The Protege

The
Protege

Published by
Kailin Gow

Copyright © 2013
Kailin Gow

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or 
mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information
storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the
publisher except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and
reviews.

For information,
please contact:

Kailingowbooks(at)aol(dot)com.

First Edition.

Printed in the
United States of America.

ISBN:
978-1-59748-077-2

DEDICATION

This
dedication to my husband whose love makes all things possible.

This
book series is also dedicated to all the women and children of domestic abuse
and violence. Hope this series will bring some comfort and hope to you or
someone you know in some way.

Prologue

T
he small but elegantly furnished luxury
apartment was neat and tidy except for Serena’s bedroom. Three skirts lay on
her bed; the red one too frilly, the black one too short, and white one too
summery. Atop them lay a variety of shirts and blouses including a few that
were simply too revealing, one that was too festive and another that looked too
frumpy on her.

In
front of the open closet were shoes and sandals of every color.  One after the
other Serena had discarded them. Her dressing table was strewn with brushes,
combs, hairpins and bottles of hairspray and mousse. For all the time she’d
spent in front of the mirror debating how to set her hair, she’d finally pulled
her long thick dark hair back into a prim and proper chignon. As for make-up,
she’d decided that minimalism was the way to go; a swipe of mascara and a touch
of pale lipstick. Nothing gaudy, nothing showy, nothing to show the professor
but her intelligent brown eyes and eager expression.

“Hopefully
that’ll impress him,” she’d muttered as she’d left the mirror to dress.

Today
was too important to screw up. More than anything Serena wanted to look right
and impress her potential adviser. Although recently transferred, this was her
senior year in her undergraduate studies, and she needed a graduate adviser.
She already had the necessary credits to start graduate level courses.  If her
meeting went well, she’d transition into her graduate studies early, keep the
same adviser and finish her studies a year in advance.

Peering
into her closet she made a last ditch attempt to find something suitable. Her
hand came to rest on a calf length navy blue pencil skirt.

Very
professional, she thought.
Very academic.  Very studious and serious.  Yes. 
This will do.

She
pulled the snug, but not too tight skirt on and pulled the zipper up.  The
effect was exactly what she was looking for. All that remained was finding the
perfect button down shirt to go with it; and she knew exactly which one she
needed. She pushed all the hangers to one end of the closet and found a
perfectly crisp and immaculately white shirt.

“Who
could possibly turn me down now?” she asked of her reflection once she’d
buttoned the shirt up and tucked it into her skirt. She looked every bit like
an ideal graduate student…academic, smart, and serious about her studies.

Pleased
with herself, she hopped into her slightly tight, conservative two-inch black
pumps, grabbed her handbag and headed out to the apartment building’s parking
lot. Her small black Mini Cooper was parked clear across the lot, but Serena
enjoyed the few moments of brisk, cool autumn air, despite the tight squeeze of
her toes.

Her
stride restricted by the narrow skirt, she took small, dainty steps to the car,
but when she opened the car door, she paused before getting in.  How was she
going to maneuver into the low car when she had so little freedom of movement? 
Remembering pictures she’d once seen of Princess Diana when she was very little
at her grandmother’s, getting elegantly into a car, she turned her back to the
driver seat and sat down, then swiveled around to face the steering wheel.

“Here’s
to trying to be a true lady,” she said with pride as she tossed her handbag
onto the passenger seat.

Feeling
excited and anxious, she drove the familiar route to the campus.  For three
years she’d lived in this apartment.  For three years, she driven down Harbor Boulevard, turned onto the San Diego Freeway and maneuvered her car through traffic
until Jamboree Road; though when traffic was too heavy, she’d take MacArthur Boulevard instead.

Today
Jamboree Road would do. Traffic was only marginally heavy, but mostly fluid
and she arrived at the campus with more than enough time to spare. Smiling and
pleased with herself, she pulled into the parking lot only to find that it was
jam packed with cars. Though she circled and circled, every parking space was
filled.  Finally, at the far end of the lot, she spotted a woman walking to her
car.  Serena hurried to follow her, hoping the woman would vacate a space.

As
Serena pulled up beside her, the woman looked at her with a displeased
expression.

“Excuse
me,” Serena called out as she hurried to roll down her window.  “Are you leaving
the lot?  There isn’t a vacant space in the whole place.”

Pursing
her lips, the woman nodded, but seemed in no hurry to get to her car.

Serena
bit her lip and resisted the urge to beg the woman to walk a little faster. 

After
a torturous minute, the woman arrived at her car, started the engine and slowly
pulled out.  Having lost enough time, Serena pulled into the space and hurried
out of the car only to hear a slight tearing sound in the process. She gritted
her teeth. Of all the days…

She
looked down at her skirt for any sign of damage, reassured herself that
everything looked fine and walked as quickly as the narrow skirt would allow. 
With the administrators building looming in the distance, she suddenly
regretted her wardrobe choice.  An A-line skirt would have allowed easier
movement.

The
clip clop of her heels indicated she was walking fast enough, but still the
building remained discouragingly far.  Hoping no one would notice her, she
jacked up her skirt to her thighs and took long strides that quickly had her at
the door.

Her
feet ached and her back was moist with sweat, but she’d made it. Taking a quick
second to cool her brow, she gazed at her reflection in the window. Her neatly
tucked in blouse now looked like she’d slept in it and wild tendrils of hair
had escaped her meticulously pinned chignon. “Damn it,” she groaned as she
licked her fingers and tried to tame the locks back toward the chignon.

Muttering
her displeasure at the parking lot situation, she hurried to the adviser’s door
on the second floor.

She
knocked firmly on the door; too firmly, she realized.  He’ll think she was
being belligerent.

“Come
in.” His voice was at once commanding and authoritative, while having a
strangely husky and sexy undertone. It ran over her entire body like a soft and
sensual touch, making her want to stand at attention and let whoever owned that
voice to do whatever he wanted with her.

The
image of a young professor, with thick and short cropped, dark locks, piercing
grey eyes and a body built for seduction immediately came to her mind, but she
quickly shook it off as she opened the door.

However,
the stunningly attractive man behind the oversized mahogany desk did not
disappoint.  As she’d imagined, his hair was dark, almost black, but it fell to
his shoulders.  His eyes were blue, bright and intelligent, fringed with dark
lashes that heightened the intensity in his eyes, disarmingly direct and
beautiful as though he could see deep into her. His lips were naturally full
and pouty, sensual and sexy, the kind of lips you want to kiss and suck on all
day. Confident, almost arrogant, he seemed completely at home in the office
that was rich with cherry oak bookshelves and an expensive looking oriental
rug.

The
tiffany lamp on his desk offered a warm amber glow that offset his cool blue
glare, slightly angry and annoyed.

“You
must be Miss Serena Singleton.” Her name was said with an unfamiliar but sexy
accent, which again made her want him to put his hands on her, to touch
her…intimately.

“Yes,”
Serena said as she took a step toward the chair facing his desk.  He’d not yet
invited her to sit down, so she waited beside the chair. 

Her
gaze met his.  He appeared to be six or eight years older than she was; in his
late twenties or early thirties, she estimated. Impeccably dressed in a stylish
suit, silk embossed grey tie, and elegant black John Lobb loafers. Even behind
the European-cut black suit that was made of expensive material that flowed
gently down his tall lean frame, she could tell he was in top physical shape
with broad shoulders, muscular arms and a ripple, hard torso. Not at all
typical of a professor. His rock star thick lips, pressed into a tight line of
discontent, still showed their potential for being soft and sensuous. Serena’s
eyes, too embarrassed to look at him in the eye, was riveted to his lips, which
looked more and more enticing as she imagined what he could do with them
against her skin.

“Have
a seat,” he said with a curt nod to the chair.

Setting
her handbag on the floor, she sat and placed her hands primly on her lap.

“I
take it you’re looking for an adviser.” He opened the folder on his desk and
perused the documents.

“Yes.
Exactly. I’m finishing my…”

“How
are your grades?” He held a sheet of paper up to examine it.

Caught
off guard by the blunt question, she hesitated.  “Um, good.  I mean great.  My
average is…”

“And
I assume you’d like to graduate next year.”  With finality, he set the
documents back into the folder and shut it.

“Um,
yes. That’s true. I’ve been here three years and…”

“Well,”
he said as he put his hands on top of his desk and stood.  “Unfortunately
that’s all the time we have.”

“What? 
But I just got here.  We haven’t even discussed…”

“Rules
are rules.”

“What
do you mean?”

“Miss
Singleton. I don’t know how you’ve managed to get by these past years – perhaps
you’ve been lucky enough to have rather tolerant and indulgent professors – but
I do not appreciate tardiness. You were not a mere five minutes or even ten
minutes late, Miss Singleton. You, with all your high aspirations of graduating
a year early, arrived at my office a full twenty minutes late.”

“But
I arrived at the school on time. I left home early and…it’s only when I got
here that I couldn’t find parking. The student parking lot where I usually park
is never this full and I didn’t expect the administrator’s lot… I had to drive
around a dozen times before I finally spotted someone… and I’m wearing these
tight shoes and the heels… and my skirt…”

“I
have no desire to hear your excuses, Miss Singleton, though you appear to have
many. What I do have, however, is another student who is about to knock on that
door… any moment now.”

“No.”
Horrified, she stood up to look straight at him. “I need you. I have to have an
advisor, or else I’ll…”

“You
should have thought of that earlier, Miss Singleton.”

“You
can’t shoot me down because I underestimated how cramped your little parking
lot would be.”

“Insults
will get you nowhere, Miss Singleton.”

“Please.”
With tears in her eyes, she reached down for her handbag, set it on the chair and
pulled out a tissue.  “I have to have an advisor.  Please Professor, um. Shoot,
I know your name, but I can’t even think, you got me so flustered…” She knocked
over her bag, spilling the content onto the floor.

“I’m
sorry…I…” she bent down to pick up some of her content…a hairbrush, a pack of
chewing gum, a pen, and… She gulped. A pack of edible underwear still in its
packaging.

Serena
turned a bright red as she realized what that was doing in her bag. It must
have been in the nice designer handbag she borrowed from her best friend Laura,
for this meeting. Laura was pretty adventurous and proud to let everyone know
about it. Hopefully this professor didn’t see it.