"Professor Bauer, please look where you are going."
I raised my head and narrowly missed running into my department head, Florence Macken. In her chunky heels, the older woman was almost at eye level, and her expression was disdainful. She did not know the details of my first year slip up, but Florence still treated me like a rookie teacher. Her department was a feather in the Landsman College cap, and she had decided almost immediately that I did not fit her School of Journalism mold. No matter what I did, I felt her pale blue eyes watching and hoping I would slip up so she could hire someone more suitable.
"I'm sorry, Professor Macken. I'm on my way to the first meeting of the student newspaper. Would you like to come along and observe? I think you'll find I've come a long way, with your guidance, of course," I said.
Florence frowned. "I forgot you were editing the school paper."
I forced a smile over gritted teeth. "Readership is up 80% since we added the social media aspects. The Signpost is well on its way to being a full-fledged success."
"In my experience, bragging covers a lack of confidence, wouldn't you say, Professor Bauer?" Florence stepped around me and continued her heavy-heeled march down the hallway.
She knew I was the most effective editor-in-chief The Signpost had had in the last decade, and it bothered her considerably. Nothing could have cheered me up faster. I strode into the smaller classroom and greeted my newspaper staff.
Clarity looked up, her notebook at the ready, and I sighed. It was going to be a long year.
#
"Your assignment is two-fold," I told The Signpost staff as we stood outside the art department gallery. "Number one, I expect you to find a human interest story. Something that will get our readers interested in visiting the art gallery. And, number two, you will need to write a full and vivid description of one piece of art. You cannot depend on photographs to show the reader, and, more importantly, you want to inspire the readers to come see for themselves. Got it?"
The small group of students nodded, and Clarity was the first one through the doors. I followed more slowly, hoping it would be a while before I found my blind date. I ambled into the maze of well-lit white walls and watched my students fan out.
Clarity was already embroiled in a conversation with a very pleased first-year art student. The young man's glasses practically steamed up every time she smiled at him. I couldn't blame the poor kid; she was a vision. A long, bright scarf wrapped tight around her tiny waist saved the black dress from being boring. Not that the plunging V-neck or exposed curves could be called boring.
I checked myself by biting my tongue. Clarity was a student and strictly off-limits.
Instead of watching her circulate in bright-red heels, I forced myself to look for my blind date. Jackson had informed me his wife's work colleague, Tara, would meet me there, and I was supposed to recognize her by a black flower pin.
Anticipation is exciting, I reminded myself. It would be fun circulating through the busy gallery looking for a mystery woman. And the black flower pin was intriguing. I imagined it pinned to the sharp V-neck of a curve-hugging, red dress. I was always a sucker for black patent leather shoes, and I was hopeful as I scanned the crowd.
A voice in the back of my head noted I had reversed the colors of Clarity's outfit, but I dismissed it. Yes, she was twenty-one-years-old, and it wasn't a sin to notice how attractive she was, but I wasn't about to let myself slip. Flying under the radar at Landsman College meant both my professional and personal images had to be mature, settled, and appropriate. No more drinking at bars until close to get local gossip, no more skipping haircuts or showers in order to fact check, and no more flirting with attractive, insider women who might want to share their insights with me.
"Nice to see you again, Professor Bauer. I hope you enjoyed the little party we threw the other night," Dean Dunkirk slapped me on the shoulder. "I believe you had my daughter in class today."
The dean's choice of words kicked my mind right into the gutter. I turned and felt my insides churn with volcanic heat. Clarity stood next to her father. My eyes dropped to her red high heels then climbed up the clinging black dress to the bright scarf cinched around her tight waist before I got myself under control.
"Thanks so much for the hospitality, Dean Dunkirk. I love your Craftsman house. It
must be really nice to be that close to campus," I said, tearing my eyes off his daughter.
"We like it, don't we, darling?" the dean asked Clarity. "Helps me keep an eye on her."
"What about all that rhetoric about me breaking out and finding my passion? Now you want to keep a close eye on me?" Clarity gave her father a challenging glance.
"Right, you're right. I'll leave you to the close, watchful eyes of your professors," Dean Dunkirk grinned at me.
I straightened my shoulders and kept my focus on him. Clarity's father seemed to have missed my glances, and he turned me towards his other companion. "Professor Bauer, I'd like you to meet one of Landsman College's biggest supporters, Michael Tailor."
Michael Tailor gave my hand a hard shake. "Dunkirk tells me you worked for Wired Communications. Wesley Barton is an old friend of mine."
The name was a shot of poison, and I was glad to tug my hand free of Michael Tailor's handshake. The tall businessman had the dark-blond hair and denim-blue eyes of an All-American legacy. I knew just by looking at him that he had old money—too much of it—and he wielded it over others like a whip. The fact that he knew Barton was no surprise as they were cut from the same, ultra-rich cloth.
Wesley Barton was the reason I was trapped like a lab rat in maze of academia. He'd fired me personally, with a guarantee that I would never again work for a credible news source.
"You worked for Wired Communications?" Clarity asked.
Michael Tailor offered her an arm, pleased by the dark glance I gave him. "My dear, if you're interested in pursuing journalism, you should let me introduce you."
She glanced over the shoulder of his expensive suit and caught my stormy look. The question was bright in her, and she mouthed, "Talk later?"