Bimbo Builder Academy Ch. 06

The waiter's tuxedo outclassed my Denton suit. It was the nicest suit I owned.

"Champagne, sir?" he asked. "Ma'am?"

He was standing just outside the elevator, a full tray of champagne flutes balanced on one gloved hand. The contents fizzled seductively.

"For me, thank you," Julia said. She was pressed up against me, her arm linked into my own, dark blue cocktail dress fluttering around her legs in the gentle evening breeze.

I felt the case containing my LucidSpecs, tucked into my inner jacket pocket, pressed between my body and Julia's. Just in case, I'd thought as I'd slipped them into my jacket. But in case of what I didn't really know.

As Julia and I moved further from the entrance I could only look left and right mutely, overwhelmed.

It would have been difficult to count the number of expensively-dressed men on the rooftop patio. They were milling about in groups: around the bar, around the railing, and around the man who managed to capture attention wherever he went.

Principal Joseph Clayton.

He noticed us immediately, his host's eyes flickering over at the soft chime of the elevator and through the surrounding throng. He smiled warmly in greeting, his tanned features composed into a look of effortless charm.

I swallowed and raised my free hand in what I hoped was a not-too-awkward wave. Welcome to the Brighton Barnsworth Investor's Ball, I thought, and tried not to let the curling anxiety in the pit of my stomach show on my face.

"Wow!" Julia was enthusing. My girlfriend glanced around in excitement, her long hair flowing in chestnut waves down her back. "You never mentioned the Academy had a rooftop bar. Or such a gorgeous view!"

I coughed uncomfortably. "I didn't know myself." There are a lot of things I still don't know about this place, I added silently. But I'm going to find out. Starting tonight...

Suddenly, the glasses in my pocket felt like a secret weapon. A small comfort.

It was Friday evening, and we had followed the signs downstairs to the only elevator I'd ever encountered in the Academy. It had taken us up, up and up, to the huge patio balcony where we now stood. It sprawled out before us, lit by the warm light of tall, black heater lamps and the glowing orange sunset beyond that fell over the City skyline.

Definitely wasn't part of the tour.

I glanced around, uncertain, noticing the firepit off to one side. "So..." I said, looking over into Julia's face as we walked slowly toward the edge. "What do you think we should do?" I smiled uncomfortably. "I'm not even sure why I was invited..."

My girlfriend rolled her eyes. Her smile was warm and reassuring. "Don't be silly, Mitch. You're the new star professor! I'll bet the principal is dying to show you off when he gets a minute. And in the meantime, how about you introduce me to some of your colleagues?"

I paused, glancing away and trying to formulate a response more appropriate then, I'd be needing an introduction, then, as well. My fellow professors were so elusive it was like they didn't even exist. What an absurd notion. I was saved by the approach of a tall, besuited figure.

I glanced up into the jovial face of my employer, his hand coming out for a firm handshake.

"Professor Sands!" he grinned, and his eyes were sparkling with enthusiasm. "I'm so glad to see you've arrived. What do you think of the venue?"

I was about to respond when I felt the sense of calm wash over me, trickling down my back and making me feel all warm and comfortable. My hand clasped his as my mind reeled.

It was as I'd calculated, then. My trigger phrase.

"Wonderful," I found myself answering instinctively, trying not to let my apprehension show. It was easy, when I felt this relaxed. "The view is gorgeous."

Principal Clayton shrugged, his smile becoming modest. "Perhaps," he agreed. And then he turned to Julia. "But not nearly so much as your lovely companion. Would you be kind enough to introduce me?"

Julia smiled, laughing softly at his charm, but I felt a trickle of renewed dread down my back.

"Of course," I said. "Principal Clayton, this is Julia, my girlfriend." My tone was relaxed, completely unlike the thoughts that were racing through my mind.

Jules slipped her champagne into the hand that was still linked around my arm and offered a handshake.

The man took it easily, pressing her fingers between his. He nodded respectfully. "Truly a pleasure to meet the partner of my favorite professor," he said. "Please, call me Joseph."

The interaction was perfectly normal, and yet it made my stomach knot in discomfort. Please don't call him Joseph, I thought. Please don't get friendly with him. There is something very wrong going on here...

"Joseph," my girlfriend repeated. "Thank you. You have a lovely school." She switched her champagne flute back and took a sip.

"Don't you love it?" The man turned now and we followed the gesture of his hands as he spread them out over the City below. "Beautiful. Especially in the evenings." He shot us a guilty grin. "I like to come up here, sometimes, after hours. Just to enjoy a drink and the sunset light." He shrugged, then raised his eyebrows. "Speaking of which, Professor, it seems that you've been neglected on that score." His eyes darted to my empty hands and then back up into my face. "Can I get you something?"

I hesitated, but Julia answered for me, smoothly. "Mitch doesn't drink." Her smile was bright, and hid the end of the story. Anymore.

I nodded. "Like she says," I agreed. "I may pick up a soda or something, later. Thank you for offering."

My employer nodded amicably, then clapped me on the shoulder in a gesture that carried the weight of masculine affection. "Alright then," he said. His smile turned back to Julia. "I hope you don't mind, Julia, but may I take Mitch off your hands for a moment? Some of the investors would love to meet him."

"Not at all." My girlfriend slid free of my arm and stood on her toes to kiss my cheek. "He's all yours."

I tried to ignore the thrill of disquiet that clenched my heart at those words, but found myself being led away with Principal Clayton's arm around my shoulders.

I glanced back, and Julia flashed me a thumbs up.

You got this! she mouthed.

I tried to respond with a smile that was enthusiastic, rather than sickly, but then several people walked between us and I forced myself to look ahead.

Here we go, I thought, and tried to focus on my plans for the night, instead of the anxiety that gripped me like a deadly virus.

It was time for me to learn what the Brighton Barnsworth Academy was really all about.

* * *

"And I said to him, '5 mil? Why not make it 10, you cheapskate?'"

The knot of men crowded by the bar all laughed and raised their glasses to the speaker, a broad-shouldered CEO-type with short blonde hair and a face that I would have placed somewhere in his mid-40s.

"Did you win?" one of them asked.

The man flashed a cover-model grin. "I don't know the first thing about playing golf, Sanders. But it's the principle of the thing. I wasn't about to let that Aussie bastard out-gamble me!"

The others all chuckled again and took swigs of their drinks. Bright watches flashed on every wrist. I got the feeling that their timepieces were worth more than my yearly salary.

"Speaking of principals," the man segued neatly, glancing over and noticing our approach. "Welcome back, Principal Clayton. Have you fetched our Einstein?"

I ignored the part of my brain that commented dryly, Einstein was a theoretical physicist, not a mathematician.

"Here he is, Drew," my guide responded. "But be gentle with him!" The principal slapped me on the back. "I've got a lot riding on this man."

My eyebrows came together in a look of confusion. Not sure what that means...

But the men were all crowding closer, and then I felt the principal's hand leave my shoulder and when I looked around he had turned and was striding away, the crowd clearing a way for him like a modern Moses parting the Red Sea of Wall Street execs.

"So, you're the legendary Professor Sands?"

I felt the words strike my mind this time, felt my shoulders drop and my stomach unclench. My anxiety at being left in this crowd of strangers seemed suddenly far away. I turned back, blinking, meeting the eyes of the man who had been the center of attention when we arrived.

"Call me Mitch," I said hastily. "Please." I tried not to make the please sound too desperate as I shook his hand.

"Drew Morrison," he said, flashing his camera-worthy, all-American grin. I liked him immediately. He had a boyish enthusiasm and the kind of polished charm you expect from a man obviously comfortable with power. "Let me introduce you to the boys." And then it was handshakes all around, the group of men converging on me.

I've never been great with names, always better with numbers, but as the introductions flashed past I started to realize that I recognized some of them. Not by face, per se. But they struck vague chords in my mind, like names I'd read before, or heard on the news. The names of industry giants, domestic and foreign. Others sounded like I should know them — the way Drew said, "And this bastard, well, we all know Klaus, don't we gents?"

The bearish, bearded man who clasped my hand in a gigantic paw grinned a little, his German accent thick as he rumbled, "Pleased to meet you, Professor Sands."

Usually I would be tongue-tied in front of this audience, and I still wondered why they were all so eager to meet the Brighton Barnsworth mathematics professor, but I couldn't be stressed when they kept using my trigger phrase like a tranquilizer.

My body was warm and my head felt light and airy. "Charmed," I managed, and then wondered whether I'd ever told someone I was charmed to meet them, before.

As expected, none of them knew my name, though there was one Indian man, tall and slim in his pinstripe suit, who said, "Mitchell Sands..." thoughtfully, before stepping back and being replaced by another.

I blinked.

There were no more hands to shake. The men were all watching me expectantly, and I supposed I probably looked stunned after the rush of greetings.

"So," and it was Drew Morrison who was speaking now. He grinned at me, and then at the group around us. He gave off an easy charm, like he was used to working a crowd. "The question that's on all of our minds, Mitch..." He used my name casually, like we were old friends.

I waited as he paused for effect.

"What do you think of our girls?" he asked. He raised a crystal tumbler from the bar by his elbow and took a sip of the amber liquid.

I coughed uncertainly. "Your girls?" I'm sure I sounded confused. Aren't these men... investors? Of some sort or another?

But Drew chuckled softly. "Yes, man! Our girls. The young ladies in your classes." He grinned. "I don't suppose you're one of those teachers who just stands at the front of the room and lectures like no one's listening?"

Investors... I thought they were like... school donors. But are these men all fathers?

"Well, ahem..." I said, trying to set a train of thought on course while ignoring the image of Natalie that sprang immediately to my mind's eye. I tried to come up with something generic to say. "Definitely all hard workers," and I paused. "That said, mathematics isn't for everyone."

I smiled, and there was the expected round of chuckling agreement.

"Could never wrap my head around it myself," another man agreed. Was it Sanders? Behind him, I could see the man in the pinstripe suit checking his phone and glancing between my face and the screen. "But I'm pleased we have a Hawking like yourself to teach it."

Also a physicist. I tried to smile modestly. "I'm no Hawking," I said, "but I can certainly say that your daughters are all model students. You should be pleased."

There was a round of grins at that, like I'd made a joke I didn't understand.

"I'm sure we're all glad to know that our... daughters are so exemplary." Drew was smirking as well. "But how are they, otherwise?"

"Otherwise?" I asked. I raised my eyebrows. "How do you mean?"

The man shrugged, an exaggerated You know gesture. "How's their attitude? Do they treat you well? Give you the proper... respect and obedience that you deserve? You know that, in the classroom, you represent us. A figure of, well, proper masculine guidance."

Please, Professor... I'll do anything you want...

I shoved the thought away and nodded. "Oh, yes. All of them are perfectly respectful. Whose father are you, Mr. Morrison?"

There was a sound behind me, or a lack of sound. It was a sensation of silence that fell over the milling crowd, spreading our way. It hadn't quite reached us yet, but I knew that when it did I would turn and see what had caused the hush.

Drew had time to answer though, before the ripple hit our corner of the patio. And even before he answered, I knew what he was going to say. I felt the dropping, clenching feeling in my gut that told me it was going to be the answer I least expected, and least wanted to hear.

"Natalie Morrison," he told me. "Do you know her well?"

But the silence had reached us, and as I turned with the rest of the group to see its origins I was the only one who could hear the answer that slid flippantly through my mind. Better than you think, Mr. Morrison. Much better than you think.

Only then my mind went blank.

Because the girls had arrived.

And they looked stunning.

* * *

They entered in two rows, several dozen young women in matching black dresses that clung to their elegant figures in a way that was alluring, distracting and... strangely seductive.

Like they were on display.

Principal Clayton marched at the head of the column, glancing this way and that, his bearing commanding attention.

They came to a stop, all at once, in the center of the crowd.

There was a moment of quiet.

"Gentlemen!" Joseph Clayton's voice carried over the patio like the tone of a trained orator. There was a smile in it, a smile of welcome. The sun was gone, by now, and the deck was lit only by the shining glow of the standing lamps.

I suddenly realized that, aside from Julia, there were no other women present.

"It is my pleasure to present to you... The young ladies of the Brighton Barnsworth Academy!" He said it with gusto, like he expected applause, and he got it.

It was a gentle swell of claps that seemed loud in the silence that the arriving students had created.

The principal spread his arms now, an impeccable showman. "Now," he commanded. And there was a laugh hidden in his chest. "Disperse!"

And the claps were replaced by a soft round of chuckles from the men and giggles from the students as they broke ranks and filtered into the surrounding crowd.

"Cheers, Mitch." I felt Drew's hand pat me on the shoulder as he strode past and through the press. Going to greet his daughter.

I felt, unexpectedly, a twinge of jealousy.

But then I shook my head. No, I told myself sternly. I glanced from side to side, scanning the mass of men, and searched for Julia.

* * *

I was interrupted before I could find her.

"Excuse me," it was the man in the pinstripe suit, his bright white teeth standing out in his dark face. As he stepped in front of me. "I don't mean to intrude. But you're the Mitchell Sands, aren't you?" His phone was in his hand, and he was lifting it to show me something.

My heart froze. I didn't want to look. He knows about Denton, I thought, and I realized the worry had been hovering at the back of my mind ever since he'd paused at my name.

He's going to tell everyone. He doesn't want me teaching his daughter.

"I..." I started to say. "I'm sorry, sir..."

Only then his glowing screen was in front of my eyes and I couldn't help but glance at the dense block of text.

Wait, what?

It was the Abstract page of an article on the website of a noted scholarly journal. My name was hyperlinked underneath the title.

"My name is Aarav Khatri," the man was continuing, and now I could see that it was excitement, not accusation in his tone. "You published a paper several years, a quantitative economics analysis, and I have to say... You made me quite a lot of money, Mr. Sands."

My apologies died on my lips. I frowned in confusion. "Come again?"

The man grinned. "I read your paper and applied some of your principles and theories to one of my businesses. And then, to all of them. Your theories, in fact, underestimated the impact of..."

I breathed a sigh of relief, and his voice filtered out as my eyes twitched over his shoulder. A woman was approaching through the crowd.

I recognized her. It was the tall red-haired student from Natalie's class.

What was her name, again...?

She moved with a smooth, elegant grace, her fiery hair bright in the lamplight. The black dress clung to her full breasts and then skimmed down her lithe figure. She looked like a movie star, and I realized that the fabric was sparkling with hundreds of tiny sequins.

I tried to refocus, to catch up to what my new — entirely unexpected — fan was discussing, but then she was upon us. She raised a hand, hesitated, and then rested it on Mr. Khatri's shoulder, almost shyly.

"Sir," she interrupted.

The Indian man turned and beamed. He leaned in, kissing her excitedly on both cheeks. "My dear Ava!" he enthused. "You never mentioned your new professor was the Mitchell Sands!"

Ava, that was it! But my frown of confusion had returned. "Your... ahem, your daughter, Mr. Khatri?" I blinked in surprise, and the man seemed to realize he'd confused me.

"Adopted," he said smoothly. His smile remained warm as he turned to face me. His hand slid comfortably around his daughter's waist. "I think of her as my own, of course. Such a beautiful, happy flower in my garden."

Ava's smile was warmer now, and she relaxed against her father's shoulder. The statuesque redhead was several inches taller than the slim businessman.

Right... "Adopted," I repeated, probably blushing furiously. "Of course. Well... I'll leave you two, then, to catch up. I hope you have a wonderful evening."

I disengaged, giving a respectful nod to my student and her... parent.

Mitch how could you be so rude? But I shoved the feeling of uncertainty from my mind. Now that the girls had arrived, I could finally escape back to my own companion.

My eyes scanned the crowd, looking for the gorgeous brunette who had arrived with me.

Instead, they lit on another pair I recognized.

Lena and Harrison St. John, the latter wearing a white jacket and slacks that clashed with his daughter's elegant black ensemble, were strolling toward the bar hand in hand. The short, corpulent man was talking animatedly, while the young, slender woman was frowning, her blonde hair swishing from side to side as she glanced around in disinterest.

Her green eyes, dark in the low light, flashed across my face and paused.

There was a moment of acknowledgement.

Then, she sneered and glanced back to her father, shrugging dismissively at whatever he'd been saying.

Damn... I guess she just wanted a chance to share her general disdain. I came to a sudden stop, frowning. I don't have to put up with that. The cool breeze blowing over my face was at odds with the flush of irritation that had risen in response to my student's disrespectful glance. I wasn't usually one to rise to the bait. But... My hand rose to touch the bulge in my jacket pocket.