My Milf Conqueror System novel Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Colliding worlds

Thursday afternoon rolled around, bringing with it a gray, drizzly sky that matched the mood in the library.

I sat at a corner table on the third floor, my notes spread out. I wasn’t nervous. A week ago, the idea of sitting alone with Claire Montgomery would have made me sweat through my shirt. Now, I was just checking my watch, hoping she wouldn’t be late so I could get to the gym before it got crowded.

At 3:05 PM, she hurried in. She looked frazzled—hair slightly damp from the rain, clutching a coffee cup like a lifeline.

"I am so sorry," she breathed, dropping her bag onto the chair opposite me. "The line at the café was insane, and then I couldn’t find my ID, and—"

"It’s fine," I said, cutting off the spiral. "Sit down, and catch your breath first."

She sank into the chair, exhaling a long breath. She looked at me, really looked at me, and her shoulders dropped an inch.

"You’re really calm about this," she said. "Most guys... they get weird when I’m late. Or they try to buy me coffee."

"I’m not most guys," I said simply. "And I already have coffee." I tapped my thermos. "Let’s see the damage. Where did Aris lose you?"

She pulled out her midterm. It was a bloodbath of red ink.

"Everywhere," she admitted, sliding it across the table. "Supply and demand curves make sense. But once he starts talking about elasticity and marginal utility... my brain just shuts off."

I looked over the paper. It wasn’t that she wasn’t smart; she was just overthinking the concepts.

"Okay," I said, grabbing a blank sheet of paper. "Forget the textbook definitions. Think about it like... concert tickets."

"Concert tickets?"

"Yeah. If Taylor Swift comes to town, how much are you willing to pay?"

"Whatever it takes," she said instantly.

"Exactly. Perfectly inelastic demand. But if it’s a local band you kind of like, and the tickets are fifty bucks?"

"I’d probably pass."

"Elastic demand. Price goes up, you bail." I started drawing the curves. "Aris makes it sound like math, but it’s just human behavior. It’s about what people want and how badly they want it."

Claire watched me draw, her brow furrowed in concentration. Then, slowly, it cleared.

"Wait," she said, pointing at the graph. "So the steeper the line..."

"...the more desperate the buyer," I finished.

She looked up at me, a genuine smile breaking across her face. "Oh my god. That actually makes sense."

"See? You’re not bad at this, you just needed to view it from a different perspective."

We worked for another forty minutes. It was... normal. Pleasant, even. The pedestal I had put her on for years crumbled completely. She wasn’t a goddess. She was just a girl who chewed on her pen when she was thinking and worried about her GPA.

[Social Connection Deepened]

[Claire’s Respect: +15]

[Status: Ally]

"You’re really good at this," she said, closing her notebook. "You should be a TA."

"I don’t have the patience for grading," I said, packing up my things.

"Well, you had patience for me." She hesitated, biting her lip. "Hey, a bunch of us are going to grab pizza later. To celebrate surviving the week. You should come."

The invitation hung in the air. It was casual, friendly. The kind of thing I used to dream about.

But then my phone buzzed on the table.

Sofia: Vanguard settled. We got the IP rights. Champagne at my place. 8 PM.

I looked at the text, then back at Claire.

"I can’t," I said. "I have plans."

Claire’s smile faltered, just for a second. "Oh. With... the girl from the other day?"

I hadn’t told her about Sofia. I hadn’t told anyone. But people talked.

"Yeah," I said. "Something like that."

"She must be special," Claire said, trying to keep her tone light. "You never used to be this... busy."

"I didn’t think you noticed," I said, standing up. "Study those curves, Claire. You’ll ace the final."

"Thanks, Jake. Really."

I walked away, leaving her at the table. I didn’t feel a pang of regret. I felt relief.

...

The transition from the library to Sofia’s penthouse was jarring, as always.

One minute I was explaining supply and demand to a sorority girl; the next, I was stepping out of an elevator into a room that smelled of expensive candles and victory.

Sofia was waiting for me. She was wearing a black dress that looked simple but probably cost more than my car. She held two flutes of champagne.

"To the Singapore deal," she said, handing me a glass.

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