Chapter 268: Chapter 278: Mortimer Quincy, the Beast in Fine Clothes

The girl couldn’t help but let out an envious "Wow." She had a very pure and lovely smile.

Holly Winslow felt a little embarrassed by her stare. Gabe Chaucer noticed and, smiling, told the student to leave. "Go on back to your classroom. Your Senior Winslow is getting shy. Otherwise, your Senior Quincy will come looking for you."

The girl smiled and nodded, her eyes curving into crescents. "Goodbye, Teacher Chaucer, Senior Winslow." With that, she left the office.

Gossip travels fastest during the school years. Before long, a crowd of students had gathered at the office door. They kept peeking in, pretending to casually glance at the "rare animal"—Holly Winslow.

Noticing the students, Gabe Chaucer stood up and walked to the door. Before he could even speak, the students scattered like frightened birds and vanished.

Holly Winslow faintly heard a student shout, "Run! Teacher Chaucer’s coming out!"

She couldn’t help but chuckle.

Then, Gabe Chaucer stood at the office doorway and called out to the left, "Hurry up and get to lunch! Finish eating and get back here to do your practice problems. If any of you do poorly on the pop quiz, I’ll be calling your parents."

A dozen or so seconds later, Gabe Chaucer came back inside, his stern expression replaced by one of resignation. He smiled and shook his head at Holly Winslow. "If only these students were as well-behaved as you two were."

He added silently, ’Except for the puppy love.’

Teachers always have this feeling that each new class is worse than the last. Otherwise, they wouldn’t so often say, "Of all the classes I’ve taught over the years, yours is the worst."

Holly Winslow didn’t know what he had added in his head. "Teacher Chaucer, are you teaching a senior class this year?"

The class Gabe Chaucer had been teaching just finished their college entrance exams this year. Eleven students had scored high enough for top-tier universities. Although it was a bit worse than Mortimer Quincy’s year, it was still an excellent result.

Gabe Chaucer shook his head, taking a few red-wrapped candies from a drawer and offering them to her. "No, I’m subbing for Ms. Webb’s class for two months. She just had a baby."

"For good luck."

When Holly Winslow heard "good luck," her mind inexplicably went somewhere else.

’Should I get pregnant too?’

*Cough, cough.*

’That rascal Mortimer Quincy has been a bad influence on me.’

"Thank you, Teacher Chaucer."

Gabe Chaucer remembered something and added, "Your Ms. Webb wants to invite you to her baby’s one-month celebration. She wants the baby to be blessed with some of your good fortune."

Ms. Webb was their English teacher, Eileen Webb.

Holly Winslow nodded. After asking for the date, she said, "Mortimer Quincy and I will go."

After chatting for another ten minutes or so, Holly Winslow decided not to disturb Gabe Chaucer any longer. She got up and left the office. Out on the balcony, students were sizing her up one by one with curious eyes.

They were sizing up the legendary Senior Winslow.

For the past three years, Mortimer Quincy and Holly Winslow had been legends at Jarton High.

The legend of the top students in a puppy-love romance.

A saying was popular around the school: "Puppy love? Who gave you the courage for that?"

The girls looked for a partner who met Mortimer Quincy’s standards, while the boys looked for a girlfriend who met Holly Winslow’s.

You could say it actually reduced the school’s rate of puppy love.

If she hadn’t been a homeroom teacher for a few years herself, Holly Winslow really wouldn’t have been able to handle being stared at like this by students.

A mischievous boy shouted, "Senior Winslow, you’re so pretty!"

Holly Winslow stopped, looked at him, and smiled. "Study hard. There are plenty of girls at Branton University who are prettier than Senior Winslow."

The boy who spoke was one of the top students, ranked in the top ten of his year.

Because of what Holly Winslow said, he set his sights on getting into Branton University.

Later, when his college entrance exam scores came out, he was just two points shy of the cutoff for Branton University. He resolutely decided to repeat the year and successfully got into Branton University.

The campus full of "Senior Winslows" he had dreamed of turned out to be full of ordinary people, and the good-looking ones among them were already taken.

One can only imagine how crushed he was.

After going downstairs, Holly Winslow made a special trip to look at the display board. Scholar Quincy’s handsome ID photo was still on it, with several lines of introduction below, labeling him "The Most Handsome Senior, Mortimer Quincy."

She couldn’t help but smile. Mortimer Quincy’s looks really were a living advertisement for Jarton High’s admissions.

She glanced at it a few times and was about to leave when she suddenly noticed something: a few rows of small, crooked characters just below the display board.

They were so small you couldn’t tell what they said without leaning in close.

Holly Winslow bent down to get a closer look. It said: Mortimer Quincy likes Holly Winslow, and Holly Winslow likes Mortimer Quincy.

Below that was an English translation: Mortimer Quincy loves Holly Winslow, and Holly Winslow loves Mortimer Quincy

"..."

’These days, people will even write love letters for you.’

She gave an objective nod. ’It’s much better than Scholar Quincy’s academic-analysis-style love letter.’

She took out her phone, snapped a quick picture, and sent it to Mortimer Quincy. Before she could even type a message, he replied: "Saves us on advertising fees."

Holly Winslow: "..."

She couldn’t help but laugh, texting back as she walked: "In that case, if I’m the star, shouldn’t Boss Quincy be paying me? Given my status, five hundred or a thousand isn’t too much to ask, right?"

Boss Quincy replied a minute or two later: "The money is with my wife. I can only offer my strong body."

Holly Winslow: "..."

She thought for a moment and replied: "I’m very picky. For example, a mole on the neck, eight-pack abs, long legs... I don’t want anyone who meets these criteria."

The conditions were obvious. She didn’t want him.

Mortimer Quincy, waiting for his flight at the airport, suddenly burst out laughing. After setting aside these criteria, the only one that remained was to agree with his wife. He raised an eyebrow.

His colleague sitting next to him glanced over a few times. A male colleague finally asked, "Mortimer, chatting with your wife? You look so happy."

Usually, a man who’s been married for a few years might hesitate a little when asked such a question in public. Mortimer Quincy didn’t hesitate at all, letting out a simple "Mm-hm." "My wife."

Hearing those two words, two female colleagues looked over, their expressions tinged with disappointment.

The male colleague clucked his tongue. "Tsk, tsk. Must be nice to have someone thinking of you. When will I ever find someone?"

He looked toward the two female colleagues and said, half-jokingly, "May, how about we get together?"

Mabel Chaucer shook her head in mock disgust. "I’d rather get together with Ms. Hollis."

Mortimer Quincy wasn’t listening to their conversation, focused on replying to his wife’s message: "Does my wife mean she only wants her ’little husband’?"

’This request is a bit of a stretch, but it’s totally doable.’

’When I get home, I’ll "give" my ’little husband’ to you.’

It was hard to imagine a well-dressed man sending such inappropriate messages from an airport.

A beast in fine clothing.

Holly Winslow was so stunned by the text message that her foot suddenly twisted. She’d sprained her ankle.

She was wearing heeled sandals today. A sharp pain shot through her ankle, and she hissed, squatting down to recover for a moment.

After a minute or two passed without a reply, that rascal Mortimer Quincy called her. "Honey?"

"What’s wrong?" Holly Winslow’s voice was feigning normalcy.

"Nothing, I’m at the airport now. I’ll land over there at three in the afternoon. I’ll call you when I arrive."

"Okay."

But Mortimer Quincy could still tell something was off with her voice. "What is it? Did you fall?"

"I’m not a child." Holly Winslow huffed, then added, "I’m about to cross the street. Let’s talk when I get home."

After hanging up, she hissed again and rubbed her ankle. It was already red and swollen; she had probably sprained it.

That damn Mortimer Quincy.

That damn Mortimer Quincy.

That damn Mortimer Quincy.

Cursing him three times made her feel much better.

For a walk that would have taken ten-odd minutes, she extravagantly hailed a taxi home. It cost five yuan, which she promptly mentally charged to Mortimer Quincy’s allowance.

There was a clinic in her residential complex. She went to have her foot checked. The doctor examined her ankle and said it was nothing serious, just to ice it for half an hour to reduce the swelling.

A few dozen yuan, gone just like that.

She mentally charged it to Mortimer Quincy’s allowance again.

Hmph.

’I’ll order a milk tea, too, and take it out of Mortimer Quincy’s allowance.’