Page 84 of Disgrace

“Hmm, thank you Miss Thorne but let me be more specific. Why areyouhere? I have your biography and I am asking why are you here…specifically?” He holds my biography in his hand like it’s contagious, and the distain on his face has made my brief but righteous indignation vanish. I hate him so much right now, but I can’t find any words to answer his question, let alone tell him he is currently starring in my recurring school days’ nightmare. I might as well be naked, too, just to complete my torture. “Allow me… Does this look like a reality show? Are there hidden cameras? No? Do you think a background story will endear you to me? Do you think writing a wish list is appropriate? Do I look like Santa?” He steps down from the stage and has started to walk up the aisle toward me. I hold my knees to stop them trembling, and my knuckles are white from the effort.

“No,” I manage to speak. It’s not loud, but it is audible, because the room is silent.

“No?” He repeats, but doesn’t stop his ascension.

“I didn’t realize it was supposed to be a referenced journal. It’s just a biography.” I tip my chin and hold his gaze. He has reached the end of my row and my heart is thumping so hard, I’m sure the whole room can feel it.

“It wasn’t, but I expected more…Where’s your drive, Miss Thorne? Your fire? Your passion?” He thumps his fist on the flimsy bench and makes the whole row of students jump from their seats. “Success in business isn’t about wishing and hoping, it’s aboutdoing…until your fingers bleed, living and breathing every minute of every day, because if you don’t, someone else will. It’s not enough, this”—he waves my solitary sheet high for emphasis— “is not enough. To succeed, what you have here… is not enough. So don’t waste my time, Miss Thorne, with prose that is better suited to a Liberal Arts degree.” He holds my paper and tears the sheet in two, then four, and continues until the sheet falls to the floor in a sprinkle of tiny white flakes. His dark eyes seem to hold for endless seconds, waiting for my response. Fine, I can respond.

“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. Inevermiss 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 holdsmyphone 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.

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