Ploy: Fake Marriage Single Dad Romance

by J. J. Bella

  Roxanne James.

  I balked at this, thinking there must be some mistake that the girl who seemed so spacey and ditzy would be such a qualified candidate. After I took another look at her application, however, there was no denying it. Her qualifications were strong, her references were glowing, and her statement essay was well-crafted and thoughtful.

  And it's true that she'd been showing much more of an effort in class. The more I considered Roxanne, in fact, the more I realized that I was letting my first impression of her shape my opinion of the girl far more than I should have. Still, I'd need to test her meddle.

  The next day in class, I decided to put her to the test. We were going over some human anthropology questions, and I figured that this would be as good a time as any to see how Roxanne did under pressure.

  "Mary and Louis Leakey…" I said, standing at the front of the room and moving from set of eyeballs to set of eyeballs. "Can someone here tell me, specifically, who they are and what they did?"

  I snapped my eyes to Roxanne.

  "They were the scientist couple who discovered Homo Habilis, meaning literally "tool-using man," when excavating Olduvai Gorge in Tanzania in the nineteen-thirties."

  This was followed by a pleased smile. She knew the basics and handled the pressure well.

  Later in the class, I gave her another little test.

  "Now, as we all know archeology involves interpreting information from sifted layers of rock and dirt. Who can tell me the name of this subject?"

  My eyes again went to Roxanne. She got the hint and raised her hand.

  "That's stratigraphy, Professor McCall."

  Perhaps I was a little premature in my determination of her intelligence.

  This went on throughout the week. I challenged her here and there, and she was always ready with the right answer. It was an impressive display, though a little “teacher’s pet” for my tastes.

  Soon, the semester was nearly at an end.

  "Now," I said, looking over the five students that remained in the class, Roxanne still right in the middle her big green eyes looking up at me expectantly. "The semester is drawing to a close, as you all well know. I'm more than pleased with the few of you that managed to stick it out through it all; you should be proud of the work you've done. But the final exam is no joke, and you're going to need to study hard. Like everything else in this class, it's designed to separate the men from the boys, as it were. The study guide will be posted online tonight, and please feel free to let me know if you have any questions."

  With that, the students left. My eyes tracked Roxanne as she left, my gaze lingering on her for just a little longer than I had intended. I shook my head at this, chiding myself for letting my baser instincts regarding my students take over, if even for a mere moment.

  Still, I couldn't deny that she was quite attractive…

  Regardless, it was time to put her to the test- literally. I decided that I'd make her test more difficult than the others, to see if she really had what it took to be my assistant. It was nearly time for me to decide, and she was still the strongest candidate.

  All that remained to see was how well she'd handle the challenge.

  5

  When I looked over the grade to my final, I wanted to cry.

  D.

  The letter was clear as day. I didn't think it was real at first; I'd assumed there had been some problem with the school's computer system, or something wrong with my computer monitor, even. But reality soon set in- I'd received a non-passing grade in the class that was the most important that I pass with flying colors.

  I thought frantically back over the exam, wondering just where I'd gone wrong. Sure, the exam was hard, much harder than I'd been expecting, but I still felt good about my chances, despite the fact that the exam covered material that we didn't even talk about during the semester. It didn't even bother me when I was the last student to finish; stupid me thought this might even impress Professor McCall, and show him that I was concerned about making sure my work was perfect. Looking back, it probably just convinced him that I was an idiot.

  I paced around my apartment, feeling like a panic attack might set in at any moment. Then, the phone rang. I looked at the number, recognizing it as a school line.

  "Hello?" I asked, my voice weak as I held back the tears that I desperately wanted to cry.

  "Hello, is this Roxanne James?" said the chipper, female voice on the other line.

  "This is she," I said.

  My stomach tightened; I just knew, somehow, that this wasn't going to be good news.

  "Hi! This is the University of Missouri financial aid department. How are you?"

  "Good, I guess," I said, wishing she'd just get to the point.

  "Great!"

  Her chipper voice was already making me crazy.

  "Well, I just wanted to give you a call to let you know that because of your grades the semester, the Annie Margolis Scholarship that has been extended to you will not be offered again the for the fall semester."

  My stomach sank. That scholarship was the only thing keeping me in school.

  "What?" I asked, my voice frantic.

  "As you know, one of the terms of the Margolis Scholarship is that you maintain passing grades in all of your classes. And I see here that your grade in…Advanced Archeology with Professor Evan McCall was a ‘D,' which is below passing."

  "There has to be something I can do," I said, pacing around frantically as I spoke. "I need that scholarship."

  "Well, if I were you, I'd speak with the professor and see if there's anything you can do to bring the final grade up. You need at least a ‘C' to be considered ‘passing'."

  I couldn't imagine asking Professor McCall to go easy on me, to give me a redo.

  "OK, thank you," I said, defeated.

  "Great! Have a great su-"

  I hung up the phone and stared off into space. I couldn't imagine a more awful situation.

  I took a deep breath, realizing that the sooner I got this over with, the better. Taking a seat at my computer, I opened my email program and typed up a letter to Professor McCall, asking him if there was anything I could do to improve my grade, letting him know about my scholarship situation. Once the email was typed up, I read it over, taking out a few of the "anythings" that I'd written. I mean, he was handsome and all, but I didn't want him to get that impression.

  Once I was satisfied with the email, I sent it off and got up from my computer, mentally preparing myself to spend the rest of my day a nervous wreck about my school financial situation.

  But to my surprise, I received an email only a few minutes later from Professor McCall.

  Roxanne-

  Sorry to hear that my class ended up being the deciding factor in your scholarship; I was just as disappointed in your grade as you must've been. That said, I am amenable to a retake. Please let me know what time works for you in the next few days.

  E.M.

  I let out a sigh of relief. Truth be told, I wasn't expecting him to go for a retake; Professor McCall just didn't seem to be the compromising type, and considering how he'd been raking me over the coals all semester, I figured that he had some kind of weird personal problem with me. I fired off an email letting him know that all my exams were done with, so tomorrow would work for me if that worked for him. He responded with the exact time.

  I felt a little better, but knew that I had a long day of studying ahead of me if I was going to pass this thing. Marching to the kitchen, I brewed a fresh pot of coffee, sat down at the table with my class notes, and set to work. Before I knew it, the day had flown by. I wanted to stay up all night and cram in as much information as I could, but I'd learned the hard way in other classes that a good night's rest is better than pulling an all-nighter.

  The next day, my stomach was tight with fear as I arrived on campus. Professor McCall had instructed me to meet him in his office, and when I arrived, he was sitting at his desk, a stack of papers to his right that he was
in the process of grading.

  His office was lovely, with a tall bookshelves packed full of texts, a window with a sweeping view of the campus, and a long desk piled high with papers and notes, a small bonsai tree on one corner. On the wall was a chart of human evolution, as well as a Renaissance-style painting of a landscape that I didn't recognize. Soft piano music was playing through a speaker.

  "Welcome, Ms. James," Professor McCall said, not standing up, giving me the same icy treatment that he'd subjected me to all semester. "Have a seat."

  He gestured to a small table that he'd cleared off where another exam was waiting for me.

  "You have an hour to finish. Let me know if you have any questions."

  And with that, he went right back to his work.

  With small steps, I approached the desk and took a seat. I flipped through the exam, noting right away that the questions seemed….easier. It was all stuff that I knew, stuff that I'd learned over the course of the semester. In short, it was what I had actually been expecting the exam to be. I breezed through the thing, finishing it with ease in about thirty minutes.

  "Done already?" asked Professor McCall.

  "Yeah,' I said, setting the exam down gently on his desk.

  "Well, if you don't mind waiting, I can grade it now."

  "Oh, sure," I said, hiding the fact that I was extremely eager to know if I'd passed; my academic fate did depend on it, after all.

  Professor McCall took the exam and looked it over, marking it here and there. I stood in front of his desk awkwardly, my arms crossed over my body. Minutes later, he handed the test back, an ‘A' marked the front in a blue ink.

  "Nice work," he said. "Have a good summer."

  And with that, he turned back to his desk. I left his office on cloud nine; I couldn't believe my good fortune. Stopping off at the financial aid department, I confirmed that with the new grade, my scholarship was back on track for the fall. Everything was going to be fine.

  And though I didn't want to admit it, I was happy to be free of Professor Evan McCall. Sure, he was totally goddamn gorgeous, not to mention brilliant, but I'd had just about enough of the sadistic way that he'd been treating me all through the course of the semester. I knew that my ditz routine that first day was lame, but his response of grilling me hard every day since was a little out of proportion, to say the least.

  Once back home, I crashed on my couch, ready to spend the rest of the day watching crappy TV and otherwise basking in my good fortune. But the chime of a new email distracted me before I even had a chance to begin. I opened my laptop and saw that it was an email from none other than Professor McCall. I read it with eager eyes.

  Roxanne-

  Congratulations on your excellent performance on the make-up test; I knew that you'd perform beyond my expectations. Before your summer begins, I'd like to extend to you the offer to work as my assistant. In thoroughly going over all of the applications for the position, yours was head and shoulders above the rest. Please let me know if this opportunity is something in which you would be interested.

  E.M.

  I shut the laptop, the urge to scream coming over me. First he's failing me, now he's offering me an internship? What was with this guy? I had no idea what he thought about me as a person or as a student; everything was mixed signals.

  I stood up and paced around my apartment as I considered the email. I didn't want to spend another minute with Professor McCall, but this internship…I knew it could make or break my academic a career. It was an opportunity too good to pass up. Sitting back down on my couch and opening my laptop once again, I began my email.

  "Professor McCall…"

  6

  "What do you mean you don't have two rooms? I made the reservation a month ago!"

  Standing at the desk of the small hotel in Rockle, the Czech village near the dig site, I could hardly contain my anger. I was tired and exhausted, and judging by the worn-out, blank expression on Roxanne's face, she felt the same way. The flight was long and uncomfortable, and the less said about the van into town, the better.

  "I am sorry, sir," said the slobbish, heavy-set man behind the counter, his voice coming out in a thick, Slavic accent, "but it appears there was some sort of computer error; that’s the only reason I can think for why your reservation isn’t here."

  "What? How does that happen?"

  "I am very sorry," he said. "We're booked up nearly full, but I can offer you the presidential suite. It should be more than spacious enough for you and your wife."

  "Student," I said, correcting him quickly. "She's my student."

  The clerk flashed a glance at my right hand, noting the absence of a ring.

  "One never knows what the future holds," he said with a sly smile.

  I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Thankfully, Roxanne seemed to be barely paying attention.

  "Fine," I said. "The presidential suite."

  "I'm sure you will be more than happy with the accommodations," said the clerk, handing me the key. "Up the stairs, and you'll know the room when you see it."

  Know it when I see it, I mumbled under my breath. I picked the bags up from the floor and began to trudge up the stairs, Roxanne following close behind. We soon arrived at the second floor, and sure enough, an ornate set of double doors made it clear which room was our suite. Dropping the bags on the floor, I turned the key and opened the doors with a gentle push.

  Well, he was right about the room.

  It was a large, spacious room appointed with antique furniture, a large double bed made up with white and blue sheets the centerpiece of the space. A set of glass doors opened onto a large balcony, the view affording a sweeping view of the town below and the countryside beyond. Above it all hung a large, silver moon.

  There was a small kitchen, along with plenty of modern amenities. Taking a peek into the bathroom, I saw that there was even a bath big enough for two. It would be a lovely place to stay, were the circumstances not what they were.

  "It's big," said Roxanne, looking around, her voice tired.

  "Sorry about the screw-up," I said, making it clear that I knew just how awkward this must be.

  She waved her hand dismissively as she made her way over to the bed, letting herself fall onto it.

  Looking over Roxanne, who was now nearly asleep, I considered the wisdom of riding her so hard during the semester. I knew that it was only my way of testing her, to see just how much potential she had. Even the final exam, one of which I designed to be as difficult for her as possible, was a way to find out just how good she was. But as far as she was concerned, I was just some asshole prof, and one that she was going to be joined at the hip with for the next few weeks.

  "I'll take the couch," I said, as though there were any question about it.

  I sat down on the couch, kicking off my shoes and slipping my phone out of my pocket. I checked it, seeing there was a response from Darla, letting me know that things were good back home, and that her aunt –my sister Alice who would be staying with her for the duration of my trip- was taking great care of her. Relived at this, I slumped over onto the couch, my fatigue taking hold of me within seconds.

  I woke up the next morning to the sun rising over the hills beyond the windows. A crack of light under the bathroom door let me know that Roxanne was already up. Checking my phone, I saw that it was seven in morning. Our ride was going to be here at eight, so we needed to get ready soon.

  Before I could consider the matter for too long, however, the bathroom door opened, and Roxanne stepped out, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around her body. Her fair skin was shiny with water, and ample cleavage was visible just above where her towel was tied. And the towel was short enough to show off her long, shapely legs. Her dark, thick hair hung heavy on her bare, slim shoulders. For a few moments, I looked at her in the precise way that a professor shouldn't look at a student. But I couldn't help it- she was stunning.

  "Morning," she said, a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth
as she walked over to her bag, grabbing out a handful of clothes.

  "Morning," I said, turning my eyes away from her.

  "I'm gonna change, so the shower's all yours. Knock before you come out," she said, her tone brusque.

  It was clear that she was still unhappy with the arrangement, but rather than try and convince her to be more reasonable, I decided not to press the point. Instead, I hopped in the shower, letting the hot water wake me up. After a quick shave, I dressed in the bathroom and gave the door a quick rap.

  "You decent?"

  "Yeah."

  I stepped out, and she was dressed in a pair of skin-tight jeans and a simple, baby blue V-neck shirt. We grabbed a few essentials, and once eight rolled around, my phone went off with a text from the team, letting us know they were out front.

  The drive through the countryside was beautiful. The hills were verdant and rolling, and the sun was as a cloudless blue overhead. Despite the awkwardness of the trip so far, I was looking forward to getting into the work that lay ahead.

  Once we arrived at the site, which was a half-excavated stone-age village that stuck out of the side of a steep hill, I introduced Roxanne to the rest of the team, which was a small collection of professors and their assistants from other colleges around the US. I introduced Roxanne to the team, and though she seemed a little intimidated and shy in the face of the all-star crew we had on staff, she slowly became a useful member of the team.

  Three weeks ahead, I thought to myself as I watched Roxanne work, my eyes lingering on her body once again. Let's hope things all go well.

  7

  The countryside was beautiful, I could say that much. And as the days passed, it seemed as though Professor McCall was going out of his way to make sure that I felt comfortable, which was nice; the last thing that I wanted was to be sharing a room with a professor who thought I was a total idiot. I did my best, however, keeping my head down and working nonstop, doing my best to prove that I was a worthwhile member of the team.