by Haley Weir
How was he doing that? Claire questioned. How could he be picking the thoughts right from her brain?
“Damn it. I’m doing this all wrong.” Drake ran his hands through his ebony hair and bit his lip. It was distracting to the point of madness because all Claire wanted to do was lean up and bite it for him. She cleared her throat and looked around at the other students, who were staring at her. “Please,” Drake began. The word sounded foreign coming from him. Claire assumed he was a man unaccustomed to asking for the things. He probably had people waiting on his every beck and call. “Please, don’t drop the class. I really could use your help getting up to date on…many things.”
Claire searched his face and had the strangest sense that he had been out of touch with the city for a while. Had he been traveling? Exploring? A lot of professors gained their expertise by venturing to the most historical sights around the world. His features were certainly exotic. He wasn’t American. At least, not originally. The lilting accent that rolled off his tongue was a testament to that as well. English hadn’t been his first language. She wondered what else he could do with that rolling tongue.
She switched the briefcase from her right hand to her left and used it as a shield between them as she took a step back. She really needed some air. “Alright. I won’t drop the class,” Claire found herself saying. She wasn’t sure why she agreed to stay in a class that was bound to raise her stress levels on a seismic scale. Her libido certainly kicked into overdrive upon seeing her sexy professor. But, if she had any hope of maintaining her GPA, and graduating Summa Cum Laude, she needed to keep her priorities straight.
Something flickered in Drake’s eyes when she glanced up again; he looked like she was the challenge that he just accepted. That didn't bode well for her stay-on-task resolve.
“Perhaps we can discuss the midterm papers that have been turned in tomorrow after class,” Claire suggested.
“I was thinking we could discuss them now.” Drake put his hands in his pockets. Claire had to use all of her self control not to let her gaze flicker over the bulge that was in the front of his pants. She bit her lip and shook her head.
“I can’t. I have another class in fifteen minutes. It will have to be tomorrow.” Claire reasoned that if she stood her ground now, he would learn to accept her incessant controlling behaviors. But he certainly didn’t look like a pushover.
“Tonight then,” Drake reasoned. “I don’t want to wait until tomorrow.”
But…”
“I can certainly find a new TA if you are incapable of meeting my deadlines. I’ll email you my address and the time.”
Claire just stared as he turned around and walked back toward the classroom. As if it were an afterthought, Drake called over his shoulder, “Six o’clock. Don’t worry about dinner. I will provide for you.”
That statement hit Claire on a visceral level. She had taken linguistics classes, and the way he should have phrased it was, “I will provide it for you.” His way of saying it made her want to jump into bed, bear his children, and certainly let him provide for her. Except…Claire wasn’t the type of woman to be “kept.” Plus, she barely knew this guy. . She shook her head angrily and stomped off toward her next class. She had all day to cool off and formulate a civil and concise way to point out to the professor that, as much as she wanted her TA position, he would have to be cognizant of hers tight schedule. She would need some slight accommodations and respect for her time. After she arrived home to her tiny studio apartment, Claire found herself changing from one outfit to the next, ranging from sexy, to dressy, to casual, and professional. Hours earlier, as she was muttering to herself about Drake’s Neanderthal ways, she was heated. She decided she would show him exactly what she had to offer and then deny him the opportunity to have it.
Finally, she calmed down enough to realize that she was being petty and childish. Claire settled on jeans and a t-shirt, deciding that if they were going to spend the evening grading papers and talking through the syllabus, she wanted to be comfortable. In the cab on the way over to Drake’s apartment, Claire realized she had forgotten to eat after the last of her afternoon classes. She was famished by the time they reached the destination and tipped the driver.
When she turned to the Upper East Side apartment building on Park Avenue, she immediately wished she had dressed a little bit nicer. The valet standing outside the door glanced at her scathingly and she crossed her arms over her t-shirt. She wondered if anyone would notice if she just melted into the trees of Central Park behind her and got lost in this posh part of the city.
Claire glanced at the clock on her phone: 5:59 p.m. She didn’t have time to go home and change, and she couldn’t think up a good enough excuse to cancel. Claire ran her hands through her loose, flowing hair. The tight braids and buns she wore to school were harsh, and often left her with a headache. Taking her hair down was one of the first things she did when she got home from work and classes every day.
Claire looked groaned and hit the cross-walk button on the metal post across from the apartment building. The street lamp wasn’t like others throughout the city. It wasn’t dented or scratched with black paint. It was painted white, and the lamp was bedecked in lattice work that swirled and curled. Claire noticed there were more up and down Park Avenue. Apparently, the rich even liked their sidewalks looking haute and expensive. Claire wondered briefly how a college professor on a University salary could afford a high-end apartment on the Avenue, but her thoughts were disrupted by the concierge of the building who came rushing toward her when she walked in the opulent front foyer.
“There is a rear entrance to the building for housekeepers!” he exclaimed.
Claire put her hand on her hip and tapped her foot impatiently as she answered the pompous looking gentleman in the suit and tie. “I’m not housekeeping. I’m here to see Drake. Professor Drake.”
She realized she didn’t have his first name, or last for that matter. Tyler, the University senior hockey captain asked Drake what it was this morning. Claire realized he had never given a straight answer.
“Well if that is the case, you most definitely should have used the back entrance!”
“Huh?” Claire asked incredulously.
“The tenants of this building are some of the most wealthy people in the city. We understand some of the single gentlemen of our establishment have…escorts... for various occasions. But that certainly doesn’t give them the right to walk through the front door! Honestly, has no one taught you anything about discretion?”
Claire, too shocked to respond to the offensiveness of the man’s claim, was almost grateful when she heard the deep laugh of Drake. She looked up to see he was standing in the elevator, watching her interact with this up-tight concierge. “This woman isn’t a prostitute, Bentley. She’s one of my students. A TA who has come to assist me with grading papers.”
Claire huffed in indignation. He thought she was a hooker? What kind of person would just make that assumption about someone without ever having met them? What was it about her jeans and t-shirt that screamed prostitute to anyone? Claire opened her mouth to begin ripping Bentley a new one, but Drake stepped between them, smiling at Bentley. He cupped her elbow and steered her toward the elevator.
“I…I am not…”
“I know.”
“He just said…”
“I know.”
“Can you believe...the nerve!”
“Claire.” Her name on his tongue sent a shiver down her spine again. “I’m sorry he assumed that about you. It was wrong.”
Claire’s mouth fell open. She was pretty sure this man had never apologized to anyone in his life, and yet here he was trying to make her feel better. “How can you afford a place like this anyway?” she snapped. He chuckled as the elevator doors closed behind them .
“I have ventures outside of the University. The teaching position is merely a way for me to acclimate myself into society again. And it helps pass the time.”
“So, teaching at NYU is just a hobby to you, is that it?”
“No, I didn’t say that. I genuinely enjoyed my classes today,” he responded.
Claire’s face softened because she noticed he was being sincere. “I’m sorry. I guess I get possessive about my position. I’ve worked really hard to get to where I am today. I can’t stand even thinking that someone is belittling any of it.”
“Have you always wanted to teach?” He leaned back and folded his arms over his chest, watching her.
“Yes. I think history is a definitive path that sets a blueprint for the future. We can learn from it, and I want to share that with others.”
“Even if what you teach is about a single person? What if their path is not a good one? How then do you teach their history in a positive way?” he grilled her.
“By appealing to the fact that it can change.”
“So, you’re saying change is a good thing?” Drake said.
“Yes, I…” Claire watched as the corners of Drake’s lips twitched. She had talked herself into a corner. . By agreeing with him, she now had to agree that Drake replacing her was a good thing. As she wracked her brain trying to think of a quick rebuttal, the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Drake beckoned her into the white marble hallway, and she realized they were on the top floor of the building, at the penthouse.
Drake must have a lot of monetarily influential ventures outside of the college, Claire thought to herself. She kept her hands at her sides as Drake opened the door to the penthouse, and she stepped into a lavishly decorated apartment. It was filled with modern, high-end furniture as well as antiques and fine art that were worth more than she had ever made in her lifetime. Claire’s breath caught in her throat when she saw the view of the park and the city. His apartment overlooked so much of the beauty and splendor of New York.
“That view is incredible!” She walked towards the balcony, trying to look everywhere at once.
“Yes, it is,” Drake agreed. But when she looked back, he was looking directly at her, rather than the skyline. A small table was set, ready for two to dine. It was a breathtaking view. The cityscape twinkled in the night like millions of stars winking at her from every direction. “Do you like it?” Drake asked, his lips nearly touching the back of her ear he was so close. . She turned, bumped into his chest, and lost her balance. His arms snaked out and caught her before she fell.
“Like it? It’s gorgeous! I love it!” she replied. She saw Drake smile for the first time. Not one of the smirks he gave her and her classmates that morning; it was a genuine smile, like he was honestly pleased that she was so enamored with the view.
“I could give you views that far exceed this one if you wanted.” .”
“Huh?” She was startled from her reverie. That was a very odd thing to say. She tilted her chin up to Drake and looked in his eyes. They were doing that dancing flame thing again, and she had to shake her head to stop staring. She hadn’t even started her glass of the wine that was sitting on the table. So why did she feel slightly intoxicated?
“You know that you felt something when you first walked in the classroom this morning. I know I did when I saw you. It was something that can’t be explained. But it felt so right.”
Claire tried to step back and give herself space to think. He wasn’t wrong. He emitted some magnetic draw that reached down to her very core. It was part of the reason it was so easy for her to decide not to drop his class. . She would call it lust, but it felt deeper than that; more visceral. But she was scared too. At that moment, she realized she was still in his arms. She struggled slightly and he let go, albeit reluctantly.
“Professor Drake…”
“Just Drake.” He stepped back, and handed her a glass of wine. She hesitated. “I’m not going to hurt you, Claire. I just want to know you,” he said sincerely. The vulnerability in his tone took Claire by surprise. “You’re my professor. Ethically speaking, it isn’t…”
“You can’t tell me as a senior in college, twenty-two, maybe twenty-three that you can’t make your own decisions. Ethics be damned, Claire. You’re an adult. I’m an adult. You have two semesters left, and being with me isn’t going to change your GPA. You’re brilliant, I looked at your student file. If it helps, I can have another professor look over any work you submit for the rest of the year. But don’t hide behind flimsy excuses and tell me you didn’t feel something when you walked in the door this morning.”
There it all was. Right in her face again. Claire couldn’t deny any of it. For every excuse she was fabricating in her mind, he had a counter argument. “It would help, yes. But...we barely know each other...”
“Well, isn’t that the point of this whole evening? To get to know each other?” He gestured to the table and Claire walked to the opposite side, facing him. She set her wine glass down, looked once more out over the balcony, and then back at the table. What woman wouldn’t want to be wooed in such an elegant and lavish way? Claire ignored her negative impulses. She pulled out her chair and before she even saw him move, Drake was behind her, pushing her chair in for her.
“The whole point of this evening was to grade midterm papers, remember?” He gave her the impish grin she was expecting all evening.
“Of course. We’ll get to that.” Drake returned to the opposite side of the table and sat down. He picked up his wine glass and toasted her. She returned the gesture, finally daring to try the wine. It was as smooth and floral as she had expected. It tasted expensive. Her head felt light. She didn’t really think one sip of wine would cause her to feel the elation that she did, and assumed it was a combination of her present circumstances. Claire lifted the lid on her dinner and found a steaming plate of mussels and white wine sauce, paired with steamed vegetables. She dug into the food, and it was divine. They ate in silence for a while, occasionally stopping to stare out over the balcony. Finally, the questions that were burning in Claire’s mind all day couldn’t be contained any longer.
“How did you know my name this morning when I entered the classroom?” she asked, and Drake paused to look thoughtfully.
“I told you, I read your file.”
“Yes, but you didn’t know anyone else’s name. You had to ask them.”
“So, you were paying attention in class?” he teased.
“Yes, but that’s not what I asked you.”
“I didn’t have time to acquaint myself with everyone in class,” he reasoned. “I only had time to review your file. As my TA, I assumed it was best to get to know you first.”
The man had an answer for everything. Maybe that’s what bothered Claire so muchly. “Your eyes do this strange thing. They look like they are on fire,” she blurted. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but was powerless to stop herself.
“They are unusual. My eye doctor said the color catches the light and creates that illusion,” he explained.
“Do you always have an answer for everything?”
“Do you always have to question everything, or can you just be content with the way things are and let them be?” Claire figured that was her cue to stop her incessant line of questioning. He didn’t seem like he would answer if she continued to press, even though he was smiling at her again. “How is your dinner?” “It is delicious thank you. Did you make this?”
“Yes. I enjoy cooking.”
“Well, you are an excellent cook,” Claire gushed.
“Thank you. I’m glad you like it. I was afraid this would all be…” he seemed to be searching for the right words. “Too much.” He waved his arm out across the table and toward the edge of the balcony.
“Yes. No. What I mean is, it has all been…” she trailed off. Now it was her turn to search for the right words. . “Magical.”
Drake’s raised his eyebrows in surprise. . “What do you mean?”
“I mean, this is the kind of evening that happens in fairy tales,” she replied. .
“You don’t believe in fairy tales?” he asked and took
a bite of asparagus. He was watching her intently.
“What you mean? Fairies and dragons and damsels in distress?” laughed Claire. She took another sip of wine.
“I wouldn’t scoff so quickly if I were you. Fairy tales are steeped in a modicum of truth, Claire.” His deadly serious look made her chuckle some more.
“Right. I know fairy tales stem from folklore, which are passed down from oral traditions of stories and such. People crafted them to cope with the harshness of reality, but of the three things I just listed, the damsel in distress is the one that makes it all unbelievable to me. I know, I know. Women back in the day used to rely completely on men and all that, but please…I’d rather poke my eye out than ever have to rely on another man again.”
Drake rubbed his jaw and sat back in his chair. “Who hurt you so much to make you this cynical?”
Claire immediately stopped eating and set her fork down on her plate. She really didn’t want to talk about this. Her food suddenly felt heavy in her stomach, and even though a breeze was drifting across the balcony, she felt suffocated. She stood abruptly and turned her back on Drake, letting herself into the apartment. She didn’t know where she was going or what she was doing, but she paced the large expanse of the living room. She heard the door slide shut behind her and knew Drake followed her.
“I can’t…I don’t want to talk about…”
“It’s fine. It’s alright. We don’t have to talk about it,” he cooed. Drake let her pace by one more time before he reached out and put his hand on her arm. When she looked down this time, he didn’t remove it. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Like I said, I just want to get to know you.”
“Well, know that I am a private person. I’m independent and I rely on myself. I wouldn’t call that cynical. Damsels in distress don’t exist in my world because I will never entertain the idea of being one!”
“Alright.” His eyes flickered, and he looked down before she could see how he was feeling. . There wasn’t any light coming into the room, so she couldn’t see the firestarter trickery of his eyes.
