5. Phillip
5
PHILLIP
E ven though I know it’s completely unnecessary, I inspect my suit jacket for lint for the fourth time in as many minutes.
Once again, there was no lint to be found or any stray threads that needed to be snipped.
There is absolutely no reason for me to be this fidgety. I have met with people one on one since I received my PhD eighteen years ago. This should be old news to me by now.
I had been so on edge about our initial meeting that I even watched some of the videos from her blog to get a better sense of who she was.
Some of them? You watched all of them.
It was purely for research purposes, of course. I needed to know what her strengths and weaknesses were in terms of establishing her brand. I had to watch them to see what she was already doing marketing wise or if she was even doing anything at all on that front. How else was I going to find out what her practical experience with it was?
You’re lying to yourself and you know it. You could have found out all that by talking to her just like you did with every other student you met with today. You didn’t go looking for anyone else’s social media platform.
That thought resonates in my head so intensely, it makes my brain itch.
I know better than most how rationalizing questionable behavior can damage someone’s life, and yet here I am, still doing it.
From the moment Wesley showed us the video, Avery had been an ever present guest in my mind.
Yes, she was beautiful—almost unearthly so—but it was the gleam in her eye when she talked about her plans for the future that captivated me.
The knock at the door of my office startles me. I nervously brush off my jacket a fifth time just in case some lint had spontaneously manifested there.
She’s just a woman, Phillip. She puts her pants on one leg at a time just like everyone else.
More importantly, she’s your student and is very, very off limits. You are a forty-five-year old man, not some lovesick teenager on a first date. Now get a hold of yourself and run this meeting like the professional you are.
“Enter.”
Watching her blog had prepared me for how stunning she looked, but it didn’t prepare me for the sheer wonder of seeing her face to face.
Honestly, I don’t think any medium—video or otherwise—would ever be able to capture the aura of grace hovering in the air around her.
I’m struck dumb by it, and the greeting I was going to give (that I absolutely had not rehearsed) dies on my tongue.
The debutantes I used to escort when I was a much younger man would have committed murder for even a fraction of the poise that she has.
As she glides across the room, the etiquette lessons I thought I'd forgotten force their way to the front of my brain.
I move to stand behind the chair on the student side of my desk, ready to pull it out for her once she gets close enough.
Surprise flickers briefly across her face when I pull the chair out, but if I’m not mistaken, there’s also a glimmer of pleasure in her eyes as she sinks smoothly into the chair.
I have a standard itinerary for the first meeting, and never once have I deviated from the script—at least not until now.
I thought I'd be able to recover once I'd settled back into my chair, but luck is not on my side today.
When I glance away, I can manage to think up a sentence or two, but the minute I look back at Avery, my mind goes blank and I get lost in the wonder of her.
I get caught up in trying to count the freckles splashed across her nose and cheeks.
I get distracted by the patina of light and dark blues in her eyes, the curve of her cupid's bow, and how her hair shimmers in the weak evening light from the window.
The sound of voices in the hallway snaps me back to reality.
I take a breath and open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
You need to say something, Phillip—anything will do at this point. You can’t just spend the whole meeting staring at her. It's creepy and is probably already making her uncomfortable .
I clear my throat and try again.
“Miss Ross, it’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”
That's what you went with? Really?
I’m about ready to kick myself. All I need now is a top hat and a monocle for my transformation into a stuffy aristocrat to be complete.
Wait, is she blushing?
My eyes drop to her cheeks, and sure enough, there’s a tinge of pink that hadn’t been there before.
“Avery, please.” She smiles. “We’re going to be working together for several weeks, Mr. Travis. There’s no need to call me Miss Ross every time you need to talk to me.”
“Then I’ll have to insist that you call me Phillip,” I say, mirroring her smile. “It’s only fair.”
“Phillip it is, then.”
I could get addicted to the sound of my name on her lips.
I shift awkwardly in my chair, suddenly very grateful that there’s a desk obscuring my lower half.
“Let's start this meeting off with an easy question. How are you doing today?”
“I’m alright.” She takes a breath, clearly working up her nerve. “I do have to admit to being a little nervous. This isn’t exactly the usual academic setup, so I’m not sure how all of this is supposed to work,” she says, gesturing between us.
Being so fascinated by her that I completely forgot to start our meeting with my usual new student spiel is not exactly the professional start I’d envisioned.
Nothing to do now other than damage control.
“Is there anything specific you’re not clear on or is it just the mentor/mentee style of learning?”
“I went through the orientation materials, and working one on one is definitely going to help me maximize my time here, but there really wasn’t much information about what the blocks of time with you are actually going to look like.” Her face falls. “My only experience is from a high school setting. I don’t have any personal experience with higher education, much less an innovative format.”
The amount of shame in her tone nearly knocks me to the ground.
Someone has absolutely used that as a weapon against her, and not just once, either.
I stuff down the urge to gather her up in my arms and hold her tightly until all the hurt goes away.
Instead, I opt for the more professional route—the only route I should ever be taking with her—and attempt to change the subject.
“If your website and your vlog are any indication, you’ve certainly been able to master a good many skills on your own. My job is to fill in the gaps.”
“You watched my videos?”
I swear, her eyes are glowing with pleasure.
My guilt over digging into her socials instantly evaporates. I’d do it a thousand times over if it meant I got to see that look in her eyes again.
“I have, yes. It’s clear that you have plenty of raw talent to work with from a psychology and marketing standpoint. There are elements that could use some refining, but that’s part of the reason that you’re here—to hone those skills.
“That being said, they’re quite impressive from a creative standpoint. Wesley—I apologize, Mr. Brooks—could not stop going on about the photos in your portfolio. I think you might have yourself a diehard fan now. Just make sure you get him to teach you what he knows when you meet with him instead of the other way around.”
“I… I don’t know what to say,” she says sheepishly. “I’m used to my friends enjoying my work, but professionals in fields I want to improve in? That’s very new for me.”
“One of the most important things we’ll teach you here is how to build confidence in the skills you already have. Or at the very least, how to fake it for prospective clients until you learn to believe it for yourself.”
“If that’s the only thing I learn here, I’ll consider this session a success.” She laughs.
“I’ll teach you far more than that, Avery. You have my word,” I say in a low tone.
For a moment, I’m tempted by fantasies of teaching her how to moan my name when I bend her over my desk, how to rake her nails down my back just right…
You’re supposed to teach her, not proposition her.
I stuff the thoughts back down to the dark recesses of my mind where they belong.
“Do you play chess?”
“I do. I was even a member of my high school’s chess club. Why?” she asks warily.
This is why we stick to the new student spiel, Phillip. If you’d remembered to do that, she wouldn’t be looking at you like you’d grown a third eye.
“I apologize. That was rather out of the blue.” I clear my throat. “I like to play a game of chess with all my new students on our first meeting. Not only does it help alleviate the inevitable awkwardness of a first meeting, but it also gives me a good picture of how they think. It’s more enjoyable than a learning styles questionnaire and far more revealing.”
“And if I’d said that I didn’t play?”
“I settle for checkers,” I say, failing to keep the snobbery out of my tone. “It’s easier to teach.”
She giggles at my obvious disgust for the game, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.
I hope she stays in touch after this session is over. I need to keep that laugh in my life somehow.
“Are you up for playing? It’s alright if you’re not. I’m sure you’ve had quite a long day already.”
“It’s been a while since I played with anyone other than my mother. I could have had a nightmare of a day, and I still wouldn’t pass up the chance to play with someone new. Bring it on,” she challenges.
I pull out the travel set I keep in my desk and start setting it up.
“So, what’s your goal with marketing? Are you looking for more of a general overview of the basic principles or do you have a specific niche you’d like to focus on?”
“I definitely want to spend some time on the basics, for sure. Those building blocks are important, but I’d like to build my own brand and be able to bring business to wherever I end up working because they’re coming for my style, specifically, rather than generic event pastries. Did you want white or black?”
“Guests always play white. They usually need the extra advantage,” I say, centering the board on my desk.
Her eyes flick to my hands, then back up again.
“That confident in your skills, are you?” she taunts.
The smirk on her face has me desperate to drop to my knees in front of her and show her exactly how skilled I am.
Way to stay professional, Phillip.
The further we get into the game, the easier it gets to keep my thoughts in an appropriate sphere.
She's good.
So good, in fact, that I have to actively go on the defensive to keep myself out of check.
By the time she leaves, I have a good sense of how she thinks, her background with marketing psychology, where the gaps are in her knowledge, and half the syllabus for this session outlined in my head.
Avery was my last meeting today. I should get up and head home, but the thought of coming home to an empty house right now is not terribly appealing. Instead, I decide to grab my notepad and scribble down the ideas for the syllabus before I forget.
It’s harder to do than I anticipated. I keep getting distracted by thoughts of her.
Talking with her as we played felt surprisingly like talking with an old friend. The last time I’d felt this at ease with someone I’d just met was the day I’d met Wesley and Jamie.
So, what does that mean for me? More importantly, am I even going to be able to stay professional with someone who already feels like an irreplaceable part of my life?