7. Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Benjamin
B enjamin’s day was ruined. Ruined!
He traced the lines of the Excel spreadsheet four times to make sure he’d read the right grade attached to Francesca Miller’s student ID number. There was no mistaking it. She’d gotten a C. A score only slightly above dismal, but passing nonetheless.
Four more weeks.
He still had an entire month with that woman in his class, sitting in the front row with her hair—the color of golden honey—pulled into a sleek bun, sitting up straight with her shoulders back. Trying to look professional in her well-fitting blouses and painted-on leggings. A single eyebrow cocked, challenging him, mocking him, as she responded to his barrage of questions. She was such an unnecessary distraction and Benjamin had been so hopeful to be rid of her. Jesus, he’d even beefed up the midterm in hopes that it would be way over her head.
I blame the rest of the students. If they had done better, she would have been lower on the graded curve and out of my class.
He sat there grumpy, fully aware that his mood was childish. Why did he react like this when it came to that woman? She wasn’t rude. Definitely wasn’t stupid. He supposed her effort was commendable. Keeping up with the flow of each class didn’t seem to be a problem for her anymore. She was attractive and in any other context, he would have happily flirted with her in a bar or some other gathering. She had a petite little body, except for her rear, which was full and swayed seductively when she walked. Benjamin closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. He imagined sliding his hands over her round, perky bottom and—
No.
NO!
He wanted her .
That was his problem. He wanted to get his hands on Francesca Miller. Well, not just his hands.
This is bad.
She’s a student, and he’s her professor. Never was there a more cliché scenario than him lusting over her. Or—god forbid—acting on that lust. Aside from being tacky, it would also be unprofessional. He could lose his job. She could lose her scholarship. And all for what? A tumble or two in the sheets? Not worth it. No, Benjamin had to nip this in the bud immediately.
But how was he supposed to do that? She wasn’t going anywhere before the end of the quarter, so he was stuck with her for another four weeks. Benjamin’s head flopped back as he let out a frustrated groan. Two classes per week—aside from Thanksgiving week—which meant only seven classes. Fourteen measly hours in total. Surely, he could behave like a grown man for fourteen hours . He was one hundred percent capable of resisting the urge to throw her over his shoulder and march down the hall to his office—
“Enough!” he roared at himself.
Hunger pangs scratched at his stomach. He shook the carton in his hand, forgetting it was already opened, and sloshed some of the chocolate drink onto his shirt and tie. He recoiled, looking down at the mess he’d made. His once immaculately white shirt displayed brown splatters, stains that would never (no matter how much bleach he used) ever come out. The plastic shake cap sat beside his keyboard, taunting him with its uselessness. He grumbled and momentarily contemplated chucking the carton across the small office but thought better of it, opting instead to down the necessary calories.
After depositing the empty into the waste bin, he sat with his elbows on the desk and forehead in his hands, grabbing fistfuls of his hair. This was ridiculous.
Two quick raps on the door startled him from his pathetic cesspool of annoyance. Before he could call out that whoever it was should go away, Dean McCaffery popped his head inside, looking surprisingly cheery considering his usual demeanor.
“Goooood morning, Benjamin. A moment.” He didn’t wait for a response but instead stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. Taking a couple steps forward, he bent slightly at the waist so he could lay both hands on the desk.
Benjamin was in no mood.
“What do you want, McCaffery?” he asked bluntly. Come to gloat, I assume?
“I wanted to see if you had a chance to look at Miss Miller’s midterm score.”
Bingo. Here to gloat.
“I saw it just now,” he ground out around clenched teeth.
The older man wore a smug smile. “Then I believe we should applaud ourselves.”
“And why is that?”
McCaffery rested a hip on Benjamin’s desk and held up his arms in a grand gesture. “Because with my eagle eye selection and your magnificent ability to educate, we have pleased the powers that be.” He meant the board members and wealthy donors who gave to the college. Usually, they were one and the same.
“That’s great. Is there anything else?” Benjamin sighed, suddenly feeling very exhausted.
“You do realize that if this all goes well, there is an almost guaranteed chance that your tenure will finally be approved. Think of the security. Think of the prestige.” He leaned forward. “Think of the raise.”
“Tenure,” Benjamin muttered. “I submitted my application for consideration almost a year ago.”
“Yes, and I am certain that Miss Miller’s successful completion of your class will grease the wheels, so to speak.”
Interesting.
Benjamin deserved tenure. He worked harder than any of his peers and his dedication to the university was unparalleled. He barely had a social life because he was practically married to his job. But for whatever reason, he hadn’t been approved yet. And now he was starting to see why. Could it be possible that Dean McCaffery requested the tenure committee hold off on the approval so Benjamin could be under his thumb for a little longer? Just long enough for this hairbrained interdisciplinary nonsense to come to fruition? He could feel the heat rise in his chest.
“Well.” The dean tapped an arthritic knuckle on the desk as he stood to leave. “If there is nothing else, I must be off. Reviews to complete. Funds to raise. You know, dean stuff.”
McCaffery opened the door, but before exiting turned back to his subordinate. “Between the stains on your shirt and the hair”—he gestured to Benjamin’s mussed appearance—“you may want to pay more attention to grooming. If tenure’s still your goal, that is.”
Before he could respond, his boss closed the door behind him, leaving Benjamin alone with his scorn and too many thoughts assaulting his brain.
In the span of a measly fifteen minutes, he’d realized his lustful feelings for one of his students and learned that his boss was using him as a puppet by withholding tenure.
He dragged his hands down his face. “I need to go for another run.”
Looking at his watch, he groaned again. Three minutes until nine. His family law class was about to begin. Benjamin felt completely drained but pulled himself up anyway. He shrugged into his navy blazer, noticed it had taken the brunt of the chocolate shake incident, and tossed it back onto his chair. He snatched up his briefcase and hastily shoved fistfuls of papers through the zippered top then marched out of the office.
He was going to have to grin and bear it because, for the next four weeks, the dean of the law school owned him. So, like it or not, he was going to have to do what he could to ethically ensure Miss Miller’s successful completion of family law.
His hopes of tenure depended on it.
His career depended on it.