The Teachings of Maximilian David (David Family Saga: Bayou Billionaires Book 3)

by Gina Watson

  The Teachings

  of Maximilian

  David

  David Family Saga

  Bayou Billionaires

  by

  Gina

  Watson

  Copyright © 2015 by Gina Watson

  Whiskey Cove Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-941059-23-4

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  Other Books By Gina Watson

  Gabriel David’s White Horse Excerpt

  Chapter One

  [Cara Presley sat at her desk leafing through an office supply catalog, intent on ordering a laser pointer for her boss Maximilian von Doodoo. The office of the vice president of the university was more of an elaborate showplace designed to impress prodigious contributing patrons than an actual working office.

  A young woman entered through the darkly-tinted glass door that suggested all who come here are lost. It was true…the glass floor-to-ceiling windows and accompanying door were so darkly tinted that no one could see in or out. Usually this prevented lost students from entering, but occasionally a pupil with a strong countenance would slip through the sieve. Cara snapped the catalog shut.

  “May I help you?” The girl had stringy brown hair, not unlikely due to the southeast Louisiana humidity. Her body was so small it appeared she could purchase her clothes in the children’s department. Her legs inside the skinny jeans she wore seemed to have the same circumference as Cara’s arms.

  “I need to make a payment on the spring semester.”

  Grumbling from the hallway ensued. Von Doodoo was in a mini bitch fit because a rogue student had found her way into his overly adorned quarters. Cara could see her boss, but knew the girl before her couldn’t. Cara’s desk was arranged strategically so that those who entered the foyer met her at a tall counter and could proceed no further. None—shall—pass. Vice President David hated to be pestered by students. He really hated when they sat their butts on his precious Gamma International white leather sofa that he’d had personally delivered to grace the office entry. It was yet another thing Cara was responsible for keeping clean. He’d growl at any request that didn’t come with a thousand-dollar university donation. “You’re on the wrong floor. Cash office sits directly above this one.” Cara gestured to the ceiling with her ballpoint pen.

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “No worries,” Cara smiled. “You have a good day.”

  “You have a good day,” Von Doodoo mimicked—the ass!

  Sighing, Cara typed a thank you letter to a generous donor while watching the preening VP through her side vision.

  Maximilian Reese David. He preferred dropping the Reese and just using the initial R. The name was as pompous and overgrown as the man. He demanded to be called President David. That’s pronounced dah-veed.

  Having worked for him for over six years, Cara was the front line of defense for anyone entering the pretentious space. She diverted almost every soul who walked through the door, estimating fifty percent of them to be lost students looking for the registrar or the office of student affairs. The others were interested in employment or looking to file complaints. The select few who actually made it onto President David’s personal appointment schedule were potential donors or members of the executive board of regents for the university.

  Von Doodoo’s job as VP was to wine and dine the donors, and thereby extract the largest monetary donation possible. The university did however have a policy requiring all of the executive faculty—deans, presidents, university researchers—to teach at least one class in their field of study. For President David that was British literature.

  There was a wide expanse that separated her desk and the foyer from the office of the hallowed King David. Actually the space was larger than her house and made up of cherry wood filing cabinets and a much-too-large conference table with ten chairs, which she’d never seen him use in all of her six years there.

  There was also an expanse of windows surrounding the entire space that housed the VP offices. They were on the second floor of the building and if one were to look out those windows they’d see the student quad, which was lined with three-hundred-year-old oak trees. Their low hanging branches provided much-needed shade during the heat of summer. As far as office spaces went on campus, this one was prime.

  President David used the cabinet area as his private dressing and vamping area. There was an established routine that he went through before every class where he would preen like a peacock. Thirty minutes prior to the class starting time, he’d stand before a massive mirror he’d had installed on the wall opposite the cabinets. One of Cara’s “office” duties was to wipe it down with Windex every day.

  He’d put product in his sandy hair and spend at least seven minutes of his mirror time adjusting the locks into a messy do that Cara always thought looked about the same, despite his efforts.

  From the armoire in his office he’d retrieve the jacket that accompanied his three-thousand-dollar suit. He’d turn in all directions, admiring his suit-clad physique. It was nauseating.

  “Did Ada stop by with my Wayfarers?” He asked while checking his smile in the mirror.

  “Not yet, but Tom from Artistry dropped your order by.” Cara dangled the shiny silver gift bag from her finger.

  “Perfect, set it in my office.” He moistened his thumb and then bent to rub his Italian loafer.

  “I’m off to class. Make…” He looked around the large room, his green eyes moving from one stack of books to the next. “Clara, what the hell is all of this?” He pointed in a sweeping gesture.

  “Books for the inmates. The truck was delayed so I had no choice but to bring them here.”

  He sighed. “When will they be gone?“

  “Well, I don’t exactly know. A local delivery service was donating their time, but now needs to reschedule. I’m waiting on a call back to see when they have an opening in their schedule for loading and delivering the books.”

  “Make calls. Get someone over here today. I’ll pay all the costs…just get those books out of my office. And make sure you get tha
t thank you letter to the Smiths out today and do send them season tickets for the upcoming LSU football season.”

  “Yes, Mr. David.”

  Oh, the name thing? Well, if he couldn’t be bothered to get her name right after six years—Cara not Clara—she refused to refer to him as President David. Anyway, she was almost out of here. It was early February and she graduated in May with a degree in library science. She’d applied for an internship in art and artifacts, her specialization, at the New York City public library. When she opened the letter inviting her to complete her internship she’d peed a little. Yes, she’d been that happy. There was nothing she’d let come between her and the NYC library internship. Nothing.

  She logged into her savings account via the phone app. The balance reflected $10,248.27. She was required to submit payment to NYU by April first for room and board in the amount of fifteen thousand dollars. If she continued on her current trajectory, she’d have the balance by mid March.

  She logged out of her account and focused on work. She searched moving companies and made a few calls. To get someone out at the school today it would cost about twelve hundred dollars. She scheduled the pick up for two o’clock, giggling at the amount and secretly delighted she’d been able to pry it from Mr. David’s wallet for a noble cause.

  After the pick up for the books was scheduled she called the athletics department to obtain season tickets for the Smith donors. Then she proofread the letter she’d written thanking them for their generous contribution. Generous indeed…to the tune of one million dollars. What would it be like to throw that kind of money around? As a librarian she doubted she’d ever know. She certainly wasn’t going to marry into money.

  She’d been down on men since her father walked out on her and her mother when she was just five years old. They hadn’t seen him since. Fuck him. They managed well enough without him. And that was all the time she’d spend thinking about him.

  Cara stood and removed her oversized white sweater. As ugly as it was, she loved that old thing. Mr. David kept the office like a meat locker and she was glad the sweater almost hit her knees.

  Before leaving to get the season tickets she decided to straighten the office. She collected the loose pieces of paper and filed those that needed filing and shredded those that needed shredding. She grabbed the Windex and wiped down the sacred mirror. She sighed as she caught her reflection, “Mirror, mirror on the wall…” In the mirror her face looked liked a shrunken head. Her glasses seemed too large for her face and her blue eyes bugged. Despite her efforts at securing the mass in a ponytail at her nape, the blustery day had her blonde hair in a mess.

  She pulled the band from her hair and attempted to finger comb through her wavy thick locks. It was no use, so she pulled her hair back into the band. She could do with some new eyeglass frames, but it wasn’t in her budget so she’d have to make do with the overly-large frames. She collected the fancy silver Artistry bag and walked it into Mr. David’s office. Curious, she parted the tissue paper and peered in. Body wash, hair mud, and moisturizer. Wow, high maintenance much?

  For some reason, on her way out of the office, she opened his armoire. One gray suit and one dark blue suit, her favorite, hung like perfect little soldiers—pressed and ready to be worn. Using the handle on the custom wooden hanger she pulled the blue suit jacket out and smelled the collar. Mmm, there was that scent. Mr. David smelled rich. His scent could hypnotize women—she’d seen it happen. He’d walk by and women would turn when they got a whiff of the pheromones he gave off.

  He was like a Ken doll. With his piercing green eyes and sandy blonde hair, he was fun to dress, fun to smell, and fun to watch, but he was vacuous. All he cared about was money and where his next hot piece of ass would come from. She’d seen and heard a lot in six years. Cara patterned her actions after the see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil monkeys. Her position as his direct assistant had made her a target for a lot of women who were trying to get at him. It was no secret that the David family was filthy rich, and with his position at the university and the fact that he was more handsome than any man she’d ever seen in person, he had women constantly throwing themselves at him.

  She placed the jacket back in the cabinet and closed the door behind her. She then headed for the office next to his. Mrs. Gray was a university researcher that had an office in their space. She’d worked at the university for over thirty years and was Cara’s favorite person in the soulless place. She lightly knocked on the ajar door leading to her office. “Mrs. Gray, I’ve just got to run over to athletics and pick something up. I’ll be back in fifteen. Will you be here to watch the place or should I lock up the office?”

  “Goodness no. I’ll be here until Jesus returns—will you look at this SACS report?” Her job was probably more important than anyone else’s at the school. She was responsible for overseeing compliance for the school’s accreditation. Her office had piles and piles of papers and books stacked all around on any available surface. One had to tread carefully for fear of knocking over files, catalogs, and journals. Dr. Gray knew exactly where everything was and could access whatever was needed within a minute. Evidently there was a method to her madness. Cara picked through the bowl of cheap chocolate on Dr. Gray’s credenza.

  “Cara, I’ve got the good stuff here”—she pulled a bowl out from under her desk to reveal shiny foil-covered bonbons. “Come get one.” Cara smiled, for the rich chocolate was just what she needed. She chose a deep red piece. “Don’t be shy, take another.” Cara reached for the piece wrapped in gold knowing it was the smoothest white chocolate truffle she’d ever wrapped her lips around.”

  “Well I can’t believe these syllabi aren’t in. I can see I’m going to have to go over to the chemistry department and crack skulls.”

  With her thick, shoulder length silver hair and six-foot stature, the slender woman could be quite foreboding. She had classic grace and style, and Cara hoped that when she was in her fifties she’d be just as classy. “Thank you, Dr. Gray. Can I get you anything while I’m out?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Cara quietly slipped out, leaving the door ajar just as she’d found it. She pulled her jacket from her bag and shrugged it on. Walking across the campus in winter was depressing. The temperature had robbed the oaks of their leaves so that now they looked like skeletons. During the height of summer their canopy would cast shade all day and the azalea bushes that lined the sidewalks would be in full fuchsia bloom. Now everything was dead. Even the grass seemed as if it had been scorched by the frigid ice they’d endured in early January.

  She entered the office of the athletic complex and walked to the receiving desk which was manned by three girls. They talked among themselves about a funny social media post. Cara cleared her throat, hoping to get the attention of one. They all stopped laughing and talking and turned to size her up.

  The blonde with long hair and huge boobs hopped down from her position atop the desk. Yes…she was sitting on top of the desk. “I’m Stacy, what can I do for ya?”

  “I’m from President David’s office. I’m here to pick up a set of season tickets for the upcoming football year.”

  “President David is so hot. How’d you rate that job?” The two other girls had joined their colleague, flanking her on either side.

  They intensely awaited the answer to Stacy’s question. Cara could go into her long diatribe about how her refusal to be portrayed as an object of sexual desire had carried her far in life, but she knew they’d think she were the crazy one. “Just lucky I guess.” She shrugged.

  They all nodded, agreeing and wishing they’d been blessed with her dumb luck.

  “Ashley, go get that envelope from Mr. Weston’s desk.” Stacy turned and leaned her hip against the counter as she spoke to yet another blonde colleague. “So anyway, it pays five hundred dollars, but you have to go to this house. Of course the artist is so hot he could be like an Abercrombie model. He’s looking for more girls if you’re interested. I
was done in like a couple of hours.”

  Five hundred dollars to sit for an artist? She could use that money to buy new glasses and clothes for New York.

  “What job is it?” She inquired.

  The girls shot their eyes at her and laughed. The one named Stacy sickeningly smirked. It’s for an artist’s model. You interested?”

  “It pays five hundred?”

  “It does.” She held her palm open wiggling five fingers.

  “I’m interested.”

  “You’d be nude. Still interested?” Stacy’s eyes roved over Cara’s body.

  “Yes.”

  Just because she didn’t flaunt it in public, Cara was comfortable with her body. Stacy slid a plain white business card across the counter. “Call that number, tell them you were referred by Stacy.” The card simply said Zachary Productions.

  Productions. The artist referred to his setup as a production. She found that odd. Zachary Creations…sure, but the word production had mechanical connotations. Hmm, maybe this artist could use her after all. If nothing else, she could assist him with his branding and image.

  She took the business card and hoped she’d be given the chance to earn five hundred dollars. Walking back to her office, she wondered what the criteria were. The Presley women had all been blessed with double D racks and plush hips. She had the body of a pinup. So did her mother—who was no stranger to using her assets to exploit the men that frequented the club where she worked. They weren’t swimming in dough, but her mother did manage to close out the week with about eight hundred dollars.

  She entered the office and removed her coat and immediately the skin on her arms pimpled. Christ, could the man not turn on the heater? She reached for her thick ugly sweater and wrapped herself in its plush softness.

  The moving service came and loaded the books without incident. She delightedly left the invoice on Mr. David’s desk, smirking at his forced charity work.