Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“How do you know Chere?” he asked.
“I know her…tangentially. I have an interest in her well-being.”
Cantor shrugged, determined to play things off. “As far as I know, she’s doing well. I’ve had no complaints.”
“You’re her teacher.”
“Yes, I’ve worked with her in several classes, but I can’t tell you anything more. Really, Price, I can’t. It’s against university policy.”
“You know what else is against university policy?” I said with a scowl. “Hitting on students in lifestyle clubs.”
He didn’t ruffle easily. He never had. “Are you talking about last Saturday? We ran into each other at a club and said hello. That’s the extent of it.”
I couldn’t call him a liar without admitting my investigator had timed a fifteen-minute conversation.
“What’s your interest in Chere?” he asked, studying me. “What is your ‘tangential’ connection?”
“Friend of the family,” I said. “We go way back. I look out for her.”
“Is that so? Well, she’s an admirable woman. A diligent designer, and enjoyable to teach.” He lifted a finger on top of his laptop, wiggled it twice, and set it down again. Yeah, he found her enjoyable, all right.
“I won’t tell anyone you’re perving your students,” I said, staring at that finger, “or that she’s not the only one. But in return, you’re going to do something for me. You’re going to leave her the fuck alone.”
He gave up any pretense of professional collegiality and smirked at me. “You’re no friend of the family. Who is Chere to you? What’s the story, Price?”
“The story is a married Norton professor hitting on a student at a BDSM club.” I leaned closer to him. “I have proof it happened. Pictures. I’m sure the administration would love to look at them. Leave her alone.”
“In a few days, she won’t be my student anymore. How do you know she won’t come after me? Chere seems very lonely.” He paused, raised one black, arched brow. “Does she know you take pictures of her at clubs?”
“I didn’t take them. A friend showed them to me.” I stood and adjusted my tie, and walked to the door. “Leave her alone, Martin. You’ll be sorry if you don’t. Your wife puts up with a lot, but she might not put up with as much when you can’t get a job.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Universities don’t hire professors who prey on students. That was a really pretty girl in your office just now. Meet with her every week?”
“She’s one of my students,” he snapped.
“So is Chere.”
I grabbed the door and wrenched it open. Fuckhead. I didn’t know if my threats were getting through to him. I didn’t know how much trouble I could make without Chere becoming involved.
“I’m glad you stopped by,” he called after me as I left. “Glad we had this talk.”
I didn’t yell “Fuck you” back at him the way I wanted to. I was trying to keep it classy, which was more than I could say for him.
Chere
Andrew came running up to me in Norton’s cafeteria the last morning of fall semester, with fluttering hands and a magnificent smile. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my Gaaawd! Chere! Guess what?”
“You finished that painting about the happy banana?” I murmured, shoveling sugar into my coffee.
“Better.”
“What could possibly be better?”
His smile wilted a little. “Well, it’s about...you know...the E thing.”
Not E as in ecstasy. Andrew didn’t use drugs. The E thing was escorting, and it was a lingering source of tension between us.
“Even if it’s about the E thing,” I said, “I guess you better tell me, or else you got me all worked up for nothing.”
“Mr. Recaro is taking me to Vail!” The words burst out in jubilation. “Two whole weeks over the holiday break.”
“And Mr. Recaro is...?”
“The gentleman I saw last week. The opera singer with all the muscles and hair.”
“Hair?”
“I’ve never seen such a hairy taint, babes, I’m telling you.”
“So, skiing in Vail for two weeks?” I asked, to get him off the taint talk. “Mr. Recaro must really like you.”
His eyes lit up even brighter. “Do you think so?”
I put down my coffee and grabbed his face in a punishing grip. “No, I don’t think so. That was a test and you failed it. You’re not supposed to develop feelings for clients. It’s the fastest way to go nuts in the escort biz.”
“You developed feelings for one of your clients,” he lisped through his crunched cheeks. “And you know he felt something for you.”
“And where are we now?” I asked, releasing him. “I’m a lonely, neurotic mess of a woman, and he fucked off to God knows where.”
“You’re not a lonely, neurotic mess.” He rubbed his skin where I’d gripped it. “Sort of cranky sometimes, when you haven’t had enough coffee. You need to get laid.”
I turned away from him, not willing to discuss that topic. The close encounter with Cantor was still on my mind. I’m experienced and safe, he’d said. And he was obviously willing to fuck me. I was one hundred percent sure of that, based on the way he’d looked at me in class ever since. Hot glances, small, speculative smiles, and far too many trips past my workstation for no reason. It amazed me that no one noticed.