Tempting Professor (Tainted Professors)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Kara

Eight Months Ago

My arms were full of notebooks, slides, and a full-on mish-mash of pamphlets, color copies of charts, timelines, and God only knew what else; I’d lost track.

I looked like a walking advertisement for the next issue of “Nerds Weekly.” My eyes were glued to my watch as I counted down the minutes until I was needed back in the main lecture hall.

God knows, no one wanted to make Professor Too-Big-for-Her-Pants wait. The bags on my shoulders—they probably weighed as much as I did at this point.

I was just looking up to make sure I was in the right hall—all of these white corridors looked the same—when it happened.

I slammed into someone; it was a wall that was all man. My heart hammered as I fought to stay on my feet. And most importantly, I had to not drop the armful of crap I held. If I had to put these stupid slides in order again, I might just have to quit. Give up the ghost’s chance in hell to make something of myself.

I never thought getting a job here would mean doing grunt work. I had a Master’s Degree in American Literature and a minor in Greek Mythology for Christ sake. I was here to teach and yet… No. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—kick a gift horse in the mouth. My brother had probably sold his soul for a chance at me getting on staff here.

For his reputation and standing here alone, I’d behave.

The prestigious Angel Hill Academy was the best private college in upstate New York. It was a ‘by invitation only’ kind of place. The hoity-toity of the rich society sent their minions here for the best kind of education. And probably more than a few were here to keep them out of jail or rehab. Was I being judgmental? Yes. Was it a fair assessment? Also, yes.

Not all of the students here were jerks, nor had shitty attitudes, just the majority. In my opinion at least.

The majority of them had that ‘I come from money’ air about them. Us mere peasants were here to serve them and be at their beck and call.

That sounded nasty and hateful. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just, I didn’t come from money. I’ve worked my butt off for years to get what I wanted. I didn’t have Daddy to run home to with my hand out. Ugh, not that I’d do that anyway. My family came from a long line of hardworking, blue-collar types. Nothing was ever handed to us, and some days, this place and its money got under my skin. I would admit that. But being a part of these young people’s lives, helping them thrive, made it worth it.

The man I was about to crash into grabbed ahold of me, keeping me upright. The movement jarred me back to the here and now.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I stammered out.

Running into people in the halls was not my favorite thing to do. It was like my first day here all over again. Two years had passed and yet, here I was, the same thoughts and reactions prevalent. At least back then, I could blame it on being a little unsettled and a lot out of place.

Talk about being a little fish in a big pond. I still felt that way, and that was mostly what I based my days on. Trying to be the woman I needed to be while showing them I could do this.

I wasn’t just here because my big brother had said I should be.

I had a feeling this sense of inadequacy would never wear off.

“Why the rush?” His deep voice rolled across my senses as my brain came back on-line.

Ian Sterling was a fellow professor here at Angel Hill. He’d been the one to interview me on the first day since he was also a principal member of the board that ran the school. That day, the nerves were something I’d never forget. I had been straight out of college, wet behind the ears, and panicking the entire drive up. Would I be good enough? Was I ready to just jump into something like this?

It was a big leap for me. I’d skipped the lily pads in the water and gone straight to leaping across the pond.

Unease has been my best friend on the daily since then. I’ve never seemed to find my niche or to fit in. I was tolerated at best. No one was outright obnoxious or mean; it was just a feeling in my gut. I wasn’t treated quite the same as everyone else. Especially by Ian.

It was still weird and unreal that I was here—teaching. Like, some of these kids were only a few years younger than I was. It was odd at times, in the beginning, to say the least.

Now though, it wasn’t so bad. Once I’d hit thirty, my life started to make sense a bit more. And I didn’t feel so out of place.

“Sorry.” I looked around me to make sure I hadn’t dropped anything. I swear, if something was out of place or missing, I’d lose my mind.

“No worries, beautiful. How about you make it up to me with a cup of coffee in my office?”

Make it up to him? Coffee? His office? The last time I’d gone in there—his office—he’d kissed me. Don’t get me wrong, there was usually nothing wrong with a good kiss. But the man knew what he was doing; it just wasn’t right. He was my boss for all intents and purposes. A colleague. A—he was trying too damn hard. And he was kind of pushy. That wasn’t my thing. I wanted a man who could make me submit in the bedroom, not one who tried to control me everywhere.

“No thank you. I have to get to the lecture hall for my next class. Professor Sykes is probably already there, scowling at the door, waiting. She will skin me for being late again.”

His hand gripped my biceps tighter, almost painfully as he pulled me impossibly closer. The books and slides were digging into my skin as he held me there.

I met his gaze.

“You should know by now, I don’t take no for an answer.”

“And you should know by now,” I said, jerking my arm free of his grip, “that I don’t like to be manhandled, Mr. Sterling. Please, do yourself a favor, keep your hands to yourself.”

“If I don’t?” He sneered. His cheeks flushed with anger. He never liked hearing the word no. Bastard.

To throat punch him or to just walk away? That’s what was running through my head now. It might be the only part of this interaction that made him actually step back and get a grip on himself.

I may be a frazzled mess, but I could fight off a foe. My brother, Dan, and his best-friend, Callum, my ex…whatever we were, had made sure of that growing up.

One summer, they’d hounded me every single freaking day. Sneak attacks, scare tactics, you name it, and I was put through it. They finally stopped after I broke Dan’s nose with my elbow. The grasshopper had surpassed the teacher at that point.

That knowledge had come in handy during a Friday night football game my senior year of high school. I put one of the varsity football players of a rival team in the hospital with a busted nose and a dislocated shoulder.

See, he’d thought it would be a good idea to snatch up a cheerleader. I was small compared to his six-feet-and-some-change self. I was barely a solid 5’6”. He and another teammate said it was just a ‘prank’ when questioned by security and then the police.

Prank or not, they got their butts kicked by a girl, nonetheless. It was quite an event. So much, it was still being talked about on graduation night. The inside jokes and laughter had been a good reminder that no matter what, I could at least defend myself if I had to.

Then college…well, let’s just say, with my brother there to keep me from harm’s way during my freshman year, the rest was a breeze.

“Hey, Karebear, aren’t you late for class?”

I closed my eyes, took in a deep breath, and turned to find my brother walking my way. Thank you, baby Jesus. I gave him a grateful smile.

“Yeah, and stop with the nickname; I’m not ten anymore.” I tried to scowl at him, but the relief swirling through me stopped it in its tracks. I continued, “I’m on the way to class now, even if Professor Sykes is going to kill me for being late.”

He chuckled, reaching for the books and binders in my arms. His gaze cut to the man still skulking over me. “Professor Sterling, I do believe I passed a few students waiting outside your office door.”

Ian did not like the dismissal in Dan’s voice. I relished it. Bye-bye, joker.

“Good day, Professor Sterling.” I hurried along with my brother. It wasn’t until we’d turned on the next corridor that he spoke.

“Stay away from him, Kara. Something about him?—”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll work a little harder at it.”

Present Day

“Mr. Ingles, since you seem to be in a talkative way today, what would you say the author of this poem is telling us?”

I watched his brows pinch together as I slid the next poem onto the projector for all to see. For the last few days, I’d given each of my classes a chance to express themselves in the way of a poem.

I’d handed out paper to each of them as they’d entered my room. Let them do their cleansing writing, if they so chose, and they turned the papers in on the way out. They were placed in a basket, upside down and without me watching. There was only one rule: No names. This was a creative, voluntary assignment where no credit or grade was given—just a nice exercise to open their minds and feelings.

I did this from time to time myself when I could feel a mental cleanse was in order. I’d grab a notebook and just let out whatever was in my head. Free therapy, if you will.

I had no real idea of who had written what—yet a few I knew simply by the handwriting. But that knowledge stayed with me. Like with this poem. I could feel the person’s need to be heard. Their pain. I’d make sure to let my worries be known, but all in due time. I’d given them this exercise for a reason, after all.

Since this was a class project, I’d switched up what pieces were discussed in my class. This was from another class. I’d made sure to let them all know that when they’d come in. They’d get feedback about their entries from another class. One unbiased and raw.

I read the poem aloud for everyone, though they had a bird’s eye view of it from the white board where the projected image was.

I don’t sing anymore

Since you took away my voice.

I don’t write anymore

Since you took away my pen.

I don’t cry anymore

Since you took away my eyes.

I don’t think anymore

Since you took away my mind.

I am dry and hollow bones.

I am a feast for the crows.

I am the walking dead.

I am eternal emptiness.

— EDM

Christopher looked at the poem then turned to me and shrugged one shoulder. “They seem very unhappy, lost even.”

“Good observation.”

I saw a hand go up in the back of the room. With a nod, the young lady with her hand up spoke, “I look at it as the person is putting a voice to the past. Like, they totally know what’s happening, and by putting it on paper, they can brush past it and move on to a better place in life.”

Another student said, “It’s relatable.”

It really was relatable; heartfelt emotions pulled at my heartstrings. From time to time, we all felt caged, locked down by the people or circumstances that surrounded us. Life was a juggling act; you either kept the pins in the air, or they plunked down on your head. The stinging pain was the best medicine in some cases—others it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. That fine line between accepting your path and changing it.

“I think you are all correct. Life imitates art, you’ve heard me say that before. This could be a vow, an anthem, a promise to be more, to do greater things…or it could be a letter left for someone in the past.”

“Ms. McGee?” I saw a hand go up as she spoke.

“Yes, Sarah?”

“Is this like—could the writer be channeling their emotions into this simply to get free of them?”

“Yes, they could be doing any number of things. Words have a power all their own. Let’s do this; say I was in Paris, looking at the beauty around me. I could use powerful words to say the same thing someone in the middle of the rainforest could say.”

I thought for a moment then grinned as I continued, “This place is beautiful, peaceful, a world all its own.” I looked around the darkened room, their faces alight from the projector screen. I had their full attention, and I loved that they would take this in, maybe use it on their own.

“The power of your being, the emotions you draw from deep in your soul, it all comes out in the words you present to the world; that’s where you make yourself stand out. You could be the nicest person or the most vile—it’s all about the words.”

“Like me saying the pants my girlfriend’s wearing makes her as—butt look delicious, instead of saying they make her butt look fat?”

I heard a thump, and someone cursed softly.

“I’ll just let that be a lesson to you, Mr. Carson, not all words are taken the same way. I’d be careful of what power you give them.” It was hard to keep the smile off my face, but I did. With a few easy steps, I moved to turn on the lights. “That’s all for today. Please be ready for your project assignments tomorrow. Don’t be late, yes?”

Once the classroom was empty, I let out a long breath. It was already 4:30pm. By the time I got my things gathered, the classroom closed up and out of here, it would be a rush to get my errands done before places closed. I needed gas, groceries, and to pick up my dry cleaning. It would be like 7:00pm or so by the time I got home.

Good news, there was a bottle of wine in the fridge waiting on me. That’s how I’d end this long-as-sin week. Maybe after dinner, I’d have a long soak in a nice, hot bubble bath. Yeah, that sounded like a really nice way to close out a Friday night.