Scandal
I moan huskily without taking my eyes off my laptop screen or slowing down my typing speed.
The deadline for the paper is in exactly one hour, and I’m almost done, as is the man on the other end of the call, judging by his urgent grunts.
“Plunge your fingers deep inside you and make yourself come,” he says gruffly.
“Yes! Oh, that feels so good, baby. I’m so close,” I say, with as much heat and desperation as I can muster while breathing heavily into the microphone near my mouth.
In conclusion, although numerous other factors, each with its own merit, contributed to the collapse of peace in 1939...
“Oh. Oh!” I cry out.
I hear his hands moving faster, chasing his own release.
...the insistence of western leaders to appease Hitler instead of taking a harder stance against his aggressive actions in Europe...
I moan hard, throwing in some curses for dramatic effect, careful not to sound fake or over the top. He draws out his own groan as his breathing gets shallower, and then my caller goes quiet.
“Fuck, you’re good,” he grunts.
I smile. “Right back at you, honey. I came so hard for you.”
I hear the proud smile in his voice when he asks, “Same time next week?”
...the weakness of Western leadership, disguised as foresight and caution...
“I’ll be waiting for your call,” I drawl.
The line clicks and goes dead.
...is the most significant reason the world was plunged into a bloody world war again.
I look at the digital lock at the bottom corner of the screen and smile in relief, seeing that I have plenty of time left.
The spell checker notifies me of some grammar and spelling mistakes, which I correct quickly before uploading the paper into the plagiarism software. Once I’m done with my mental checklist, I begin typing the email to Professor Boone.
I feel good about my arguments and the in-depth research I did for this one, even though I was somewhat distracted while writing the final page.
A knock on my door pulls my focus from the screen.
“Just a minute,” I call out.
Once the email is sent, I roll the stiffness from my shoulders and go to see who is knocking on my door at this hour.
Hayden’s usual crooked smile and dimpled cheeks greet me. He knows he was blessed with a male model’s dream features, and the height, too.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says. His eyes shift briefly to the inside of my room, his brows furrowing. “I really thought you had company,” he says.
“Nope. Just me.”
“Could have sworn I heard moaning,” he teases, moving his eyebrows repeatedly.
I place a hand over my heart and pretend to be offended. “Heaven forbid a girl take care of her own needs in the twenty-first century.”
He chuckles, and I see the subtle flush in his cheeks.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Wanted to see if you’d be interested in joining me and a few friends at the bar. We’ll have a hoot, as the British say.”
I’m always amazed at how easy it is to talk to Hayden, and even easier to smile. “I can’t. I have half a page left to write for Professor Boone. I’m behind.”
It’s a lie, but I can’t very well tell him I have another call scheduled for tonight.
“Haven’t you heard?”
“Heard what?” I ask.
“Professor Boone’s been sacked.”
No.
Professor James Boone is the best teacher I’ve had these three years at Harvard—he’s generous with sharing his knowledge and fair with grading. He’s won the Pulitzer Prize twice, for crying out loud. Who would fire him?
“I can’t believe it,” I tell Hayden.
“No joke. I heard it from someone who works in the Dean’s office.”
I shake my head absently. “Why?”
Hayden looks over his shoulder to make sure no one’s around before leaning in closer. I smell the mint on his breath. “Apparently, he’s been...inappropriate with a student.”
I shake my head harder. There’s no way.
“Not by force,” he says when he sees the look on my face. “I mean a full-blown relationship, if you catch my drift.”
My shoulders sag with relief.
Finding out my forty-something professor is in a consensual relationship with a girl my age—probably his student—is more acceptable.
It doesn’t even sound like a big deal to me, at least not enough for him to lose his job. I can see from Hayden’s face that he doesn’t have the same moral compass. I pretend to be horrified.
“That’s awful.”
He nods grimly.
I lower my voice. “Do you know who—”
He shakes his head before I finish the sentence.
“So this paper is a useless endeavor, then?” I ask, keeping up the ruse.
“He has to hand our work over to his replacement, so better safe than sorry, I guess. I should leave you to it, then.”
He steps back, making zero effort to hide his disappointment.
“Rain check?” I offer.
Hayden flashes a dazzling smile, and I can’t help but laugh.
“I will hold you to it.”
I close the door and lean my head against the wooden surface. I’m always left unsure of where I stand with Hayden. Does he want to date me, or not? I hope not. If I turn him down, it might ruin our friendship. If I agree, the chances of him finding out about my illicit erotic hotline business increase exponentially.
I decide it’s best if we stay in the gray.
A sudden, loud crash on the other side of the door pulls me out of my thoughts.
I find Alice in the hallway, right outside her door, with a cardboard box under one arm and its contents on the floor. She’s standing there, staring down at the books with vacant eyes, as if assessing whether it’s even worth picking them up.
I walk over to her. “Hey, Alice,” I say.
She looks up, her eyes widening with alarm. I’m taken aback for a moment by her reaction. After all, it’s just me.
I’m crouched down and gathering the books before she’s said a word. “Let me help you.”
“It’s okay, I can manage,” she says in a small, fragile voice.
I want to ask if she’s okay, but something tells me the question isn’t welcome at the moment. She joins me on the floor, and we gather the rest quickly.
“I don’t have another box,” she whispers, like it’s the end of the world.
“Are you headed far?”
She looks up at me with unblinking eyes. “Car park.”
“I’ll help you carry them,” I tell her. My next call isn’t for another thirty minutes anyway.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t sweat it.”
Alice reaches into her dark bedroom and pulls out a rolling suitcase. It’s not small.
“You traveling?” I shouldn’t ask.
“I’m leaving. Changing schools.” Her shoulders sag as she speaks.
“That’s too bad.”
We walk in silence with only the sound of the suitcase wheels rolling noisily. She hauls it under her free arm to carry it down the flight of stairs.
It’s a short walk to the car park.The trunk of a silver SUV opens as we approach, the driver’s side door opens, and I do my very best not to gasp.
It’s Professor Boone. He watches me with careful eyes. I don’t look away, even as my mind easily makes the connection.
“Emma,” he says simply.
“Professor.”
He helps Alice with her suitcase, and I dump the books into the trunk. She wraps her arms around me in a tight hug.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, because if I don’t, I’ll regret it.
She nods and pulls away.
I see in her eyes that she really is, so I let her go. Not that I could have really kept her, but I like to think I would have tried. I watch the car drive away for a moment, then head back to my dorm room.
When I finally sit down at my desk, I see that I only have ten minutes to prepare before I have to entertain my next caller.
Mr. X wants a casual conversation that slowly builds to something more. That’s the message he left when he booked me for the hour and paid in full, promising a generous tip if he’s pleased with our conversation.
I push thoughts of the scandal from my mind and breathe deeply, humming to prep my voice for my preferred husky and sultry tone. The beeping alerts me to his incoming online call. I fix the headset over my ears and position the microphone near my mouth.
“This is Sweet Caroline.”
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