“Okay, okay, settle down,” I said, feeling irritated about my workload. I liked the prestige of being a university guest lecturer, just years after receiving my diploma, but it was turning out to be more work than I originally anticipated. Now, I had to show up to class and answer questions while I needed to be returning client calls and researching new stocks.

When I was asked if I was interested in leading a senior seminar at NYU, I jumped to take it before it was offered to anyone else. I liked to be the best. I enjoyed the attention it would bring, especially from young, educated women. How hard could it be, really?

As it turned out, I had to prepare a lesson once a week, and I had to be present for the lecture. I figured I could just tell work stories for thirty minutes or so, then let them ask me questions. But, there wasn’t really a way to assign homework and tests, which was part of the deal with the school. So, I wrote a few easy quizzes, handed them out at the end of class, and hired a TA to grade them for me. However, I gave the guy explicit direction to never give a grade lower than eighty percent. I didn’t want to talk to any students about why they were failing. The class was a joke anyway, so I wasn’t about to make life harder for anyone. I just wanted to receive my recognition and have a good time. And, if I got a few phone numbers from the hotter girls in the class at the end of the session, it would be worth it.

Normally, this gig wasn’t much of a hassle. In fact, I enjoyed being able to spend some time away from the office. My bosses thought the exposure was good for business, and encouraged me to do less work back at the office so I could put together a nice lecture. Instead, I used the time to flip through dating apps for my weekend entertainment. I know I should have been working harder, but I spent so much damn time working. I wanted to have fun, too.

“Now, today, we’re going to talk about networking,” I said, clearing my throat. “If you can’t hold a conversation with someone, you’re not going to be able to do a lot of things in business. I’m sure most of you already have parents who will welcome you into the family business, so you’re set. But, you can never have too many contacts. And, some relationships are worth a lot more than others. If you haven’t started meeting with people in the industry you’re trying to go into, you’re already behind. By now, you should have a few people in your contacts list that could seriously hook you up with a job after you graduate. Otherwise, you’ve just wasted four years of your youth and a shit-ton of money.”

I grinned over the sea of concerned faces. I liked scaring the students. I finished my undergraduate degree just five years prior. Then, I finished my MBA in the following two years, while cutting my teeth in the hedge fund management game. I’d been working full time for nearly three years, and business was good. I was already being mentioned on “Thirty Under Thirty” lists. I was twenty-six and leading my own senior seminar at NYU. I’d say things were going pretty well for me.

“Now, don’t any of you think that you can ride my coattails, just because I spent a few hours in this stinky classroom with you,” I said. “If you’re good at what you do, I’d consider putting a good word in for you. But, I’m not going to call your future employer and gush about how great you did on my little quizzes. My reputation matters a great deal to me. Remember that when you’re frantically searching for references. I’m probably going to say no to the most of you. I’m sorry, but that’s the way things are.”

“How do you suggest we build our network?” a geeky-looking student asked.

“I’m glad you asked,” I replied. “First, talk to every family member you’ve got. I don’t care if your great uncle is a pervert who got fired from Goldman for touching his interns. Invite him for a round of golf and see how he can help you. You may have never met your second cousin twice-removed, but she’s family, and hooking up with the Secretary of the Treasury. Family members are obligated to help. And, if you’re lucky, you’ve got dirt on them that can be exposed if they don’t give you a hand.”

The students looked at me as if I was a god. They ate up every word I said. Most of it was pretty accurate.

“If you don’t have those kinds of connections, you better find a way to make some,” I added. “Weasel your way into an internship. Work like hell for no money until you get lucky and get a permanent position. It can be done without serious connections, but it’s hard to do. I’d suggest you all get out there and make yourself well-known.”

“Any suggestions?” another student asked.

I shrugged. “Get rich now. Invest whatever you’ve got in the right stuff. Prove that you know what you’re doing. Use that money egregiously—just flaunt it around. If a client saw me pull up to dinner in a used Taurus, there’s no way I’d be trusted to handle millions of dollars. But, if I drive up in my Range Rover, wearing an Armani suit, and drop a few hundred on some good tequila, then they know that I have money to spare. That’s what they want—they want to know that you’re conservative and careful when it counts, but rich enough to not settle for anything less than some serious investments. At the very least, match your belt to your shoes. Don’t look like a schlub when you’re talking to people with more money than your life is worth.”

I looked around the room. The students were in awe.

“Okay, now we’re going to do the assignment stuff,” I said, getting bored. “Get out your notebooks and write down five ways you can get better at networking. When you’re done, get into small groups and discuss. I’ll give you ten minutes.”

I looked at my Rolex. I would save my voice and buy myself a little time until class was over.

While the students talked quietly in the small classroom, I got out my phone and discreetly flipped through past conversations I had had with girls in the last few weeks. I was feeling a little frazzled because I wanted to show up to a fundraiser event with a lovely young woman in tow. A few clients and my bosses would be there, and I wanted to make a lasting impression. Most people attended these things with a date. I don’t know why, but it was harder to navigate these situations alone.

For some reason, it was easier to talk to people with a woman hanging on your arm or lingering nearby with a glass of champagne. You could introduce her to the other women and somehow, they’d feel more at ease with you, as if the simple act of keeping a female around spoke of one’s good character. Done correctly, the date would transform me from a frat kid with Daddy’s money to a respected adult.

She had to fit a certain type, too. The chosen date had to be attractive. It seems extremely shallow, but chemistry cannot be faked. I cannot place my hand in the small of her back and parade her through the ballroom floor if I’m not interested in getting physically close to her. But, at the same time, she has to be smart. Intelligent people can sniff out a total dimwit.

She doesn’t necessarily have to be brainy. I’m not against hanging around girls who match, or even exceed my education level, but I’m not someone to get turned on by a brain surgeon, just because she’s smart. There has to be a balance.

A good example of a prime date is the daughter of a socialite, who is working on her degree in Psychology. She’s smart enough to make it in college, but it’s a common-enough field. She knows how to act around people with money because she’s grown up around it. She’s probably hot because rich girls can buy their looks. And, if she’s grown up around society people, she’d probably be good for a roll in the hay at the end of the night. That’s always an added bonus.

But, just because I’ve brought a date doesn’t mean that I can’t play the field while I’m at the event. I don’t bring a chick because I want to take her home to my parents. She just has to seem like a girl I’d take home to my parents. I can ditch her at any moment and hook up with the gorgeous model who’s attending the event with her sugar daddy. An invitation to an event is not a marriage proposal—I can leave with whomever I want. I just want to look good when it counts.

As I flipped through my phone, I couldn’t really find anyone who fit the situation. There were a lot of girls I wanted to see in the privacy of my own home, but none that I wanted to meet important clients. As a rule, I also didn’t see women more than once or twice. I was not meant for monogamy or long-term relationships. Girls seemed to get attached to me too easily. I tried to be upfront with them and let them know that we wouldn’t be taking things very far. I was not boyfriend material, and they were not going to be the one to change me.

I looked back down at my watch. I had let the discussion run about five longer minutes than I had originally specified. No one said anything about it yet, but I knew that I couldn’t get too lax with my class, or else I wouldn’t get good enough reviews to keep my position. I didn’t know if I’d be asked back, but I wanted to leave the university with at least a passing grade.

“Okay,” I said loudly. “Let’s hear what you guys came up with.”

I pointed at students with raised hands and half-listened as they reported their list. I added a comment here and there when the situation called for it, but mostly let my mind wander off as they validated one another’s ideas. They seemed to be happiest when they could find some consensus in their ideas.

With only a few minutes until I could dismiss the class, I pointed at a girl in the front of the classroom. “Yeah, what do you have?”

She sat up a little straighter once acknowledged. “You make it seem as though landing a decent job after graduation is strictly based on who we know and not what we know. I’m planning on doing my MBA soon. This doesn’t give me much hope.”

I grinned. “Are you looking for reassurance?”

She smiled bashfully. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Sorry to break it to you, but you’re not going to get it from me. But, if you play your cards right, I might be able to pull some strings in your favor.”

I glanced at my watch. “Well, that’s all the time we have for today. I’ll see you next week.”

“What about our homework?” a brown-nosing kid asked.

I pursed my lips, completely forgetting to assign any.

“Make a list of ten contacts,” I said off the top of my head. “Give me names, contact information, and your relationship to them. It can be someone you can call to make a potential sale, someone who is high up at a company you want to work for, or someone who can represent you in court when you inevitably get yourself into some shit. Send it to me by Wednesday of next week.”

Students began to file out of the room, meaning that it was back to the daily grind for me. I started shoving papers in my attaché case when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I don’t know why, but the soft touch sent a shiver down my spine, in a completely unprofessional way.