Page 84 - The Love Hypothesis

mentioned it, which probably meant that he wasn’t planning to. Olive just

needed to follow his lead.
Yes. Excellent plan. She had this in the bag.
Olive smiled, held on to her pumpkin spice latte, and answered, “Yes,

I’m Olive Smith, the—”
“Girlfriend I’ve heard so much about?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. She swallowed. “Um, actually I—”
“Heard from whom?” Adam asked, frowning.

Dr. Benton shrugged. “Everyone.”
“Everyone,” Adam repeated. He was scowling now. “In Boston?”

“Yeah.”
“Why are people at Harvard talking about my girlfriend?”
“Because you’re you.”

“Because I’m me?” Adam looked perplexed.
“There have been tears. Some hair-pulling. A few broken hearts. Don’t

worry, they’ll get over it.”
Adam rolled his eyes, and Dr. Benton returned his attention to Olive. He

smiled at her, offering his hand. “It’s very nice to meet you. I had written
off the whole girlfriend thing as rumors, but I’m glad you . . . exist. Sorry, I

didn’t catch your name—I’m terrible at names.”
“I’m Olive.” She shook his hand. He had a nice grip, not too tight and
not too soft.

“Which department do you teach, Olive?”
Oh, crap. “Actually, I don’t. Teach, that is.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to assume.” He smiled, apologetic and self-
effacing. There was a smooth charm to him. He was young to be a

professor, though not as young as Adam. And he was tall, though not as tall
as Adam. And he was handsome, though . . . yeah. Not as handsome as

Adam.
“What do you do, then? Are you a research fellow?”
“Um, I actually—”

“She’s a student,” Adam said.
Dr. Benton’s eyes widened.