Her Billionaire Writer
Chapter 1
The heels of what Francesca had considered to be “teacher appropriate” shoes, clacked down the crowded hallway of Wright University. She and her roommate, Sal, had spent the night picking out an outfit that would extinguish any chance of her appearing ‘bangable’.
I’m a twenty five year old, teaching a class to a bunch of twenty- somethings. I need to give off an air that says ‘It’s totally not okay to ask me out to drinks after class. And that I’m not cool with it if you turn in your papers late’.
She tugged on the sleeves of her ruby red blazer and scanned her mental checklist for her appearance again.
I didn’t eat anything that could still be stuck in my teeth, I straightened my hair, and I’ll at least look like I drink coffee. She held a bulky, purple plastic coffee mug in her left hand as she juggled her purse on her other arm. She turned the corner and crossed the threshold into her classroom.
It was set up like a standard lecture hall, she would have the main floor, while the rest of the room opened up to the stadium style seats where the students would sit each day. She looked around the room and took a few moments to prepare before the students came in. She shook out her nerves and blew out a shaky breath.
Francesca stuffed emergency tampons in the smaller compartments of her desk, and whipped out a flash drive that housed the lecture’s power point on it. She left it to rest on top of her desk, next to the laptop that the university awarded her for accepting the position.
Teaching English Lit was not her first choice of a career. She was a writer at heart, but not having actually written anything worth publishing yet, she needed something to pay the bills.
She sighed as she set up her laptop and ignored the desktop icon that shouted ‘NOVEL.’ Only three classes today, I can finish up and head home to keep writing, she told herself.
The doors opened and students filed in from both entrances, some heading straight down the stairs to the front row.
Francesca nibbled on one of her fingernails as the seats quickly filled until the hall became packed with all sorts of people, staring straight at her. There was a low hum of conversation in the room, as well as few stone-faced grad students that whipped out their sleek laptops and waited for instruction.
She stood once a tall student in the far back shut both of the classroom doors, and she teetered on her heels. Cheeks prepared to bloom bright red, she righted herself and walked around her desk.
Francesca put the flat of her palm on her desk and her hand grazed the smooth wood as she walked around her desk. She cleared her throat as the class simmered down and addressed the room.
“Good morning, everyone. My name is Francesca Reynolds, I prefer to be addressed as Ms. or Professor. Welcome to English Lit.”
A few murmured hellos and Francesca’s shaking hands plugged in her flash drive and the gaze of each student burned on her skin as she struggled to the get the projector to work.
“So, I wanted to start this semester with Gothic Literature. How many of you had to read Poe and Thoreau in high school?”
Most of them raised a hand and Francesca put on a bright smile as she smacked her clammy hands together. “Excellent! Let’s get started.”
The two hour lecture came and went, and by the end of it Francesca’s tongue was dry and her legs wobbled from standing. All of the students emptied out of the room and she immediately glued her ass to her seat. Her fingers stroked her calf muscles, hoping to gas them up for another four hours of class.
The dryness on her tongue nagged at her and she wished that she’d remembered to throw a water bottle in her purse.
As new students began descending the twin staircases, she nodded hello at them and excused herself out of her closest exit. The traffic in the halls had picked up significantly compared to when she first arrived. She propelled herself down the hallway at the fastest speed she could manage without attempting to run in heels.
She approached the cafeteria and peered in through the open doors. The open space revealed three other professors crowded around the condiment bar. Francesca targeted the drink cooler and helped herself to a soda, she checked out with the cashier, a grim faced Wright University student.
As she pulled back the tab on her diet soda, a tall, pale woman decked out in a red skirt and blazer was barreling toward her.
Fuck, I’ve met her, I know that I know her. Francesca extended her hand, a bright smile the consolation for having forgotten her colleague’s name.
“Professor Reynolds, how have you been ? Hard time finding your classroom?” The long woman stretched her mouth wide and revealed red lipstick-stained teeth. Her tongue flicked over them.
“I’ve been fine, I just finished my first lecture-”
The tall woman leaned in uncomfortably close. “Did they give you a run for your money? My first lecture I spent all morning puking, and between each class I was glued to the can. You have the bonus of having someone like Adam Houston accepting a position here on your first day.”
Francesca swallowed her sip of soda before she sent it splattering all over the woman’s suit. “ Adam Houston? You can’t be serious.”
The woman slapped her on the shoulder. “Oh, I’m so serious. He honestly wants to lecture some English Lit students; I just couldn’t believe that he chose to come to a Manhattan university.”
“Everyone wants to visit the Big Apple at one point or another; I just can’t believe that I have such good luck.”
A curious expression settled on the other professor’s face. “Oh? Are you a fan?”
“I own a couple of his titles- so, I guess. It’s just such big name.” And such a big opportunity to have fallen into my lap my very first week here, Francesca thought.
Before she could dive into something else, Francesca said, “Well, I’m sure my students are waiting for me and you don’t pay two grand for a class to sit in the room without a professor. I’ll see you around?”
She nodded vigorously. “Of course, of course. Good luck to you.”
Francesca power walked to her classroom, noting to herself, At least I didn’t spend all morning vomiting.
Chapter 2
Adam dragged a comb through his salt and pepper hair, smiling at the tanned and aging man in the mirror of his newly leased apartment. This is what he assumed New York life to be all about If he dared to open the window to let in the busy noises of the street, they could potentially drown out the thoughts in his racing mind.
I’m out of distractions, he noticed. The deodorant and razors that were on the counter had already been put away, and if he just pulled out his phone, a car would arrive in moments to drop him off at the university.
He slid his wide smart phone out of his pocket and his fingers hovered over the car service app. There was a sunken feeling in his chest. Jesse hasn’t called today. He had seen his oldest daughter two times since he moved to New York from Rhode Island. He saw her the day that her and her mother moved all of their things, dresses, sofas, and televisions, out of his five-bedroom home. Then, he saw her briefly on moving day. She was upset that he was moving so soon after the divorce, but she promised to communicate consistently.
Sixteen-year-olds aren’t known for their organizational skills. Or their ability to stick to commitments, he thought.
He shook the feeling off, taking one last look in the mirror before he reluctantly sent for the car.
Let’s get this over with.
Chapter 3
Francesca set the drug store margarita mix on the camel-brown, square shaped table between her and Sal. Sal giggled as he sipped his margarita and said, “How much longer do we have to drink this shit? You’re making good money now.”
Francesca adjusted her knees so that she could lay on her side, with the plush gray carpet rubbing against her skin. “I haven’t received my first stipend yet. You know, you could stand to buy the alcohol sometimes, you sold four houses this month!”
Sal shrugged. “I guess. What’s it like so far? Do they just stare at you, obviously bored out of their minds?”
Francesca offered her middle finger to Sal. “No, Sal, believe it or not some people like English Literature.”
“I thought you were the only person that did.”
“Anyway, I’ve got three really good groups of grad students that are there because they appreciate it and want to incorporate it into their careers somehow.”
Sal took a long sip of his margarita and his fingers drifted to his temple. “And how do you do that? What jobs are there for English Lit majors?”
“There’s teaching, and you know, its good knowledge to have. However, if you’re me, there’s writing, and then there’s also the opportunity to get feedback from Adam Houston.”
Sal leaned against the tangerine-colored couch. “Is that the guy that writes a bunch of self-help books?”
“No. He’s sold billions of books worldwide in the true crime genre, and he chose to offer lectures at my university of all places. What do I even do? I need to find some way to get him alone and have him read over my manuscript.”
Sal snorted. “I think you’re the only person in the world that thinks someone would find it an opportunity of a lifetime to read your manuscript after you’ve shoved it in their faces.”
Francesca rolled her eyes and tossed her head back to rest on the couch. The ceiling was discolored, the previous tenants had just enough juice to paint half of the ceiling a pastel purple, and to leave the other half white. The building staff wasn’t exactly paid well enough to climb up on a ladder and right that wrong.
Francesca whined, “He’ll love it, he has to”
****
Okay, hopefully the seventeen dollars it took to print and bind this thing wasn’t money that would have been better applied to a panini, Francesca thought, as she clutched her thick manuscript through the holes in her copper-colored yarn knapsack.
She passed a decorative mirror in the dark hallway and checked her teeth for lipstick stains. She smoothed her burgundy colored hair back and tucked away the strays that tried to escape from her wide headband.
The lights were already on in Adam Houston’s lecture hall. I guess showing up here four hours earlier isn’t going to get me too much farther.
She had shaken herself out of bed at eight am with Sal’s help. He had waved a croissant and hot coffee under her nose. Sal had always been an early riser, so he had no problem joining the mission to help Francesca achieve overnight literary success.
Whatever. I’ll make myself stand out, she thought.
She entered the hall from the back and the heat of the room immediately provided a smothering sensation around her neck and ears.
The room was hot with the body heat of over two hundred professors and students crowding around Adam on the lecture hall floor.
Voices buzzed and panic swelled in Francesca’s chest as she realized she may not get a chance to talk to him.
She walked to the two rows above her and was able to see through the throng of fans.
A tall, lean man of about 50 was in the center of the circle, shaking hands and offering a genuine and alluring smile to each person that jumped in his face.
Francesca’s eyes bulged out their sockets in disbelief. I’m confident that the real Adam Houston could eat that man.
When Francesca had read Adam Houston’s work three years ago, the picture on the back of the hardcover book was of a man with twice the number of chins that this svelte gentleman had, and the portlier man’s hair had dangled just slightly over his unibrow in thick, slimy, black tendrils.
This man’s salt and pepper hair complimented his olive skin. He stood with perfect posture, confidence and opulence were the pheromones that snaked their way off of him and to the hormones of all neighboring women.
Francesca shuddered, trying to figure out how to approach him. She took a deep breath and barreled down the steps. She pushed past a few people and flashed smiles as apology. She was gripping her manuscript so tightly her fingers were starting to throb. She was so close.
The inner circle of professors was not going to simply budge and let her soak up valuable Adam Houston time. Sally Hepp brought the sharp end of her nude colored stiletto down onto Francesca’s ballet flat covered foot.
Francesca whined in pain and Sally muscled her out of the circle and battered Adam with questions. Fran swore under her breath as she limped back to her classroom. She unlocked the door and collapsed into her seat. She popped her foot out of the baby blue ballet flat and poked at the bloody bruise that was forming.
I would sue the slutty heels off of her if I could afford a lawyer. She sighed heavily, and kicked her knapsack underneath her desk with her uninjured foot.
She supposed that she should spend her extra time coming up with a slightly more interesting lesson plan, but she couldn’t get Adam Houston out of her head. Had that really been him? He had looked so vastly different from the picture she had seen years ago. Not only was he a brilliant wordsmith, but he was handsome as hell too. She really needed to find a way to get to him.
Chapter 4
Francesca nodded along at the story that the junior in front of her was telling. The story just seemed to get longer and longer, and every time that there seemed to be an opening for it to end, she droned on.
I should be the professor that I wanted at 19, someone who was excited to hear about a student’s novel. But she’s so boring.
Rachel Smere tucked her pin-straight golden hair behind her ear and kept chattering about the importance of a soft male lead. “I just think that Ross is going to be a great character for Valeria to focus on, you know? What if the man she’s been wanting this whole time is just a sensitive art teacher instead of this dominating, and imposing billionaire type?”
Francesca battled with herself on whether or not to release the sigh that she was holding in. “Yeah, we do need to move away from conventional male roles.” She looked over Rachel’s shoulders and noticed that the crowds were thinning in the hallway.
Shit! I’m never going to be able to find a seat at this rate! Shut up, shut up, shut up! she wanted to scream.
“I think that it’s great that Valeria is from Bulgaria, not one of the places that everyone romanticizes. I think I’ll make her a simple girl, someone that’s used to rolling hills and long days tending to the sheep.”
“Hey, Rachel, let’s consider this an extra credit assignment between the both of us. Whenever you finish your first draft, just hand it over to me for bonus points. You can have the points as long as you don’t spoil the story for me or give me any hints about the characters. I want to have a fresh analysis.”
Rachel gleamed. “Seriously, Professor Reynolds?”
She tapped her on the shoulder and headed for the stairs. She’d been smart enough to wear comfortable sneakers today. “Seriously!” she tossed over her shoulder.
Francesca jogged down the hall and pushed open the heavy door to Adam’s lecture hall. There weren’t too many students in his afternoon classes and there were several seats available in the back row. She slid into the row, and got comfortable in a seat as Adam called the class to attention.
He smiled at them and announced, “Welcome to my lectures. I opted to not follow a set curriculum because I’m very excited to have been offered an opportunity to assist young literary enthusiasts. I want to teach from experience so there will be no textbooks in this class.”
Francesca cringed at an audible swoon from a few girls in the front row.
“I want to help you guys dive into what literature really is. I know that you’ve been told your whole lives to admire the greats. Respect Jane Austen, Hemingway, and Poe- and you should. However, a long-winded piece with flowery description isn’t necessarily lit. Sometimes, it’s just bullshit.”
Francesca snuggled into her seat, and wore a smug smile. None of these two-year-olds could have made that deduction. He knows real lit because he writes it, and he’ll know that my work is real lit.
“Lord of the Flies is boring in parts. I’m not going to pretend it isn’t; the author takes at least a half page to describe what an eerie lake looks like. Real literature, fantastic writing and reading, is succinct.” He walked over to his white board and with a fat, purple marker, etched: SUCCINCT.
Francesca couldn’t think of a better way to spend an hour.
***
Two full hours later, the girls in the front row filed out after offering Adam a few suggestive grins and winks. As the space closer to the floor began to empty out, Francesca snatched her knapsack and all but ran down the steps.
Adam jumped, frazzled, and eyed her as he slipped his binder and notes into a solid black messenger bag. “Can I do something for you?” he offered.
Francesca grinned, and shoved her hand out at him. “Yes. My name is Francesca Reynolds, I’m teaching Lit right down the hall. Though I have to admit, I don’t have nearly the numbers in my lectures that you do. I don’t mean to sound like every other person at the university, but I love your work.”
He smiled and the corner of his eyes crinkled. “Really? I appreciate that, it’s nice when your peers have read your work and appreciate it”
“I think your characterization is flawless and I wish I could bring your style to my own work without plagiarizing.”
“Were you in class just now? For my lecture?”
Francesca nodded. “Yes, I snuck in the back. I loved what you had to say. I was actually wondering that if you had the time- if you would mind reading some of my work? Maybe just a little?”
He chuckled and asked, “I suppose you have a short story that the literary journals just won’t publish?”
Her fingers strained as she pulled out her dictionary-thick manuscript with just one hand and shoved it toward him. “Not exactly. I think a publishing house is more of the help I need. I’d really like for someone in the business to look over it before I bring it to a publisher, I don’t want to seem like every amateur-”
“Like every amateur that approaches a published author the first opportunity that she gets? Or like every amateur that’s not afraid to show a little skin and flirt a little bit to get what she needs?”
Francesca stammered, “N-no, I-I-”
He smiled seductively. “Maybe if you agree to dinner Miss Reynolds, I’ll see what I can do about taking a look at your manuscript.”
Francesca chewed her lip in thought. “What did you have in mind?”
He chuckled. “Well, I’m still new to the city. Why don’t you tell me a good place to go and have a little fun,” he winked at her.
Francesca thought for a minute. “I know the perfect place, actually,” she said. She reached out and grabbed Adam’s hand, turning it over and scrawling her phone number on his palm. “Why don’t you call me tonight and I’ll let you know where you can pick me up?”
Adam looked her over and a smile spread across his face. “I think I’ll do just that Miss Reynolds.”
Francesca turned on her heel and headed back up the steps and out the door, turning to call over her shoulder. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”
Chapter 5
“Can you believe this is actually happening?” Francesca said, as she poured the pre-made margarita mix into the blender. Sal paced in front of the kitchen counter, sticking a jittery hand out for a finished lime margarita.
“I can’t. I cannot believe that he just basically asked to bang you in exchange for reading your manuscript.”
Francesca popped ice cubes into the blender. “Well, he wasn’t that crass. Maybe he thought I was interested too? Maybe he thought that that was why I approached him?”
“Or maybe he’s taking advantage of the situation. A young, attractive professor is giving him an upper hand in this because she wants something from him.”
The blender whirred and they both grimaced at the high screech of the small appliance that should have been replaced two years ago.
She held up a finger as Sal started to go on, “Now, if anyone is taking advantage of anything here, it’s me.”
Sal shrugged and sipped on his margarita. He walked over to the couch. “Fine. Okay, you get laid. You might get a published book out of this.”
“Or even some solid advice! I am taking advantage of a newly divorced man’s attraction to me, an attraction that he was very blunt. So, maybe I will sleep with him, but I’m still the one coming out on top.”
“Do you know how sex works? I know that it’s been a while.”
Francesca flicked some of the chunky ice from her glass at Sal, who dodged it and continued to sip on his. “Alright, fine, let’s say he gets you published somehow and all he wants is for you to suck the book deal right out of his cock for the rest of your life.”
“It would be the most fruitful juices I’ve tasted in years, then.”
****
Adam flipped the pages of Francesca’s humongous manuscript. Is this a series flopped into one book? he thought, as his eyes ran over the text for the eighteenth chapter. I’ve never been a slow reader, but this one is going to take me a couple of weeks.
Francesca’s long neck and petite pear shape fluttered through his mind. Not that this book isn’t interesting, but there are other things I’d like to offer my attention to.
She had left the ball in his court. He could call, and she might see it as a promise that he could help her get her work published. As to what she was really expecting was up in the air, his agent, Courtnie, wasn’t going to just waste precious time on some newbie he fancied. In actuality, she’d be battering him about where the hell his next draft is and why he hadn’t sent it to his editor, Travis. The truth was, he hadn’t been able to write since his divorce. His phone flashed but it was only a nonsense notification from the bank about his balance. His daughter was still making him wait on a phone call. Tonya, his ex-wife, couldn’t be trusted to call him and let him know how their child was or to call him herself with an update.
He walked into his bedroom at the end of the hall, where the walls were lined with boxes that he still had no plan on unpacking. He walked over to his desk and scooped up the wide red folder Wright University had given him when he accepted a position there.
It contained a list of special dates of when class would not be in session, university maintenance numbers, a staff code of conduct booklet, and a staff directory.
He flipped through the orange-colored pamphlet until he landed on the “R” section under the heading for professors.
He walked back through the living room and dialed the number he found. He sighed as the phone rang four long rings, before a lazy voice answered.
“Hello?”
“Francesca? Professor Reynolds?”
“Is this Adam Houston?”
He reclined on his couch and played with the cuff on the cardigan he was wearing. “Yes, I was taking you up on that offer.”
Her laugh was breathy. “I believe that you were the one to offer me a date, and whatever else you were hinting at.”
“Should I take that as you are uninterested?”
“Not at all. I said that you offered, that doesn’t mean that I won’t accept.”
He grinned and stood up. “I’m going to text you an address and I’ll see you there in a half hour.”
“How do you know that I don’t have plans?”
He hung up, and swiped his keys off of the end table by the door.
***
Francesca walked down the sidewalk, her eyes searching for the sign that her GPS had led her to. A few people walked by with hot drinks, and she pulled her sweater tighter around her. She wore a salmon-colored cardigan and a black skirt. Her eyes lit up as she stumbled upon her destination.
It was a fairly large cafe, with a stage in the center of it. It was packed to the brim. Through the window, she could see Adam sitting at a two-person table. He was dressed just as nicely as he would be in class.
She walked in and nodded at the barista at the counter. She slid into the seat across from him, a smirk on her face when he jumped. “Hey there. You finally made it.”
She scoffed. “Well, it wouldn’t have taken me so long if you hadn’t picked New York’s least known cafe to meet.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s the least known but it is the only self-proclaimed literary cafe in New York that I know of.”
A barista walked by and Francesca flagged her down. “Can I have a chai latte please?” The girl nodded and walked off and Francesca asked, “So what do they do here? Does everyone get together and critique each other’s work? I guess that could be helpful, but what if someone steals your ideas?”
A milk wand aerated some milk from behind them and Francesca resisted the urge to cringe at the sound, it was an unpleasant disruption to the low rumble of voices in the crowded cafe.
“Don’t think like that. Are you familiar with Dillon Miller?”
Francesca snorted as she cupped her hands around a large yellow tea cup and deeply inhaled the chai steam that floated from it. “Am I familiar with him? I lived on him throughout high school. He was my inspiration after a while, once my grades got low enough and I didn’t care about college anymore, I told myself I’d be like him. So I entered every writing contest I found.”
“Did you win any of them?”
She shrugged. “Some. I never won anything important, nothing major that people read my published stories in.”
“Well, I don’t know if you know this but because of his fame, Dillon does readings for small crowds.”
“Are you trying to say that Dillon Miller might be here?”
Adam smirked. “I’m saying that he already is. He didn’t mind stopping by once I told him that I moved to New York and promised to read his next manuscript and offer my thoughts.”
Francesca put a hand on her leg to stop it from bouncing up and down. The sound of microphone feedback echoed throughout the cafe and she whipped her head around to the stage. A barista waved at everyone and said into the microphone, “Excuse me, excuse me, guys. We have a last-minute addition tonight, but it’s something that all of you guys will love. Dillon Miller has decided to grace us with his presence to read a couple of chapters of his new material.”
There was excited chatter in the crowd and a portly gentleman in a striped sweater walked onstage. Everyone clapped, and he waved his hands at the applause as he accepted the microphone from the barista.
“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you, guys. That’s really sweet. I feel like an asshole though,” Francesca could hear the youth in his voice. “because I totally didn’t come for you guys. Don’t get me wrong! I’m glad you’re here but I was asked to come down and share some of my stuff so that Adam Houston would hear. I really love your work, Adam.”
Francesca’s body buzzed with excitement and Adam took a long sip of her chai. She snatched the cup back and he said, “You’re missing the chapters. This is good stuff for you to take in.”
Dillon’s story was about a man in Ireland that was convinced that his family had turned their livestock against him.
This thing is bleeding with useless description. I get that the hills are green, what other color would they be? she thought after a while.
Her eyes rolled over to Adam, who was listening to each syllable. Every so often, he would make sounds of approval or he would chuckle.
How the hell long are two chapters?
*****
Oh, thank God! I can have my brain back, Francesca thought as they left the cafe and walked down the sidewalk. Adam looked over to her. “What did you think?”
“I think that he’s still a very talented writer. But his descriptions were a little long-winded.”
“Ah, yes, and yours are much more to the point.”
She gave him a sideways look. “You’ve started reading my novel, then? And straight to the point is better, don’t you think? Did you really enjoy listening to ten minutes of what color grass is?”
He slipped his hand into hers and led her along the street.
“I think that Dillon’s voice is unique, you just need to clear out most of your afternoon to enjoy his work. Yours on the other hand, while you don’t waste time telling us what color Regina’s skirt is for two pages, your chapters are pretty long.”
“That’s a good thing; if anything it shows that I’m not lazy. Right?”
“You think that it shows how hard you’re willing to work? How hard are you willing to work?” he asked.
She stopped on the sidewalk and turned to look at him. “Are you offering to help me publish my book if I fuck you? she asked pointedly.
A slow, wicked smile split Adam’s lips. “Not at all. I make no promises. But you can still fuck me if you’d like.”
A passerby might have thought this was a conversation of sweet promises if they didn’t bend an ear to the whispers.
Francesca leaned closer to him and whispered in his ear. “How far is your place?”
***
Adam thrust her against the door of his apartment, having barely made it inside before grabbing her. He grabbed one of her legs and pulled it up around his waist and Francesca wrapped her arms around his neck for optimal leverage.
His right hand traveled up the route of bare skin underneath her skirt and pulled her panties down as her fingers fumbled to undo his belt. She only got a glimpse of his gray briefs before they were lowered and hung around his knees.
Francesca gasped as he slid into her, he was warm and his cock was thick. She sank her teeth into his shoulder to muffle the moans that escaped her. He pumped into her and groaned along with her at the sensation.
He covered her mouth as he drilled into her, her orgasm found her quickly and she shuddered in his grasp. He dug his fingers into her soft flesh as he worked toward his release. Francesca threw her head back and clenched her pussy around him.
He gave one final groan as he emptied himself in side of her and stood for a moment with his forehead pressed to hers.
“Wow,” Francesca said. “That was amazing.”
Adam chuckled and slipped out of her, completely spent. “It was,” he agreed. “The bathroom is down the hall if you need to freshen up.”
Francesca gripped her thighs together to keep his fluids from running down her legs as she made her way to the bathroom. After she cleaned herself up, she splashed some cold water onto her face. She looked into the mirror over the sink and shook her head.
Holy shit, I just fucked Adam Houston.
Chapter 6
The afternoon sun soaked into the asphalt and radiated heat in wavy fingers. Though fall was approaching, the city had been experiencing a run of sunny, warm days.
Francesca handed over her debit card to the cashier at Smoothie Stop and tried to focus over all of the noise in the crowded store.
Apparently, everyone else thought that it would be a great idea to grab a chunky mango smoothie today too, she thought, and she squeezed Sal’s elbow.
“Hey, let’s take our shit outside. I can’t take it in here. I want you to be able to actually hear me when I tell you about Adam.”
He smiled and accepted his vanilla bean coconut smoothie. He led them through the small glass doors and past the outside patio where a few ladies in light dresses enjoyed their smoothies. He winked at one, and Francesca swatted him on the arm. He cackled. “You had your chance, Francesca.”
“Oh shut up, just focus. So, Adam has been reading my manuscript. I think he likes it.”
An obnoxious sound came from Sal’s straw. “Okay. That’s great. So, you don’t have to sleep with him to get him to read it?”
“No, I still slept with him. Well, straight up fucked him is more like it,” she said.
They strolled toward a new bookstore, Literary Lake that Sal had been suggesting they go to for weeks.
“You dirty little tramp,” he teased, playfully slapping her ass.
“Shut up. It just sort of happened. Are you sure this place is open?”
“Yeah. It’s just always kind of quiet like this. That’s why I like it.”
They approached a heavy looking red door, with a brass handle. Through the square window panes, they could see a few people walking around, examining the spines of books.
Sal yanked the door open and ushered her inside. “Seriously though, you really fucked him?”
A few of the nearby patrons tossed curious glances in their direction and Francesca pulled him into an aisle by the sleeve. “Jesus Sal, just shout it out, why don’t you?”
“Um, I think I just did,” he said, grinning at her.
“I honestly didn’t intend to. Well, not last night anyway. I mean, I thought I’d at least see him a few times first but after a couple hours with him, I realized that I kind of like the guy. And the sex was hot.”
They walked up to a towering bookshelf in the self-help section and Francesca sat down on the tan metal step stool.
Sal crouched down and scanned a row of books. “That’s a hell of an age difference, though. But, do what you have to do, I guess. Alright, help me find a book on starting a business.”
*****
The next two months flew by and before they knew it, fall was giving way to winter. Francesca shook the dust off of her collection of sweaters and paired them with some of the new skirts she could afford.
She had stopped trying to dress like a seasoned professor and opted for her original style. Today, she wore a red lace skirt and white sweater that Adam had complimented before. Since their date at the literary cafe, they had spent lunch hours together every day.
Every day, she would walk down to his empty classroom and discuss anything from the dirty looks the janitorial staff always seemed to shoot their way to the new novelist that nudged Adam out of the number one spot on the bestselling list.
She pushed open the door to his classroom and pulled up a chair to his desk but he wasn’t there. He must’ve gone to grab something from the cafeteria. Francesca shrugged and pulled out her lunch, a lettuce wrap with grilled chicken.
She was only two bites into her lunch when she heard the clicking of heels coming down the steps from behind her. With her meal still in her mouth, she turned her head to see Ariana Scylla, the tall woman who had approached her on her first day. Francesca had finally learned her name from a board meeting that began with each professor introducing themselves.
Ariana wore an emerald green pantsuit, and her heels were an intense black. Professor Scylla swiped her hair over her shoulder and nodded at Francesca. “Good afternoon, Professor Reynolds. I was looking for Professor Houston, have you seen him?”
Francesca shook her head. “I haven’t. Maybe he’s in the restroom? Is there anything I can do for you?” Or are you trying to find a lunch period where I’m not around so that you can finally hit on him?
Professor Scylla crinkled her nose. “No, I don’t think that you can. What did you need from him?”
Francesca frowned. “I’m just having lunch in here- it’s better than eating it alone in my classroom.” Francesca had seen Ariana eating plenty of lunches alone.
The other woman nodded; she glanced around the room and asked, “So, do you have lunch in here pretty often? Does Professor Houston need a lot of company?”
Francesca shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that he needs a lot. We just enjoy talking about our work together.”
“Oh! Are you coordinating lesson plans, then?”
“No, Adam actually doesn’t follow a lesson plan. He teaches purely from experience. We just talk about the work that we do independent from Wright University.”
Professor Scylla’s tone took on a heavier and much more accusatory sound. “And what is that independent work?”
Francesca smirked. “I’m sorry, were you interested in joining us in writing? I suppose I could have thought to invite you.”
The doors above them opened and Adam walked down the steps, nodding at Professor Scylla. “Good afternoon, Ariana! What can I do for you?”
She dropped her interrogation of Francesca, and slid into much more pleasant skin. “Oh, I just wanted to know if you could pop in and speak to some of my students. I hadn’t had a chance to really pick your brain yet- I suppose some things have kept you busy-” she tossed an undecipherable look to Francesca.
“If you like, you could come down the hall with me and plan it,” Ariana suggested.
“Well, I normally have lunch with Professor Reynolds to discuss a project that she’s working on. How about Monday?”
“Your lunches are so strict that you can’t possibly come down the hall until Monday?”
Adam appeared to be taken aback. “Well, if it means that much to you, I’ll make it down there tomorrow. However, I’d like to enjoy my lunch hour now.”
Professor Scylla seethed at being dismissed. She all but stomped back up the stairs and out of the classroom.
Adam slid into his seat and pulled out a Tupperware container filled with some seafood pasta salad. He picked it at it, stirring it up to get the texture right before he turned his gaze to Francesca, who was already staring at him.
“So, do you think that she wants to discuss a project the way that we discuss a project?”
“You seem to think that I would if that was what she wanted,” he said, sprinkling some pepper onto his meal.
Francesca took a large chomp out of her lettuce wrap. “She’s closer to your age,” she observed.
Adam set his pepper down and took her hand in his. “Do you think that you’re just something to pass my time? A perk to getting to read a new piece by a fresh author?”
Francesca shrugged. “Honestly, Adam, I’m not really sure what I am to you. I know you’re pretty newly divorced; I thought maybe I was somewhat of a rebound.”
He smiled at her and shook his head. “ There’s no one else, Francesca. I’m just waiting for you to come around and notice that.” He kissed her on both hands, and went back to his lunch.
Chapter 7
Ariana clenched her fists in rage, as she walked toward the dean’s office. Who does she think she is? So brazenly taking up all of his time, just flaunting their relationship about? She entered the reception area and Charlene, Dean Green’s receptionist , offered her a smile.
“What can I help you with, Professor Scylla?”
“Is Dean Green in? I’d like to have a chat with him about a staff concern.”
Charlene turned to her computer screen, scanning the system for Dean Green’s schedule. “It looks like he does have a free hour right now. I can see if he’s willing to be disturbed.”
“Yes, please do,” Ariana mumbled.
Charlene picked up the phone and called into his office. “Mmhmm, yes, I understand that but Professor Scylla says it’s important. Some sort of staff issue. Okay.” She hung up the phone and gestured toward the door behind her desk.
“Okay. You’re all clear. You have twenty minutes.”
Ariana rolled her eyes as she opened the door to the Dean’s office. He was hunched over a bowl of cheap microwavable noodles and didn’t look up when she entered.
“Have a seat, Ariana,” he said.
She sat across from him and cleared her throat. “Dean Green, I’m concerned about the example that Professor Houston is setting for some of our staff.”
He slurped on his noodles. “And what example would that be?”
She shifted in her seat. “Well, I would hate for staff to think that we condone relationships that extend beyond a professional level between the staff.”
He looked up at her then. “Who has an inappropriate relationship with Professor Houston?”
“Well, Professor Reynolds and he insist on meeting up every lunch hour to discuss some non-work related project. They insist on being alone for it.”
“You may be jumping to conclusions, Ariana. Maybe they’re going to present something together to both of their classes.”
Ariana scoffed. “I’m not jumping to anything, sir. I think that they may have an inappropriate relationship and that something should be done. When I asked Professor Reynolds what their meetings entail, she was reluctant to tell me anything. Professor Houston insisted I leave once he returned to his office, maybe they were about to begin their rendezvous?”
Dean Greene sighed and threw the empty noodle cup into the trash bin that sat just off of his desk. “Do you think that they’re engaging in this kind of activity on school grounds?” he asked.
“There’s no way to tell for sure, but will you look into it?”
He sighed and loosened his belt to allow his large belly to breathe. “Of course, Ariana.”
******************
Adam locked the second set of doors and his classroom and sprinted down the steps. “Alright, let’s hurry. I have a group of thirty students in twenty minutes.”
Francesca wore a devilish smile as she pulled down her panties and leaned over Adam’s desk. He approached her from behind and squeezed her thighs. He gripped her round ass, and gave it a squeeze, leaving imprints of his fingers in her flesh. She shivered and he chuckled. He licked two of his fingers and poked at the lips of her pussy.
“Come on,” she whined, “Just put it in.”
He gave her a harsh smack on the ass. “We’re in my classroom, Professor Reynolds. I’ll go as slow as I want.” He plunged his fingers inside of her and she squirmed. She spread her legs wider and moaned softly as he fingered her slick pussy. He made sure to graze her clit each time he pulled his fingers out. He pushed her skirt further up and nipped at her ass. He placed tiny kisses all around her inner thighs and ran his tongue along the outside of her aching cunt.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, as he parted her lips open with his tongue and allowed it to dance along her clit. Her hips bucked, wanting to ride his face. He grabbed her hips and steadied her. “You need to stop trying to control this, or I’m going to take longer,” he threatened.
He released a sigh of contentment as he unbuckled his pants. His dick had been hard since she bent over, and he held it in his hands, ready to position it inside of her.
She could feel the warm, wet tip of his cock grazing against her dripping slit and she gripped the desk for leverage.
He slid into her and began to pound her pussy. His hips were powerful as they rammed into her and she put her fist in her mouth to conceal the noise. When she felt the walls of her channel start to tighten, she inhaled and caught the musky scent of sex that floated throughout the classroom.
With a final thrust, his semen dribbled down her thighs. He sighed again and pulled out of her, handing her the box of Kleenex he kept on his desk. They took a moment to clean up and then looked at each other and giggled like high schoolers.
Chapter 8
Adam grimaced at the gaudy Christmas lights strung over the mantle in his apartment. It was his first time decorating a place for Christmas, as his ex-wife had always done it and it had always been so extravagant.
Next year, I’ll go with a little less. He had over-decorated his place so that Francesca wouldn’t think that he was a soulless monster that hated festive fun.
She was invited to his apartment for Christmas this year, if she and Sal weren’t going to booze it up and drunkenly exchange gift cards. He stretched out on the sofa and reclined with Francesca’s manuscript. The working title was Dream Catcher. It was about a woman that dreams of her long lost children that she can’t remember giving away due to a fatal accident.
Not much of a hopeless romantic. But that suits her. Francesca was logical and refreshing. There was a small part of him that felt silly for the whole affair. He had barely been out of a seventeen-year marriage when they began seeing one another. Francesca had suggested that she may be a rebound relationship for him, and maybe it had started out that way, but it had truly blossomed into something else.
And at least the book was good, and she hadn’t just vomited up what she thought sounded deep.
It could sell, but not if we just throw it at the publishers.
His phone sang a jaunty holiday tune and he smirked.
Speak of the devil.
He leaned over and his fingers barely grasped his phone on the glass table. Jesse’s face flashed across the screen and he felt a surge of both disappointment that it wasn’t Francesca, and happiness that it was his daughter. He touched the green ‘accept’ key.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Dad! How’s your first Christmas in New York?”
“It’s alright I guess, but I sure do miss you, sweetie. How have you been?”
He could hear some shuffling in the back as she repositioned herself. “Sorry. Micah wants to walk all of a sudden; I was putting his leash on. So, you like New York?”
“A lot, yes. I feel like the students in my classes are really benefiting from my lectures. Did you do the play?”
“Yeah, I’m an extra in the ensemble for the mid-winter play. For the Christmas play, I’m the elf with the most singing parts.”
Adam laughed with zeal. “That’s wonderful, baby. I wish I could get away to see it, but I’m insanely busy. I’m meeting a lot of writers here.”
“Do you have a girlfriend yet?” she suddenly blurted. Her tone wasn’t accusatory or remotely hesitant.
He decided to be honest with her. “Something like that, truthfully. She’s a writer. I like her a lot but I don’t know if she wants something serious.”
He could hear her Yorkshire Terrier yipping in the back. “Well, I miss you. You should come see us soon, bring your maybe girlfriend if you have to.”
“Well, I was hoping that you would come to New York, maybe even look at some of the colleges.”
Jesse squeaked. “I would love to! I’ll tell Mom, it’s going to be so much fun! Maybe I can meet your girlfriend.”
“Maybe, sweetheart.”
******
Adam slid his second glass of rum onto the coffee table. His limbs felt wobbly and loose. The manuscript was in his right hand, folded in half. After he had gotten off the phone with Jesse, he dove back into his reading. While he was ecstatic that Jesse had finally called without being prodded, hearing her voice had created a dull ache in his chest. He couldn’t resist the urge to try and drown the ache out with rum.
He was entertained, at least. The climax of Francesca’s book had been electrifying and it was melting into a satisfying conclusion. He took his phone out of his pocket and selected her number from a list of most recent conversations.
The phone rang five times before she picked up. “Yes?” Her tone was expectant.
“I’m almost finished with your book.”
He could hear her shuffling around in the back, probably sitting up. “Go on,” she said.
“It’s good, really good. I have to say, a lot of people have asked me to read their stuff and I’ve just bitten my tongue and swallowed horrible writing for three hours of my life, but I’m actually entertained.”
She was silent. “You don’t think the main character’s personality is awful?”
“She’s uniquely terrible in some ways, and brilliant in others. However, she has been through a lot.”
“She has! I hope the readers see it that way.”
“Speaking of readers, I know that you wanted my opinion on your manuscript because I’m published, but I don’t think that I should just push this to someone at the publishing house.”
“What? Why? Push it to them, I don’t care.”
“That’s the thing; sure, your book could be in chain bookstores and in some libraries but that would be like shoving you down the reader’s throats. I think that there’s a smoother approach to this that we should take.”
“What’s smoother than a book deal in two weeks?”
“Being a bestselling self-published author in days.”
“I suppose that I could push it to the online market and make it available on e-readers,” she said.
He could hear the faint sound of her laptop being turned on. He swung his legs out and ignored the woozy sensation that came with it. He sat upright and said, “Sure. In addition to that, you’ll let me post a review of your book on my blog.”
Francesca gasped.
“And I’ll pay to have a few thousand copies published in print soon after, and then I’ll put them in some independent bookstores.”
“I never expected you to do any of this, you know.”
He chuckled; his eyes searched the room for the rum bottle. “I’m not offended that you’re an opportunistic woman, Francesca. You went after what you want, and you might just get it; along with a horny old man for good measure.”
She giggled. “You’re not that old Adam. Horny, yes. Old, not so much.”
“Would you like to come over after I make the post on my blog? We can watch your explosion into the literary world together.”
“Yes. Absolutely. It’s better than watching Sal checking his ex’s profiles online to see if they’re single on Christmas too.”
Sal’s muffled complaint could be heard in the background, “It’s healthy, it is a normal thing to do, it will help me pick a better partner in the future!”
Adam rolled his eyes as he swished some more rum around on his tongue. “Get over here.”
Chapter 9
Adam sighed as he sipped on his unusually sweet choice of coffee. He decided that he may as well try a fancy coffee to shake him out of the funk he was sliding into as classes resumed.
He wiped a bead of chocolatey liquid off of his lip and Dean Green nodded at him as he power-walked down the hall. Adam nodded back, but Dean Green turned around and fell into step beside him.
“Good morning, Professor Houston.”
“Good morning, Dean. How was your Christmas?”
“It was wonderful, we got my daughter a puppy but she decided that a Yorkie just wouldn’t do and we had to exchange the poor thing for a Labrador.”
“That’s a shame,” Adam replied.
They walked into Adam’s classroom and Adam set his things down on his desk. He gestured at his coffee cup. “You ever try this from the campus store? It’s like a hot chocolate but they put three coffees worth of caffeine in it.”
“I’m not here to talk about coffee, Adam. I’m actually here to talk about Professor Reynolds.”
Adam nodded and sat in his chair. “Is that right? Well, what about her?” He grinned as he looked into Dean Green’s eyes.
“Well, some photos have been brought to my attention by a staff member-”
“Do you mean Professor Scylla?”
“I am not at liberty to say who they were from. Suffice it to say that they were very intimate photos of the both of you. You spent the holidays together?”
“Professor Martin and Professor Loney golf together each spring, what’s wrong with spending the holidays with a colleague and their roommate when you’re new to the city?”
Dean Green grunted in frustration. “The problem-” he took out his phone and his screen lit up as he searched for the evidence he was talking about. “The problem is when photos like these make it on a social media site, especially where other members of my faculty can see them.”
Damn it, Sal, Adam thought. The photo was of himself and Francesca under the mistletoe, Francesca was snuggled up in a bright red Christmas sweater, her tongue firmly planted in his Adam’s mouth.
Adam scratched at his beard and asked, “What would you like me to do about this?”
“Cut off whatever it is that you guys are calling this. Normally, I would even consider suspending a professor that had done something this inappropriate, but you’re valuable to this university.”
Adam smiled. “That’s right. I am. It’s almost like I’ve given this school a generous donation of half a million dollars that you know would only grow if I put some years in here. If I received tenure, you could probably afford to remodel half the buildings.”
“This isn’t about your donations, this is about how students really value your lectures,” Dean Green retorted.
Adam hummed in agreement. “And when students value my classes and they grow in popularity, what does that do for the university? The classes certainly aren’t being held for free, are you following, Dean?”
“What are you saying, that you’ll resign? Are you threatening me?”
Adam laughed. “I don’t think that I need to go that far. However, I know that Professor Reynolds and I will be fine. You’re going to tell Professor Scylla that you’ve handled the matter and that will be the end of it.”
The first few students started to trickle in.
“I have to teach class now, Dean. Are we done here?”
Dean Green’s face contorted into an angry, red tomato. “It would seem that way. Enjoy your class.” He left out of the teacher’s exit and the door slammed behind him.
A few students peered at the situation curiously and Adam waved them off. “Nothing to see here folks.”
*****
“Holy shit.” Francesca said as she folded her legs to comfortably seat her laptop on her lap. Her bedroom was dark and she had been hunched over the computer for three days now. Sal had tried and tried to get her to come out for fresh air and a shower, but she only indulged his company once to say, “Take that damn picture of Adam and me off of your page!”
She had watched for three days, as the comments and new posts rolled in about Dream Catcher. Adam had been right. His clever and eye-catching post about the book had captured the attention of thousands of his blog’s followers. By the time the eBook royalties paid out, there would be an additional $3,000 dollars in her bank account at the rate that the digital copies were selling.
They aren’t just buying it because Adam said to. They really like me. She chewed on her fingernails and clicked through the comments, most of them showering her book with praise and asking why the author hadn’t released any other work.
Her mother, whom she spoke to sparingly, had called her and asked if she had published a book. Dream Catcher’s popularity had somehow made its way under the rock that Cynthia Reynolds inhabited in Columbus, Ohio.
I should really go to work soon, before I get fired, she thought. She had canceled class three days in a row, obsessed with her book and blogs. Though things were looking good for her future, she couldn’t afford to quit teaching just yet.****
Francesca shut the door and grinned at Adam, who was sprawled out on his sofa.
“I can’t believe this, Adam! It happened exactly how you said it would, I can’t even begin to explain what this means to me.”
He held up a hand. “You did the work, honey. I just financed spreading it around.”
She laughed in awe, and fell on the sofa next to him. She snaked a hand around his waist. “Who gave you permission to come into my life, tear it apart, and make it ten times better?”
“You did. When you approached me, you ambitious snot. Could you pour us some wine?”
She nodded and stood up, and stretched. For once, her shirt didn’t rise past her belly button. Her success with writing allowed her to finally own clothes that were nice, and not just for work. She walked over to his alcohol cabinet and pulled out a white wine in a curvaceous bottle. She held it up and asked, “Is this expensive?”
He spared a glance. “Yes. $900.”
“Good! We’re celebrating!” She slid her fingers between two champagne flutes and brought them back to the sofa.
Adam sat up and held Francesca by the waist. She passed him a flute filled with the bubbling white wine and he said, “To Dream Catcher!”
Francesca smiled and took a large gulp . “Not just Dream Catcher. To us, to life, and to my resignation at Wright.”
Adam’s eyes became the size of saucers and he asked, “You’re going to resign?”
“I never wanted to teach. But, no one pays you to be an unpublished writer with dreams, and this was the profession that I could stand the most.”
“Wow.”
She sipped some more wine and set the glass down on the table. She swatted his thigh. “Oh, don’t be like that. I’m resigning at the end of the semester, and I have valuable experience now.”
He took her hand and squeezed it. “Will you be resigning from anything else?”
“You’re so subtle. No, I think you’re here to stay.” Francesca filled up her glass and leaned back on the couch with him. She raised his hand to her lips and placed a small kiss on it. “I want to see where this goes.”
*********
“I’m going to pretend to be over the fact that you just moved Aislin in here once I resigned from the University.”
Sal and Aislin wore a guilty expression as the four of them sat around the table for the meal that Sal prepared.
“Hopefully this meal makes it up to you. Come on, it’s not like you wanted to spend your nights in dirty underwear in that bedroom once you quit. Especially not with him living in that gigantic apartment by himself,” Sal said, as he spooned some pasta into Adam’s bowl.
“I guess it’s the principle of the thing,” Adam said, and Francesca nodded as she stabbed her fork into her noodles.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love you, Aislin. Sal was having a really rough time bringing home girls that didn’t look like they partook in sharing heroine on the weekends.”
Aislin giggled and sipped some of the wine that Francesca and Adam had brought with them.
Sal poured himself some wine. “How’s the next book coming along?”
“Who’s book?” Adam and Francesca asked simultaneously.
“I didn’t realize you were writing again Adam,” Sal said with a wink at Francesca.
“It’s coming along great, I really love my decision to not go to a publishing house. I can talk to everyone that’s reading the books because of my blog.”
Aislin passed Francesca the basket of rolls. “How do you like living in Adam’s part of town?”
“I love it. I never thought I’d want to live in such an affluent part of New York, but I don’t have any complaints. We have enough space for Jesse to come hang out with us for a month.”
Adam finished chewing his food and said, “She’s crazy excited to meet you, she read the book, and I’ve never seen a girl more excited about her Dad’s girlfriend.”
Francesca slid her fingers between Adam’s underneath the table. “I’m excited to meet her. Hell, I’m just excited about life!” she exclaimed.
Sal chuckled. “How about a toast to us before Francesca starts bawling?” Everyone laughed as they all held up their champagne glasses.
Adam said, “To Francesca and I, to Sal and Aislin, and to Dream Catcher and the work in progress that I’m not allowed to know any details about. I’m grateful for this past year and all of the wonderful things that have come of it.”
Sal said, “I would have just said ‘to friends’ but that’s what happen when you invite writers to dinner.”
THE END