TheProfessor by Jon Bradbury Page B

slightly, facing a huge table shaped like an oval, also done in mahogany. I was dressed up in a black blazer and matching pencil skirt with a high slit in back. Matching glossy patent-leather open-toed sling-back pumps were on my feet. My shiny black hair was slicked back in a tight bun. Pearl stud earrings nestled in each earlobe. Not to toot my own horn, but, beep-beep !
    A black leather organizer sat open on the table, showing a yellow legal notepad. I was supposed to be taking notes, but I was doodling instead. My manager Tyrone Williams was giving me dirty looks from across the table, and I was ignoring him, concentrating instead on the man from the label, or trying to, anyway.
    It wasn’t that the man from the label was ugly, because he wasn’t. He was, in fact, very well put together in his navy suit, white shirt and snugly knotted navy tie. And it wasn’t that his presentation was uninteresting, because it was very interesting. It was just that my mind was elsewhere. Certainly not where it should have been.
    I was in a meeting with my manager, agent, and the man from the record company. It was a fairly important meeting. The record company was giving its sales projections for my new album, if I could deliver the extra material I wanted to include. The record company was, to say the least, enthusiastic about the possibilities.
    Instead of paying attention to the label rep, I was thinking about a talk I’d had earlier on the phone with my friend Marlene Hammond at the Institute. I had called to tell her which candidate I had chosen from the list she had sent us.
    “So, you’re sure that Jeff Humphries is the one you want?”
    “Yes, quite sure. Is there a problem?”
    “No, I just wanted to make sure that he’s the one you wanted.”
    “Yes, I’m quite sure. Jeff Humphries is the only person on the list you sent with the kind of experience I need.”
    “Plus the fact that he’s male, and white?”
    “I won’t lie. That helps, too.”
    “Just try not to seduce him on the first day.”
    A naughty giggle burst out of me. “No promises! So what’s next?”
    “Well, what’s next is that I need to get Jeff into my office and let him know about your decision. Then I’ll call you back.”
    “Okay. You have the packet we faxed back?”
    “Yes, Danielle, I have the documents. I’ll call you back when it’s set. Okay?”
    “Okay.”
    So now I was impatiently waiting for Marlene to call me back. It was nearly three o’clock in the afternoon and she still hadn’t called back yet. I’d spoken with Marlene only half an hour ago and the waiting was unbearable.
    I was trying to focus on what the nice man from the record label was saying, trying not to click my nails on the table in my impatience. I was sitting there, all calm, cool and collected, when my cell phone went off.
    I’d left my phone in pervert mode for the meeting. It’s really just vibrate mode for the inquiring minds that want to know, but I call it pervert mode. I had my phone in the inner left pocket of my blazer, where only a thin layer of satin separated it from my breast. It’s summer, it’s hot and I don’t like to wear underwear. I even shave my pubic hair. Not groom it. Shave it. A girl has to keep her privates neat.
    Buzzzzz .
    I dug my nails into the arm-rest. I bit my bottom lip to keep any moans or growls from escaping. Meanwhile, my phone kept torturing me.
    Buzzzzzzz.
    Warmth and wetness seeped from my feminine parts like water from a sponge. That’s what I get for not wearing panties.
    Buzzzzzz.
    I reached into my jacket pocket and snatched my phone out, ending the torture. Able to breathe again, I took my phone out and flipped it open. Marlene! Finally!
    As soon as I saw who it was, I said, “Excuse me. I need to take this call.”
    My agent, Darryl Strawberry, turned in his chair and looked at me. “Who is it?”
    I said, “It’s about that other matter we discussed this morning.”
    “Okay, go ahead.”
    I squeezed