5. Viktor
5
VIKTOR
S tudents filed into the lecture hall. The mass of men and women displayed a variety—young and old, sophisticated and sloppy, all shapes and sizes. If the university didn’t put a lot of emphasis on catering to a diverse group, it would be a surprise. Then again, it might’ve just been representative of how highly sought-after this university was, even if it was borderline considered Ivy League.
One thing that remained consistent across all the people entering the cavernous auditorium was how they perceived me .
More than a few checked me out with interest that burned hotter and lasted longer than scoping out who their new professor was. So many of the women seemed so damn young, childish and too immature to even be here where adults were supposed to learn and prepare for a career.
It was a stark difference from what I was used to. Before I was tasked with going to Moscow to follow the leads about Sonya, I saw older women, experts who could manipulate a man and then fuck them ten ways to hell. Prostitutes and dancers. Those were the kinds of women who were more my speed. I’d tired of that speed, and I was grateful for a break from going back to the whorehouses to supervise there, but it didn’t diminish the stark contrast to what I’d see here.
I waited at the podium, not smiling but not scowling either. Without revealing what kind of a prof I would be, I scanned the throngs of students entering for the face of Irina Petrov, the one person I was supposed to pay attention to and follow the best that I could.
And there she was. At last.
There she was.
Tall. Slender. Straight chestnut hair hanging down over her shoulders. Light blue eyes that sparkled despite the distance yawning between us as she delicately walked down the aisle. She sought a seat, not looking up at me once. Placing her high leather boots over the carpeted aisle that directed down toward me at the base of this room, she emitted the aura and confidence of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. Cool, collected, and poised.
God. Damn…
I huffed out a long breath, needing to vent the pent-up feelings that bottled up in me so suddenly. My first look of this woman shocked me, rendering me slightly awed by her beauty. Sure, she looked young. I knew from her file that she was only twenty-three. She was young, but unlike the rest of the students in here, she exuded an old-soul kind of maturity.
I’d counted on her being elegant, a woman used to the finer things in life and within the means of affording any beauty product, any hairstyle, and any designer garments.
But the utter sexiness in her graceful stride distracted me. The slender curves of her definitely non-childish figure gave me pause.
It was the attitude in her haughty pose and lift of her chin that had me wanting to smile.
She was no meek Mafia princess. She wouldn’t be a peer of Eva.
This woman, my target to spy on, would be a challenge.
And I couldn’t wait to pursue her.
Even though she didn’t look up at me once as she chose a seat and sat in it, I was aware that I’d have my work cut out for me. She wouldn’t make this easy. She wouldn’t be cooperative. I could guess it in the simple consideration of her regal posture and the almost stern press of her lips.
I couldn’t single her out—yet. Right now, I had to focus on establishing my cover as a professor, and that meant beginning this first class. Fortunately, this distraction by Irina’s beauty wouldn’t hinder me from pulling that off. First days of classes were usually nothing more than a prolonged hello and welcome to the course. Reading off and paraphrasing the syllabus was often the norm for day one, and I hadn’t even spent much time collecting the material for the syllabus. Reusing what the previous professor had left behind had made it an easy, streamlined chore.
Everyone in the room settled into their seats to peer down at me. Once the collective silence turned into a simmering patience for something to happen, I cleared my throat. Tearing my gaze from the spot where Irina was seated was a conscious effort I had to focus on.
“Welcome to American English History.” I looked around at the sea of faces, determined not to give Irina any particular interest. Letting my awareness of her be too obvious would be a grave mistake, and I was more seasoned than that.
She couldn’t recognize me , not when I’d spent so much of my time as a Baranov soldier and member of the family behind the scenes, at the whorehouses and not “in circulation” as other soldiers and guards she might have seen before. Likewise, this was the first time I’d spotted her in person, versus in a photo.
“I’m Professor Remi, and I’ll be starting this semester off with a preview of my expectations for the course.”
Was I speaking with a dry, monotone effort? Yes. Did I care? No. If they all perceived me as an unfun professor, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t here to win any awards. I was here to do my job and do it well.
Starting the lesson with an overview of the syllabus was a boring way to kick things off. It was obvious that the students weren’t enthusiastic about what I said. Listing out class rules, bulleting the expectations on assignments, and reviewing the grading rubric, I bored them all to death. Still, as I spoke, the shine of lust didn’t dim from all the women watching me.
All of them—except Irina.
Throughout my spiel, she didn’t give me a direct look once. Her deliberate avoidance of making eye contact couldn’t be a mistake or a fluke.
But why? She couldn’t know I was a Mafia man. So why would she be this recalcitrant to facing me, just one of many professors here on campus?
Then she slipped. She broke her stubbornness not to look at me, not to give me attention. With one glance, she peered at me, almost lifting her lips in an expression of annoyed disapproval.
Aha. There was my proof that she had something against me.
What is it? She doesn’t like being told what to do, and hearing my reading of the syllabus reminded her that she had to deliver on expectations?
Why’s she so cool toward me? Even if I wasn’t giving a boring lecture, she could regard me with a basic lack of interest, not something like sassy irritation. Other students looked halfway asleep but they didn’t almost glare at me.
The longer I droned on, the more my mind wandered. She was my focus, and it didn’t take much energy or creativity on my part to start to fantasize about making her lose that attitude.
Would she scowl and lash out if I tried to kiss that smirk on her face? Or would she pull me closer and want more?
Would she push me away and fight me back if I tried to haul her over my lap and spank her ass red? Or would she moan and wiggle against me for something harder?
Fuck. I couldn’t let myself get carried away. I couldn’t keep thinking about her like this. If I did, I’d get hard, and I doubted that would be a stellar image on my first day of being a professor here, even if I’d gotten here by fraudulent means.
As I finished up, summarizing the assignment of what would need to be read and reviewed before next week’s class, I glanced up and checked the class’s reactions.
The second I caught her rolling her eyes, I paused.
Oh, that sass… Once more, I was intrigued.
She muttered something under her breath, something only for her ears to hear. But the sight of her plump lips moving was enough for me to narrow my eyes.
“What’s that?” I asked.
Putting her on the spot was a deviation from how I’d handled this lecture so far. I hadn’t asked a student anything. I hadn’t spoken to anyone directly.
Until now.
She pushed me, though, and I waited calmly for her to answer me.
“Excuse me?” she asked. Her thin brows arched in a silent question.
“What did you say?” I asked again, stern and without any nonsense in my tone.
She sat up, lifting her chin higher. “I remarked about your misuse of contractions on your slide.”
I turned, glancing at the slide on the screen that showed what I was reading and summarizing with a hefty dose of bullshitting my way through it all.
“You’re, as in you are, not your, the possessive,” she explained.
I wanted to parrot her immature gesture of rolling my eyes. I didn’t make this material. I recycled it from whoever taught this class before. But I refrained.
“I applaud you for paying close attention,” I told her without emotion, keeping up this boring professor act, “but I would suggest you devote more of it toward the substance of the lessons than the delivery of the slides provided by other faculty members.”
No one liked a grammar nerd, but I refused to let her try to look like she was schooling me .
Challenge accepted, sweetheart.
“Then perhaps you could consider the suggestion that you review the material you copy and paste before sharing it,” she replied.
Several students smiled and laughed lightly, appreciating this criticism and that she talked back.
While I didn’t think she was doing this for attention or to be a class clown, I recognized that she might want to act out as a way of rebelling.
That’s even better. I looked forward to a chance to tame her.
“I’ll be keeping a close eye on you,” I warned, still not letting any emotions leak into my reply.
She didn’t react, only staring at me coolly.
Mark my words. I really would be keeping a close eye on her. Even though she had the presence of Petrov guards nearby—the pair of older men I’d spotted in my peripheral when they glanced in through the open doors at the back of the hall—I would keep Irina Petrov close in my mind and sight.
Now that I could look forward to the thrill of a challenge with getting closer to her, I let myself enjoy a dash of excitement about my reassignment here.
All in the name of getting intel for the Boss, of course.
Nothing more, no matter how sexy of a challenge she might be.