Reborn with My Genius Husband

Chapter 311 - 321: A Pinch Won’t Do, a Kiss at Least

Hearing the word "man," Holly was speechless. "..."

’That damn Mortimer Quincy,’ she thought. ’Where would I find a man at this time of night?’

She glanced at the Dean of Students out of the corner of her eye and almost burst out laughing.

Then, she lowered her voice and explained, "It’s the Dean of Students."

Mortimer didn’t hear clearly. "Dean of what?" he asked faintly.

Holly: "..."

’Dean of my ass,’ she thought.

Seeing Quincy the Puppy on the screen, looking like he was about to catch a cheater, she glanced at the Dean of Students. A few seconds later, she handed the phone to her. "Dean, Mortimer wants to say hello."

Coming face-to-face with Mortimer on the screen, the dean was taken aback for a moment before nodding. Holly blinked. "Mortimer, this is the Dean of Students."

Mortimer: "..."

He said politely, "Dean."

"Mm, how have you been lately?" the dean asked, initiating a conversation about his current situation.

Mortimer replied, "I’m doing okay. Dean, Holly is rarely out on her own. I’ll have to trouble you to keep an eye on her."

The Dean of Students: "Of course."

The two exchanged a few more words before the phone was handed back to Holly. With a smug grin she couldn’t hide, she typed out a message: How about that "man"?

Mortimer: Your man is perfect.

Perfect in every way.

Holly: "..."

His shameless self-praise... She sent him a "disgusted" emoji. Goodbye, I need to get back to studying.

Mortimer probably had something to do as well, so he let her hang up.

Just as people are divided by wealth, schools are divided by status. The school Holly was visiting for her training was the city’s top magnet high school, the kind that was difficult to get into even with money.

A teacher like Holly, who came from a small-town county school, was clearly not given much importance. The school’s leadership didn’t even bother to greet them.

Reality. It was brutally real.

So real that Holly found it all too familiar.

’What a dog-eat-dog world.’

The Dean of Students was clearly used to it, showing no emotional reaction at all.

There were over thirty teachers attending the training program. The majority were from famous schools, with only two, including Holly, from a small county.

She was deeply curious as to how Jarton High had managed to get them in.

The dean beside her must have noticed her confusion. She explained in a low voice, "Your family donated a building to this school, which is why we were invited."

’So that’s how it is.’ No wonder a new teacher like her was able to attend. Her father-in-law had donated an entire building. Holly was dumbfounded by the sheer extravagance. "..."

To be honest, she really had no idea how rich the Quincy Family was. She only knew they weren’t short on houses.

In her past life, the family had been watching TV together when an ad for a river-view property came on. She had casually remarked, "That place looks nice."

Her father-in-law then gave her the plot of land, which terrified her. But Mortimer had said, "What are you panicking for? That’s just a drop in the bucket."

The thirty-odd teachers gathered in the school’s conference room for a meeting. The host school’s dean of students stood at the podium and said, "We welcome all of you visiting teachers..."

After a long string of pleasantries, he added, "In one month, the school will conduct an assessment of your training. We hope all of you will turn in a satisfactory evaluation."

All the teachers were used to this, as was Holly. Being a teacher meant you still had to take tests; schools would periodically assess their teachers’ progress.

In any case, it was no less demanding than being a student.

Holly and her dean were assigned to observe Class 13. Just from the number, they knew it was a regular-track class. It was a clear sign of how pragmatic this school was.

The morning was for familiarizing themselves with the school; the class observations began in the afternoon.

When classes broke for lunch, Brooke Jarvis gave her a call, asking if she was adjusting well to being away.

Holly said she was doing fine, and after a bit more small talk, they hung up.

The group of teachers ate lunch together, their chatter filling the air. The conversation consisted mostly of proud-sounding questions like, "Which school are you from?" and "How many years have you been teaching?"

These were all veteran teachers with over ten years of experience, graduates from top universities.

As the youngest teacher there, Holly drew a lot of curiosity. A woman in a white blouse asked, "You there, young teacher, what school are you from?"

Holly swallowed her food before answering, "Jarton High."

"Oh, never heard of it."

The teacher thought for a moment. She’d never heard of a magnet high school called Jarton High.

The dean, afraid Holly would be embarrassed, chimed in, "We’re from a small county town."

The teacher let out a somewhat surprised "Oh," then turned back to Holly. "Which university did you graduate from?"

Holly smiled faintly. "B University."

B University shut them up.

You had to admit, the name "B University" still carried a lot of weight.

That night, she told Mortimer about it and couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

Mortimer: Discriminating against my wife is discriminating against me. Honey, drop your husband’s name and put her in her place.

Holly: Hubby, your skin has gotten thicker while I’m away. Let me pinch it when I get home.

Mortimer: A pinch isn’t enough. At least give me a kiss.

Before Holly could reply, he sent another message: Honey, I want to make love.

Holly: Do it with the air.

Experience what it’s like to fly.

Mortimer was left speechless: ...

...

Observing classes was even more exhausting than teaching them. Mainly because there were no desks at the back of the room, so she had to bend over to take notes all day. After a week, Holly felt like she could barely straighten her back.

She posted a heartfelt status update: My back is about to break.

Unexpectedly, Pantheon and the others immediately took it the wrong way. They all tagged Mortimer, telling him to show some restraint at night and that this wasn’t how you make a baby.

Her: "..."

She immediately deleted the post.

She rephrased it and posted again: After sitting through a week of class observations, my back is giving out.

Pantheon and his friends were still making dirty jokes in the comments. Seeing that Mortimer hadn’t shown up, they kept tagging him relentlessly.

A few minutes later, Mortimer appeared: Honey, I’ll give you a back rub.

Pantheon: ...

Zeke Zane: ...

Chase Hawkins: ...

Boris Owens: ...

Chase Hawkins: Mortimer, you have the audacity to offer a "back rub"?

Holly: ...

Mortimer replied to Holly: Honey, they’re sick in the head. Delete them.

Pantheon and the others: "..."

’He’s the one who’s sick!!’

’Sick with the I’ll-die-if-I-don’t-show-off-my-relationship disease.’

...

At nine o’clock that night, Holly was returning from the library when she saw a young man in a casual tracksuit standing in front of her door.

She froze for a second, then jogged over to him. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to rub your back." Mortimer’s eyes scanned her up and down. Noticing she’d gotten a bit thinner, he added, "You need to be fattened up."

Holly huffed at him, then pointed to her own back and whined coquettishly, "Hubby, it’s really so sore."

"My poor wife, you’ve worked so hard. I’ll rub it for you in a bit." Mortimer comfortingly patted her head.

Holly went into the room to tell the Dean of Students she would be staying out for the night. The dean just grunted in acknowledgment. "Don’t be late for class tomorrow."

Mortimer led her out of the guesthouse. First, he took her for a good meal, and then he brought her to a hotel very close to the school.

The king-sized bed was incredibly soft.

After sleeping on a hard bed for a week, Holly couldn’t bring herself to say anything about saving money. She sprawled out on the bed like a starfish and shamelessly ordered her "laborer" around. "Hubby, hurry and give me a back rub! My back’s about to be destroyed by all this knowledge."

Mortimer glanced at his completely defenseless wife. He sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on her lower back.

Soon, Holly whipped her head around, her eyes wide. "Quincy the Puppy, what are you doing? Your hand is under my shirt!"