Bums on Seats Read Online Free PDF Page B

the cafeteria, plonking their work on his table.
    â€œThanks for your thoughtful contribution, Sonia.”
    â€œI’ve had an ear bashing on that sort of stuff for years at home. My dad says that we Jews have been persecuted for two millennia; he wouldn’t dream of employing an outsider in his business, though. People!” She was small and dark with bright eyes behind large spectacles; not particularly attractive but intense. He supposed it was her mind that turned him on. He’d have to control his body language.
    For her part, she’d practised a similar restraint since attending her first lecture on his course. He was nice, clever, personable and probably a bit weak about women. She suppressed an excited shudder and wondered what her dad would have thought of his baby’s mucky mind.
    â€œMust go now, Sonia. I’m doing some work for publication.” He looked at her intently, adding, “Let’s talk some more when the pressure’s off a bit.”
    â€œI’m sure I’d enjoy that, Simon.” She laid a brief hand on his arm, before walking through the doorway.
    He left the lecture theatre en route for the Staff Common Room. He’d overslept, missed breakfast, was starving, pissed off and knackered, and now had another 12 assignments to assess within two weeks.
    â€œHi Simon,” greeted Josie, the young waitress smiled behind the food counter, “haven’t seen you for ages. What you been up to?”
    â€œI’ve been busy preparing for the research assessment exercise. And I’ve had trouble convincing a publisher my research is worth going into his journal. We’ve also had so many meetings we don’t have a minute to breathe. This place would be OK if there were no students!”
    â€œWhat can I do for you then?” she leered.
    â€œTwo bacon baps and a large coffee would be nice for now. Thanks.”
    Attacking a bap as he walked, Simon spotted Mick Palmer sitting alone. Mick was the union rep and always had news about university developments. He was also a useful bloke to know when there was trouble about. He collapsed into the next armchair.
    â€œHello Simon, heard about Harry Ainsley?”
    â€œNo, has he died, ram-raided a post office, or shacked up with an Anglican bishop?”
    â€œNext best thing, mate. He’s won £3m on the lottery, resigned and is going to live in the Bahamas, lucky bugger. He said he’d get away one day and the bloody lottery has done it.”
    â€œWell, I’m thinking of trying a money-spinner myself. Nothing to do with the lottery. I’m designing a computer program to help small investors pick shares for a quick return. The Internet’s going to be the next big financial thing, you know. I can imagine huge sales. I’ll keep you posted,” Simon added.
    Ainsley had heard it all before. “Yeah, you do that. I’m off to do a session on Critical Path Analysis. Cheers.”
    Simon started to read an article in the Guardian. A large black man lowered himself into the chair recently vacated. It was Luke Nweewe. “I was hoping to see you, my friend.”
    â€œHello Luke, thought you were out of the country.”
    â€œCame back yesterday. Straight out of summer into autumn. It’s twenty degrees colder here. Had to dig out my thermals. Don’t tell any of our female colleagues, it would finish my street cred,” he flashed a big smile. Luke was a postgraduate student reading for a Master of Philosophy degree. Later he would attend an American university and read for a Doctorate. He always seemed well fixed for cash, but wasn’t showy with it. Simon liked him. They’d shared several nights on the town.
    â€œI couldn’t help overhearing just now. Are you seriously interested in making some real money? If so, you could well be the one to help my country overcome a difficult developmental problem.”
    â€œLuke, I’ve a nice