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“The History Department has a decreasing enrollment, whereas we have a steadily increasing enrollment,” Natasha said. “C’mon Nick. We haven’t had a new professor in two years.”
Of course she was using her personal connection with Dean Fury, Clint thought.
“It’s pretty easy to have an increasing enrollment when your initial enrollment is so small,” he pointed out.
Dean Fury didn’t seem convinced, and Natasha turned her famous glare, one that had been known to make undergrads cry, towards Clint.
“As the United States becomes more open to the world, we desperately need more undergraduate students studying languages. And they’re employable. Two of my Russian majors got placements in the State Department last year,” she said. “Most of the History graduates turned out to be teachers. Or unemployed.”
“One of my former students won a McArthur Fellowship!” Clint protested.
Clint pushed down his irritation. Natasha knew how much he hated the ‘History is a useless major’ argument, and was trying to distract him with it. He wouldn’t let her.
“Shut up.” Fury said. “You are two of the most respected professors at this university. Act like it.”
Natasha opened her mouth to say something else, but Fury put his hand up before she could speak.
“Have either of you looked at my schedule today? No?” he asked, voice deceptively calm. “You’re not the only ones dealing with budget cuts. I don’t have time for this. Figure out who is getting the professor between the two of you within the next twenty-four hours, or I’m giving the funding to the Economics Department.”
The Economics Department had the largest enrollment and the most money at the university. One of the few things the faculty for the History and Language Departments could agree on was their dislike for the Economics faculty.
Clint sighed. “Want to take this to my office, Natasha?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said.
She pursed her lips as she began to strategize. He was in so much trouble.
***
Clint’s office could have been mistaken for a windowless cell, if it weren’t for the books stacked in every corner. There was barely enough room for two chairs and a desk.
Natasha took one of the chairs, and thought carefully about how she was going to convince Clint to give her the funding. Her department really did need it more than his.
He put his feet on the desk and leaned back into his chair. It was only eleven in the morning and he had already managed to spill something on his shirt. As soon as he received tenure he had stopped bothering with a tie and blazer. On him, the sloppy professor look was dangerously attractive. She wished she could say the same for all of their colleagues.
“How do you want to settle this? Arm-wrestle?” he offered with a smirk.
“We should be logical about this. You’re going to have a couple of tough years, yes, but your department is shrinking. A professor is a long-term investment,” she said.
“A couple of tough years?” he repeated disbelievingly. “Rogers is teaching American History alone. And that man has more health problems than all of his students combined.”
“All of our 200-level classes were over enrolled last semester,” she shot back. “You know how important personal instruction is for language learning.”
“Look, we can both agree we don’t want Economics getting our money. Let’s just flip a coin,” he said.
He started flipping a coin through the air. He was so easily frustrated with the administrative side of being a professor, Natasha thought fondly.
Natasha snatched the coin from the air, forcing him to look at her.
“No. Let’s make a deal.”
Clint groaned. “That’s not fair, making me negotiate with you.”
“Your colleagues should have thought of that before they put you on the search committee,” she answered primly.
“Okay, if we give you a professor, what will you give us in return?” He regarded her warily.
“Half a professor. We’re each starting off negotiations with half a professor,” she replied, and gave him back the coin.
“Fine. Half a professor.”
Natasha moved from her chair, pushed Clint’s feet from his desk and sat in their place, her pencil skirt pulling up to reveal more skin than she would usually show in a professional meeting.
“We have an excellent endowment for travel and research,” she pointed out. “We can divert any funds leftover to your department.”
Clint began running his hand up her thigh, eyes locking with hers, amused. Two can play this game.
“You’re joking. Throwing a few pennies at me isn’t going to make me give up a professor.”
“Half a professor,” she said, idly fixing the collar of his shirt.
He looked unconvinced, so she played her trump card.
“A few pennies. And we’ll switch this suite of offices with ours in the Lee Building.”
The Lee Building was less central than the History Department’s current set up, but the offices were twice as big and it overlooked the lake.
Clint’s mouth opened in shock, but before he could respond, there was a knock on the door.
“Professor Barton?” a student asked, pushing the door open.
She looked about seventeen, and her eyes widened as she saw Natasha on the desk. Red stained her cheeks as she withdrew, closing the door.
Hurried footsteps indicated the student was fleeing as fast as she could.
Natasha bit her lip to keep from laughing.
“At least next time she won’t open a professor’s door without a response,” Clint said.
“They do say college is a learning process,” Natasha replied, still fighting down laughter.
Clint shared her amusement with a grin, before turning professional and removing his hand from her leg. She resisted the urge to grab the hand and put it back.
“You should probably get off the desk. I don’t want to be cited for inappropriate workplace behavior,” he told her.
“Do you accept my offer?” Natasha demanded, staying where she was.
“What will I tell the guys when they ask me what happened?”
Natasha shrugged, unconcerned. “If Rogers gives you too much grief, tell him we can cross-list some classes.”
“Fine. Deal. But only because you really need it,” he answered.
She lent forward to give him a brief kiss on the lips.
“Thank you, Clint,” she said, moving off the desk. “What time are you coming home tonight?”
“Eight. I’m trying to catch up on my grading. Want me to pick up something on the way back?” he asked.
“Yes. Not pizza,” she told him.
“I just gave you a professor!” he protested.
“Half a professor,” she reminded him.
Natasha walked towards the door, a sway in her step.
“You’re evil,” he called after her.
“You knew that when you married me,” she replied. “See you tonight.”