ll do me the favor of helping me with my work if I fly across the Atlantic to suck his cock. He disgusts me. I’m so tired of
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