by Dee Palmer
“It’s not fiction. It’s not a wish list. It’s just a list. It’s fact, not a sob story; just the truth and the fact that you would showcase it, and in front of everyone as a flaw, well, Mr. Stone… no offense, but that kind of makes you an arsehole, and if being successful means I have to be more like you, I’m happy to remain flawed, and I am happy to fail.” I swear the entire student population took a sharp intake of breath, but Mr. Stone simply holds my gaze as if we are the only two people in the room. His jaw is tight, but he doesn’t look angry, more like he is trying to suppress his amusement. There is something else in his eyes, an intensity I can’t fathom, but it’s only a flash, and it’s gone, and briefly replaced with the most breath-taking smile I have ever seen. I think my heart stopped.
“Interesting you would choose to caveat your insult.” He places both his palms flat on the bench and leans a little closer. Not that he is anywhere near me, but the boy at the end of my row must be feeling his presence like a thundercloud in the room. “How very polite of you, Miss Thorne, but I couldn’t possibly take offense when you have revealed that you do have passion after all--tempered as it is.” The way he says the word passion, feels weighted and indulgent, and it makes the hairs on my neck tingle. I hope I won’t have to speak again, because I am struggling to swallow the lump in my throat. He pushes back and stands to his full height. He breaks his gaze with an abrupt turn and begins to walk back to the stage. “Besides, I’ve been called worse.” His smile is gone, but the whole exchange leaves me stunned and speechless. I let out a deep breath and glancing around, I wasn’t the only one. He returns to the stage and picks up his notes continuing with his presentation as if he hadn’t just bulldozed through my quiet little world. Mike leans in and whispers something about not envying me and wondering what his problem is. I give a tight smile, because I think that would be me. I appear to be his problem.
Thankfully, the remainder of the presentation proceeds without my unwelcome input, but equally there is no other interaction from Mr. Stone with any other student. I find myself filling my notebook with some very useful information. I have some business ideas of my own, safety products for ‘off the beaten path’ cyclists and runners, which could have multiple uses in healthcare, too, but have no idea what to do with them. So information on seed funding, grant applications, patents, access to research, access to markets, even exit strategy preparation are hugely helpful. I hardly have time for a single doodle in the entire hour. Despite this encouraging recovery from a disastrous start to the lecture, I don’t think it’s enough, especially if I have a target stamped to my forehead like I obviously have today. I’m starting to think that I won’t bother coming to the other lectures. I can always pick up the handouts later, and there is no sign-in sheet as such, so no one will know.
Mr. Stone addresses the room once more. “I feel it is important to remind you that for some of you these lectures are not optional. I never miss a lecture and I demand the same courtesy. I very much look forward to the next time.” At this closing statement, there is an enthusiastic round of applause as he turns his winning smile to the appreciative audience. It is my turn to scowl.
“Great, freaking great, he’s a mind reader too!” I am grumbling to myself. There is a general scramble to leave en masse. I am trapped high in a row of students, who are moving at a glacial pace. Below me there is a huge rush of people trying to vie for the attention of the “wonderful” Mr. Stone, and the gathering of bodies is large enough to block the exit. The crowd around Mr. Stone is easily ten people deep, and as I try to push my way past, I can hear the sycophantic adoration. The saccharin praises alone, I swear, cause a little bit of vomit to make a surprise appearance in my mouth. However sore I am from his attention earlier, I can’t deny he is still the hottest man I have ever seen up close, and now is the perfect opportunity to get my sneaky picture. I reach into my bag, grab my phones, and quickly determine which one I need. Not a difficult task, as my one is ancient, barely has the ability to make calls and is the size of a brick, and the one Mags gave me, which is sexy, sleek, and can do everything but make a cup of tea.
I select the camera bit and press myself into the crowd. I manage to slink my arm into a gap and fire off a few rapid snaps, hoping that I have captured something which does the subject justice. Dropping the phone into my bag, I turn after just hearing a particularly vomit-inducing summation of why Mr. Stone is the most amazing person ever to grace this theatre. The level of brown nosing is quite exceptional. “Urggg.” I grunt as I continue to shoulder my way to the exit. Mission accomplished, as I reach for the door.
“Miss Thorne.” The voice is familiar, but the volume of the boom is not, and I freeze, as do the remainder of the occupants in the room. I slowly turn with a slight smile and fake confidence.
“Mr. Stone.” To my surprise, I manage to sound normal, because in my head I am definitely screaming, ‘What the Fuck?’
“Any other issues or questions I will address next time…that will be all.” He informs those waiting in a tone that brooks no discussion. The room quickly empties, and I’m left standing by the door like a naughty schoolgirl. As the last person is about to leave, Mr. Wilson enters, almost flattening me to the wall, and hurries over to Mr. Stone.
“Mr. Stone, thank you so much. As always, a great inspiration and treat for the students.” Not sure I’m feeling the treat bit at the moment. I sigh, but really quietly, still Mr. Wilson turns to me, smiles, and lifts his chin in a fashion to encourage my dismissal. This is tricky, he doesn’t know I have been, well, I’m not sure what I’ve been …yet, but my hesitation results in a click from his tongue and a deep frown. I start to step back, slowly, toe to heel, my heart is racing, and I’m holding my breath.
“I have asked Miss Thorne to remain. Is there something you need, Jack?” His tone is rude and dismissive.
“Um, well, no. But I thought you would need to get away. I mean, if there is a problem, do you need me to-” Mr. Wilson stutters and looks with confusion between Mr. Stone and me. I share his confusion.
“No,” interrupts Mr. Stone, and I look over to see his heated eyes on me. “I need just a moment of Miss Thorne’s time. I am quite capable of securing the room before I leave, so if you wouldn’t mind?” As far as Daniel Stone is concerned, this conversation is finished. He certainly hasn’t taken his eyes from mine, not even for a moment to acknowledge my poor department head.
“Yes, of course. I’m in a hurry myself.” The room falls silent with the soft suction of the fire door closing at his departure.
“Your bag, Miss Thorne?” He strides toward me until I have to look up to maintain eye contact. I can feel a heat and energy that scares the shit out of me when he is this close, his strong frame, his deep voice, and, oh, God, his smell. I try unsuccessfully to step back. My feet won’t move, and I definitely need a bit of distance. I try to clear my throat.
“Excuse me?” My confusion is evident in my croaky tone.
“Unlikely.” He replies, then a little slower repeats himself. “I said, your bag, Miss Thorne.” Although I don’t feel like I understand what is happening, like on autopilot, my body responds to his command. My hand slips my bag from my shoulder and places it in his outstretched hand.
“Good girl.” My core clenches at the softness of his voice. I’m thinking how I would like to hear that tone, those words, and feel that power over me. I shiver. He is a full on attack to my senses, blocking my field of vision with his firm, fit body. Rich exotic aromas of citrus and spice invade my nose, and he is so close, my fingers ache to touch him. I am losing all my good sense. This just doesn’t happen to me; this can’t happen. I shift and squeeze my thighs together to try and gain some relief from the distracting pressure and heat that’s building. A small smile creases his lips as he notices this movement. He is doing this to me, and he knows it. I can’t think straight. He’s too damn close.
“Well, Miss Thorne, what have we here?” He sounds smug as he reaches into my bag.
>
“To be honest, you take your life in your own hands delving in there. You’ve been warned.” I am trying to make light of this, no need to antagonize him further.
“Warning noted, your life is in my hands.” His voice is hypnotic, but that wasn’t what I had said. He starts to pull out my phones and I feel the blood drain from my face. He holds my phone and raises a brow.
“That’s my brick.” I smile. Silence ensues, so I add, “It’s my phone, you know, in case of emergency I can call someone, or in case I’m attacked, I can throw it at them. Its heavy. Heavy is good, right?” Trying for light humour I get nothing, maybe a little tumbleweed rolling down the aisles, but not a peep from Mr. Stone. In fact his jaw clenched momentarily at the mention of being attacked, but just as quickly released.
“So then, this one,” he says holding my sleek new phone. “Is the one you chose to steal my soul?” Is he serious? I made that mistake once already, so I’m going to assume yes. He begins to flick at the screen.
“What luck, Miss Thorne, no security, but then, how hard would it be to guess your PIN?” He muses but he is smiling now, and he quickly accesses the camera function and gallery. He casually holds up my phone to show me the perfect close-up of the quite stunning Mr. Stone. However I explain this, it is going to look bad. Two scenarios come to mind: I am a pathetic groupie, or worse, I’m a crazy stalker. Surprisingly, that is not the question he asks. “Why do you have two phones, Miss Thorne?”
“Well,” I smile too sweetly. “I am pretty sure that is none of your business.” So much for contrite. It appears I still have some residual anger, and it looks like I’m going for full on confrontation after all. I hold his gaze, willing my body not to tremble. His eyes narrow, and they definitely look more black than blue now.
“All right, why have you taken my picture?” My face flushes seven kinds of red, and I can see him holding back a smile. I am so glad my mortification is amusing him. He is having an unwelcome and uncontrollable effect on my body, and now he is playing games with me. I no longer care if I was rude. I am angry and need to get out of there. I return his narrow gaze. The door opens, and Mr. Stone scowls at Mr. Wilson. I really feel for the poor man. “Jack, I thought I made myself clear?” His voice is cold and stern.
“Quite, you did, Daniel, but I really need to speak to Miss Thorne, urgently.” He looks really embarrassed, and I am confused why I’m causing such a problem. I would settle for the ground swallowing me in favour of my earlier under the radar request. I look toward Mr. Stone and smile tightly as I back away, but I stop and hold out my hand out for my phones and bag.
“You won’t be a moment I’m sure, I’ll just hold these until you return.” I hesitate and he grins. “What do you think I’m going to do, Miss Thorne?” His grin transforms into a wide stunning smile, which I find myself returning.
“Nothing, I’m sorry.” I don’t know how I have gone from anger to contrition so quickly, but I continue to smile as I leave Mr. Stone with my worldly possessions and meet Mr. Wilson in the corridor.
“Mr. Wilson, have I done something wrong?” I ask tentatively.
“Not at all, Bethany. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Daniel can be a bit overwhelming, and I wanted to make sure you were all right?” His smile is comforting.
“Oh, wow. That is so kind, and, yes, he can be a bit intense, but I think we just got off on the wrong foot. Maybe a little misunderstanding we are just sorting out. Nothing to worry about. It’s not like he is my actual tutor or anything.” I laugh lightly.
“No, I know, my dear, but he is heavily involved with this program, so you will probably come across him again outside of this lecture series. So it is best if you can iron out any crinkles now.” He laughs this time and I smile kindly in return, but it feels strange on my face as I begin to process what he has just told me.
“Yes, of course. I don’t want to cause any trouble. Speaking of which, I probably shouldn’t keep him waiting.” I nod toward the theatre door.
“No absolutely, in you go, I will see you around, Bethany.” He cheerfully remarks as he heads up the stairs.
I walk back into the room, but my attempt to keep some personal distance either goes unnoticed, or is more likely just ignored, as Mr. Stone strides toward me again, closing the gap to a very personal distance.
His lips curl in a knowing smile. “Now where were we? Ah, yes, why have you taken my picture?”
I pause a moment as my mind races, but I decide on a mix of honesty and mind your own business. “Well, now, that may in fact be your business, but since I am not going to tell you, and I have no intention of attending the other lectures, we will just have to add this to the list of life’s little mysteries.” I go to retrieve my phone, and I think my answer has taken him by surprise as he lets me take them from his hand. Our hands touch briefly, and I actually make a physical jump at the intensity of feeling from this simple contact. Sudden. Shocking. I hesitate, then quickly turn and go to pull the door handle. In an instant the door is slammed shut with the weight of two large palms on either side of my head. His hard body presses into my back, holding me in place. He slowly sweeps his knuckles down the side of my cheek and slides his hand under my hair, taking it away from my neck. The cool air created only intensifies the heat that is raging through my body. My breath is rapid shallow gasps, and I drop my head to the side to give him better access. I feel wanton. His fingers gently trace the curve of my neck around to my collarbone. I bite my dry lips to suppress a moan that’s desperate to escape. He pushes against me, his lips lightly brush just below my ear, and I think I can feel his erection brush against my arse through the thin material of his suit. I have never had such a blatant sexual encounter, and I guess I should feel shocked, but I’m trembling. My head is swimming and thick with too much rushing blood; it could be fear, but it feels a lot like white hot desire. I barely hear him whisper.
“You are right. It is my business, and unless I’m very much mistaken, your attendance is mandatory, and that, Miss Thorne, makes you my business. ” He grips my hips as I make to move out of his hold, grinding gently. I find myself inexplicably pushing back against him, welcoming this slow erotic dance. I’m lost, my head drops to the door with a crack, and the shock of pain breaks through this thick fuzz.
“May I go now?” I can barely breathe.
“May I go what?” He still has his lips pressed to my ear, his breath is warm and my body responds with an involuntary wave of prickles to my skin.
“May I go… Sir?” I release the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. He stands to move away, and I sag slightly at this loss of connection.
“Good girl.…. Yes, you may leave.” His voice is low and commanding. “Oh, and Miss Thorne”--I turn to see the heat and desire in his eyes--“I take my business very seriously. Until next time.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
“Yes, Sir.” I pull on the door so hard, I nearly knock myself out in my rush to leave the room, the space, that man. The stale air in the corridor is stifling, and I run to the main doors and burst out into the Quad, gulping for fresh air before I faint. I have no idea what just happened in there, but I do know I can’t let it happen again, and next time I’ll tell him as much. I’ll just keep my distance when I do.
I HAVE HAD a number of lectures this week and none of them played out like the one with Mr. Stone. The Lecturers have been enthusiastic and insightful, at worst some may have been a little dull, but none had behaved like Mr. Stone. I become more and more irritated after each lesson, because I am unable to bring myself to participate. Even in Mr. Wilson’s seminar, where he positively encouraged me to engage. I really wanted to. I had something to say, but every time I tried, I had this hideous flashback of hundreds of eyes silently staring at me, with pale faces of sympathy and relief. Relief it wasn’t them under the spotlight. My mouth dried, and my throat felt like sandpaper. Mr. Wilson looked with kind eyes and patted my hand at my failed attempt and deftly moved to someone el
se.
By Thursday evening, I was ready to put an end to my misery. I was ready to fight. Mr. Stones’ second lecture would be very different, for me at least. I had my speech prepared, something along the lines of, ‘How dare he…Did he have any idea how insensitive…’ and something about being a coward and a bully, but I would wait and see how the first part of my tirade played out before I resorted to more insults. It didn’t go unnoticed that, although the theatre was full, I had empty spaces on either side of me this week. My leg bounced nervously as the clock on the wall blinked closer to seven o’clock, my stomach knotted uncomfortably, and my palms were clammy. It felt more like a high noon showdown. The door opened, and I held my breath, only to let it out instantly in disappointment as Mr. Wilson stepped through.
“Mr. Stone is unable to present this evenings’ class, but I do have his notes, so I will take the lecture. I will do my best and hope you are not too disappointed.” He grinned at the room, and there was a little ripple of laughter. I did feel disappointed. Strange that I didn’t feel relief. After all, I don’t do confrontation as a rule, so I should feel relieved, but no, I definitely feel disappointed. There wasn’t going to be a confrontation. No fiery exchange, no burning tension, no heat at all. The next week was worse.