Page 78 of Puppy on a Leash

Ipinched the bridge of my nose. Today was going to be a long day.

“Tony.” The panel’s moderator moved toward me, one hand in the air as greeting. “Ready to start?”

Mercedes was a woman in her sixties I’d been in panels with before. She wasn’t the worst to share a room with, but her age showed from time to time, either when it came to technology or the fact that the current political landscape couldn’t be simplified to a monolithic definition of left versus right. Still, shewas ten times better than the panelists who had no shame in associating with far-right parties and ideologies.

“Mercedes. As ready as I can be.” Sometimes these conferences felt like a stifling networking retreat instead of an actual conference, but I still smiled and kissed both her cheeks once she was close enough. “I didn’t know you were in attendance.”

I didn’t like sudden changes in the lineup.

I kept that part to myself, but Mercedes and I met up in at least three conferences per year. She was bound to know things about me by now.

“I wasn’t.” She rolled her eyes, her grey-haired bob bouncing against her shoulders as she moved. “The plan was to send one of the PhD students, but such is life.”

From her tone, it was obvious that there was more to it, and that PhD student was nowhere near her good graces. I didn’t prod.

I was used to the small talk at these places, and I could tolerate it most of the time, but I had a sudden itch now to double check there hadn’t been any more changes. If the university organizing this hadn’t sent an email to let me know about the new moderator, I didn’t trust there wouldn’t be more they hadn’t sent an update on.

My role on the panel would be the same, but being prepared was the name of the game. Simply put, some professors were a pain in the ass. I’d rather know beforehand if someone was going to go for my throat the second I stepped on stage. Being the youngest tenured professor in the country? It meant lots of the older carcasses rejected me on sight. Back when I started, I’d thought it would get better once I looked older or my voice deepened more.

It hadn’t. I was the young guy who only had his position because of a beautiful combination of my family name and thegovernmental interests. Apparently, these people with doctorate degrees couldn’t stop for two seconds to realize that I hadn’t once said a word in favor of the government.

In fact, the reason why I was invited to talk at the European Parliament but not the Congress?

Every student who had attended one of my classes knew I made a living criticizing whichever party was in power. That included the party in power when I got tenured, and the party currently there.

“Well, it’s good to see you regardless,” I forced myself to say.

My last name meant manners were ingrained, but it didn’t mean I loved putting them to use. I wasn’t opposed to them. I enforced them while I was at the club or with a sub I had negotiated a dynamic with. In that context, they were freeing. Outside of it, they were mingled with too many flashbacks, too many restrictions within walls meant to provide safety. Manners equated false pretenses, manipulation. Outside of a controlled environment like the one kink provided, they didn’t equate respect, goodwill, or any of the positives that should be associated with them.

We exchanged a few more pleasantries before I could use my phone buzzing as an excuse to step away.

I frowned when I saw it was Jaime. I knew for a fact that he had class, and he knew I was about to start a panel.

“This better be important, Jaime.”

I’d moved away, but I was still surrounded by too many people to comfortably call them pup without raising any questions. Having people talk because I hooked up with men had been bad enough. If we added kink to those talks?

I shuddered.

“Um. Yeah, it is.” I heard them scoff as they walked past wherever they were. There were lots of voices in the background,so I was guessing college. “I faked an emergency call to get out of class.”

I frowned. Everyone milling around made it hard to focus. “Are you asking for something here?”

If Jaime thought they could rile me up before a panel for the fun of it, they had another think coming. It wasn’t going to work, but it was going to piss me off. Maybe I should really test that pain tolerance of them next time I saw them.

“No.” Jaime groaned. “Um, the professor you won’t let me email back? I had a class with him, but a TA swooped in. He’s on your panel.”

What the?—

I clenched my fist. This was why I’d wanted to get away from Mercedes and all the people who wanted to catch up as if we were old friends.

“Okay.”

Truth was, I didn’t know much about Dr. Gerlach. I’d read up on him a bit more since I’d tasked Jaime with the homework of writing an email in response that followed some kind of guideline and would hold up against a committee if it came to it. That was it. Up until last year, Gerlach had been at the University of Granada. It was a good university but not one I crossed paths with often. If we’d attended conferences together in the past, I’d done a good job of avoiding him before he could corner me. It either meant he had no interest in kissing ass, which I respected, or I’d been lucky for once.

It happened from time to time.

Men—and women, but mostly men—would corner me and kiss my ass for what felt like hours. They’d recite all the conferences we’d attended together and all the articles of mine they’d read as if that was going to get them a cookie.

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