Текст книги "Misconduct"

Автор книги: Penelope Douglas

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“Now, I’m a busy man,” he continued, sounding condescending, “and I don’t have time for silly young women who don’t know their place.”

My skin stung from where my fingernail dug in. His son didn’t have problems with me. Perhaps I graded harder than other teachers, and I might have had unorthodox methods, but most of the students enjoyed my class, including Christian. When he participated. If he ever challenged me, it was because his father wouldn’t allow him the freedom to have the tools to participate like all the other students.

“Now, can I get on with my day and consider this issue settled?” he sniped.

Heat spread over my skin, and I bared my teeth. “You can go to hell,” I shot back, raging. “No wonder he can’t stand you.”

“Easton!” Jack burst out next to me.

But it was too late.

My eyes widened, and my hand tingled, nearly losing my grip on the phone.

What the hell did I just say?

I opened my mouth, unsure of what to say. I didn’t just say that to a parent.

I did not say that to a parent.

There was only silence on the other end of the line, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to find the words.

“Mr. Marek,” I inched out in a softer voice. “I’m sorry. I —”

But then I heard a click, and the line went dead.

“Shit!” I cried, bringing the phone away from my ear and seeing CALL ENDED on the screen.

“He hung up.” I looked at my brother. “I’m screwed.”

Jack shook his head at me, his lips tight, clearly furious with me. He swerved to the left and downshifted, taking a sharp turn onto Poydras.

“Where are you going?” I asked, thoughts of Marek calling Shaw right now running through my head.

Insulting a parent wasn’t good.

“To his office,” he answered, his tone unusually defiant. “You’re going to go apologize before he has a chance to file a complaint.”

To his office?

“I… I,” I stammered. “No!” I yelled. “No. Absolutely not! I can’t talk to him right now.”

But my brother didn’t say anything. He just kept driving.

I put my hand to my forehead, panicking. “I can’t believe I just said that. What was I thinking?”

“You weren’t thinking,” he retorted. “And you’re going to go beg for forgiveness.”

I shook my head. “Jack, it’s completely inappropriate,” I pleaded with him. “Please. I’m not dressed right.”

But he ignored me again, speeding into the Central Business District and closer to Marek’s office.

I looked down at my navy blue and white pin-striped tennis skirt with pleated ruffles on the back. It barely hit halfway down my thighs.

My peach-colored shirt was long-sleeved, but it was skintight, serving the purpose of absorbing my sweat but definitely not my humiliation.

I closed my eyes, groaning. I couldn’t be less armed for a meeting with him.

Jack dropped me off in front of the building while he went to park in a garage. I stood out on the front sidewalk and tipped my head all the way back, scowling up at his building.

Big silver letters were posted on the front, spelling MAREK, the candy-apple-red glow behind the name reminding me of the dress I was wearing when I’d first met him.

The whole building was his?

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, forcing the muscles in my face to relax.

Heading inside, I approached one of the check-in stations. I peered to the right and saw security running people through metal detectors.

Placing my palms down on the cool black granite counter, I forced a small smile. “Hello, I…” I hesitated, my nerves firing. “I needed to speak with Tyler Marek. If he’s in,” I added.

“What’s your name, miss?” the young man asked, picking up his phone.

“Easton,” I breathed out, willing my heart to slow down. “Easton Bradbury.”

He waited, then finally spoke into the phone. “Hello. I have Easton Bradbury to see Mr. Marek.”

“I don’t have an appointment,” I pointed out, whispering to him.

He offered a placating smile and waited for what the other person had to say.

He nodded. “Thank you,” he told them.

Hanging up the phone, he typed something into the computer quickly, and before I knew it, he handed me a badge with a bar code and pointed me toward the elevators.

“He’ll see you,” he said, nodding. “It’s the sixtieth floor.”

“Which office?” I asked.

But he just laughed and continued to shuffle papers without looking at me.

I let out a sigh and made my way through security, letting them scan my card and push me through.

I took the elevator up, making several stops on the way for others to get off.

We stopped at three odd-numbered floors and three even-numbered floors, and I pursed my lips, knowing that didn’t mean anything, but it still made me uncomfortable.

If we had stopped at two odd-numbered floors instead, the odds would’ve added up to an even number, and everything would’ve been fine.

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. God, I am sick.

The only person left in the elevator, I watched the blue digital numbers reach sixty.

I straightened, steeling myself as the doors opened.

And I understood why the clerk had laughed at me when I’d asked which office. The sixtieth floor was Marek’s office, apparently.

Ahead stood two tall wooden doors and desks belonging to two assistants on either side of the doors, one man and one woman.

The woman looked up from her computer and nodded toward the doors. “Go in, Ms. Bradbury.”

I ran my hand down my clothes, smoothing them over before reaching up and tightening my ponytail.

But I’d already lost hope of salvaging my pride. Why hadn’t I at least convinced Jack to take me home for a change of clothes?

Grabbing hold of a vertical bar serving as a door handle, I pulled one of the big doors open and stepped in, immediately spotting Marek ahead of me, standing behind his desk.

“Ms. Bradbury.” He glanced up, one hand in his pocket as the other pushed keys on his computer. “Come in.”

His eyes left mine and dropped down my body, taking in my appearance, I would assume. Despite the air-conditioning chilling the room, I felt my thighs warm and heat pool in my stomach.

I squared my shoulders and approached his desk, trying to ignore the sudden powerless feeling.

Out of habit, I counted my steps in my head. One, two, three, fo—

But then I stopped in my tracks, catching something out of the corner of my eye.

I looked to my right, and my eyebrows shot up, seeing an oval conference table on the other side of a glass partition, filled with people. A lot of people.

Shit.

I swallowed, turning for the doors again. “I’ll wait.”

There was no way I was speaking to him with other people in the room.

“You wanted to see me,” he snapped. “Speak.”

I turned. “But you’re busy.”

“I’m always busy,” he retorted. “Get on with it.”

I groaned inwardly, understanding why he was so open to seeing me now.

A weight settled in my stomach, but I hid it as well as I could as I stepped toward his desk again.

I kept my voice low and gave him a fake close-lipped smile. “You’re enjoying seeing my dignity as a muddy puddle on the floor, aren’t you?”

The corner of his mouth lifted, and he locked eyes with me again. “I think that’s understandable after your behavior, don’t you?”

I averted my eyes, licking my lips.

I hated his gloating, but I couldn’t say he was wrong. I’d earned this dose of humility. No matter how vile his e-mail was, I should never have lowered myself to his level. The animosity would only hurt Christian.

“Mr. Marek.” I took a deep breath, bracing myself. “I had no right to say what I said,” I told him. “And I was very wrong. I know nothing about you or your son, and I lashed out.”

“Like a brat,” he added, staring at me with condescension.

Yes, like a brat.

I dropped my eyes, remembering how I’d never gotten angry as a child. When I started to become a woman, though, I raced to fury, throwing my racket when I’d fault or yelling when I was frustrated.

I’d been under stress at the time, I’d been caged, and I’d hated the loss of control. Now I had control, and I resented anything that threatened it.

Marek kept pushing into my space – the meeting the other day and then the e-mail today – but I knew my job.

I knew what I was doing. Why didn’t he see that?

I raised my eyes, staring back up at him. “I truly apologize.”

“Are you really sorry?” He grabbed a gray file folder and a pen as he rounded the desk. “Or are you more afraid you’ll lose your job?”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re insinuating I’m apologizing out of fear?”

He cocked his head, telling me with his amused eyes that’s exactly what he was thinking.

“Mr. Marek,” I said in a firm voice, standing tall. “I don’t do things I don’t want to do. I don’t need to beg for anything or bow down to anyone. If I apologize, it’s because I know I did something wrong,” I affirmed. “It was a cruel thing to say, and you didn’t deserve it.”

A hint of a smile peeked out, but he hid it almost immediately. He let out a sigh, his eyes softening, and he turned around, making his way for the head of the conference table.

“Ms. Bradbury is Christian’s history teacher,” he pointed out to everyone at the table, looking back at me and grinning as he tossed the folder onto the table. “She doesn’t think much of me.”

I snorted, but I didn’t think anyone heard it.

The man seated to his left laughed. “You’re not alone, honey.” He tipped his chin at me.

Marek grabbed a piece of paper, balled it up, and threw it at him, only making the man laugh more.

The two seemed close, and I faltered at seeing Marek playful.

“I’m Jay, his brother.” The man rose from his chair and held out his hand.

I hesitated for only a moment before walking to the other half of the room and up the step to the table.

The office was massive, but it was partitioned by what had to be a ten-foot-long pane of glass separating – but not closing off – the room into two parts: Marek’s office and a private conference area, probably for his convenience.

After all, why go down to another floor and meet with your personnel when you could make them all come up to you?

I shook Jay’s hand, at once liking his easy smile and humor. I couldn’t help but glance over, seeing Marek watching me.

His navy blue suit went well with the steel-gray walls, and I liked how some of his black hair had fallen out of place over his temple.

Everyone at the table – men and women – were dressed in business attire, and they looked like they’d been here a while. Papers, laptops, and phones were spread over the table in no discernible order, and I had to push away the pinpricks under my skin, urging me to organize their shit.

Plates with croissants and bagels were scattered about, while half-filled glasses of water sweated with condensation, their ice cubes having long since melted.

I wondered how long they’d been here. On a Saturday, no less.

“You don’t have to worry, Easton. We’re fine,” I heard Marek say, and I shot my eyes back over to him. “Apology accepted, but my e-mail does still stand.”

I rubbed my thumbs across my fingers, trying to remember what he was referring to.

He’d called me Easton.

“I’m against a fourteen-year-old on social media, and I can’t imagine I’m the only parent uncomfortable with it.” His tone was firm but gentler than it had been on the phone. “Adjustments will have to be made.”

Ah, back to this.

I kept my face even, about to suggest again that we sit down and talk through this, because I wasn’t giving up, but someone else spoke up first.

“Social media?” a man to my right asked. “Jesus, Facebook has taken over my kids’ lives. It’s all they do,” he blurted out, chiming in on the conversation and looking around to his colleagues. “You know, my sixteen-year-old actually wants a mount in the shower with waterproof casing for his phone. I’m surprised he hasn’t glued it to his hand.”

I hooded my eyes, focusing on a spot on the table and hearing laughter sound off around me as everyone started backing Marek up.

“It’s an epidemic,” a woman agreed. “And dangerous. Do you know how many sexual predators find their victims online?”

Do you know how many victims of sexual predators drink water? Ban water!

Grunts of approval chimed in, and I could feel myself losing the moment of relief I’d felt when he’d accepted my apology.

My fists tightened, and I knew I needed to leave. Now.

“Exactly,” someone else replied. “The more we put ourselves out there, the more disconnected we are from real life. I’m sick of seeing people’s faces buried in their phones.”

“Complete time suckage.” Jay shook his head, speaking up. “And kids have no attention spans anymore because of it.”

I no longer liked Jay.

I glanced at Marek, who watched me with a hint of a smile on his face as the wall against me grew higher and higher.

“And there are so many stories where kids are getting bullied,” another gentleman droned, “or put in danger because of it. I mean, has being able to Instagram what you had for lunch really made our lives better?”

Everyone started laughing, and every muscle in my body tensed like steel.

“Kids don’t need social media,” someone maintained. “Not until they’re old enough…”

Yada, yada, yada… I stopped listening. Everyone continued sharing their own two cents, but I just stood there looking at him.

He held my eyes, his mouth opening slightly as he raised the glass to his lips and took a small drink of water. He leaned back in his chair, relaxed and confident, because he knew he’d gotten what he wanted.

He still didn’t see me as a capable woman. He still didn’t respect me.

And when his eyes started falling down my body, raking over my waist and down to my bare thighs, I knew that he wanted something else.

The only thing he thought I was good for.

I inhaled a sharp breath and held up my hands, cutting everyone off in the middle of their rants. “You’re absolutely right,” I told them, my voice hard. “You’re all absolutely right.”

I offered a tight smile and looked around the table, everyone having gone quiet.

“Social media is a double-edged sword, bringing both advantages and” – I looked at Marek – “definite concerns. I agree with you,” I placated.

Marek cocked his head, looking at me with interest as everyone gave me their full attention.

“However,” I stated matter-of-factly, “it is here to stay. Whether you like it or not,” I added.

I lifted my chin and let my eyes wander around the table as I began to circle. “We live in a data-driven world, and it is not something that will change.”

I walked slowly around the table, speaking to everyone and feeling Marek’s eyes on me.

“Let me break this down for you,” I told them, crossing my arms over my chest and speaking slowly. “Every time we get a text or a tweet or a Facebook notification,” I explained, “we get a shot of adrenaline. The constant influx of information has become an addiction – like a drug – and when our phones beep or light up, we get a small rush.”

I met their eyes.

“And like all drugs, it isn’t long before we need our next fix.” And I gestured to their phones on the table as I spoke. “Which is exactly why you all brought your phones into this meeting with you right now instead of leaving them in your own offices,” I speculated. “Sooner rather than later, you know you’re going to feel that desperation, which will prompt you to check for a new e-mail or message. You’re addicted to the information, same as your children.”

“But in school?” a woman burst out. “Why should they have phones in school or be allowed to play around on social media for homework?”

“Because you let them have it at home,” I shot back, trying to keep my tone gentle. “Do you expect the craving for it to end when they step onto school grounds?”

She twisted her lips and sat back in her chair.

“How does a teacher compete with the kind of hold social media has over his or her students’ attention?” I asked them. “Because even if they’re forced to be without their phones, they’re thinking about their phones. They’re hiding them. They’re texting under their desks. They’re sneaking to the bathroom to use them…” I trailed off, hopefully proving that the battle was real.

“I have two choices,” I continued. “I can either fight it and treat it as a nuisance, or…” I calmed down, looking at Marek. “I can embrace it as a tool. Not only is their technology ensuring one hundred percent participation in my class,” I pointed out, “but it is also teaching them community and digital citizenship.”

I lowered my chin, pinning him with a hard look. “They do not merely attend a class, Mr. Marek,” I explained, seeing his eyes narrow on me. “They interact with one another on multiple forums, seeing through social barriers and expressing themselves in the tolerant community that I oversee. They’re learning, they’re engaged, and they’re treating one another well.”

I moved around to his other side, standing more confidently than I had since the open house.

“Now, I understand you’re a smart man,” I went on, “and you couldn’t have gotten where you are without being determined and intelligent. But I also think that you do whatever you want and say whatever you like without fear of accountability. I always have a very good reason for everything I do. Do you?

“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” I advised, “and I won’t be so arrogant as to tell you how to do yours.”

And before anyone had a chance to speak, I twisted on my heel and walked out.

SEVEN

EASTON

“What will you do with the textbooks?” I asked the librarian as I unloaded the old history books I’d been storing in my classroom.

She grabbed the stack and started pulling them off her counter, one by one, to load onto a cart.

“I think they’ll be donated,” she answered. “Although I hear you don’t even use the new fancy ones we paid good money for.”

I smiled, bending down to my rolling chair to pick up another four books to hand to her.

“Not that I don’t appreciate them,” I teased¸ and she shot me a wink.

If anyone had a problem with me not teaching from the textbook, it certainly wasn’t her. She had been teaching in Orleans Parish for more than thirty years and had been in all types of schools, from the advantaged to the destitute. She knew how to make do with what you had and had told me the first week that the best teachers were facilitators. The more the kids did for themselves, the more they learned.

“Hey,” someone chirped.

I twisted my head, seeing Kristen Meyer pushing her rolling chair toward the checkout desk as well.

“What’s up?” She heaved a sigh, sounding out of breath.

“Just getting rid of the old history texts,” I told her. “You?”

“Ugh.” She unloaded a stack of what looked like typical library books on geology. “Is it winter break yet?” she whined.

I let out a laugh. It wasn’t even October yet.

“All right, I’ve still got a few things to do before I head home for the day. Thanks,” I told the librarian, and then looked to Kristen as I leaned down to start pushing my chair back. “Have a good night,” I singsonged.

“Wait,” she shot out. “I’ll come with you.”

She hurried, dumping the rest of the books on the counter and pushing her chair, following me out.

I exited through the double doors, moving out of the way and holding one open for her.

The school was quiet – all of the students and many of the teachers having already left for the day – and I breathed in, smelling the rain that I knew was coming. The sky had been dark this morning, heavy with thick clouds, and the current weather filled me with trepidation as the wind in the trees carried the warning of a storm that would, without a doubt, be angry.

A hurricane was in the Caribbean, heading for the Gulf, but as of right now, it wasn’t set to hit New Orleans. I hoped we were only looking at a tropical storm, but either way, the school was closing for the next two days in anticipation of flooding.

“So,” Kristen drawled as we pushed our chairs on their wheels down the hallway. “I heard something that can’t possibly be true.”

I kept pushing my chair, our heels echoing in unison down the hall.

“I heard that you” – she spoke slowly – “showed up at Tyler Marek’s office this weekend and told him off.” I could feel her eyes on me as I looked straight ahead. “And that you were wearing a miniskirt, no less,” she added.

“I wasn’t wearing a miniskirt,” I grumbled. “How the hell did you hear that?”

She squealed, her mouth opening in a gasp. “So it’s true?”

I turned away and continued down the hall, squeezing the chair in my fingers.

He’d talked to Shaw, after all?

Shit.

“It’s okay,” she soothed. “It’s just that Myron Cates is one of Marek’s vice presidents,” she told me. “His wife and I became good friends when I taught her son last year, and she said her husband came home Saturday from work having witnessed a bold young woman serving Tyler Marek his ass on a platter.”

She nodded and smiled as if it were an accomplishment.

I looked up at the ceiling, sighing. Great. Another parent I’d made a dynamite impression on.

“Are you…” she inched out, “like, seeing him?”

I shot her a look. “Excuse me?”

“Marek?” she suggested. “He’s certainly handsome. And successful. And…” She eyed me, looking thoughtful, “and you’re seeing him outside of school hours.”

I shook my head. “This conversation is over.”

I was not seeing him outside of school hours. This was how the simplest things could get twisted around and sooner or later the story doesn’t even resemble the truth. Myron Cates’s wife and Kristen Meyer were going to have me giving Marek a lap dance on a Mardi Gras float next thing I knew.

“Okay, good,” she chirped. “If you’re not seeing anyone, then come out with me tonight.”

It was Monday, but the students had gotten a surprise two-day vacation due to the storm, so there was no school until Thursday.

“I have plans,” I lied.

Even I knew I should’ve gone out and given it a shot. Kristen was a little annoying, but nice.

I just wasn’t a particularly social person, and it had been a long day already.

Maybe another time.

But the next thing I knew, she plopped down on her chair and pushed with her feet, sending herself rolling down the hallway backward and smiling at me.

“Come on,” she urged. “Live a little.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, seeing her sliding down the floor like a carefree child.

“Life moves pretty fast,” she stated. “If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, Ferris,” I joked, recognizing her Ferris Bueller’s Day Off reference. “I know how to have fun.”

She snickered, blowing out a breath. “I don’t even think you know how to smile,” she taunted.

I gasped in feigned outrage.

Plopping my ass down in my chair, I slipped off my heels and turned like her, pushing off with my foot, one after the other, and scurrying after her.

“I know how to have fun,” I boasted, clutching my heels to my chest.

The hem of my navy blue dress rested at my knees, and I pedaled my feet, laughing as I caught up to her.

She picked up the pace, and I stood up, tossing my heels into the seat of the chair as I grabbed the sides of the chair and raced it.

“You can’t do that!” she screamed, wide-eyed.

I flew past her, rounding the corner to our classrooms.

“There are no rules!” I shouted over my shoulder.

And then I pushed off, dropping into my chair once again and letting myself sail backward to the finish line. I held up my hands, gloating.

“And let that be a lesson to you.” I smiled ahead at her playful scowl.

But then her eyebrows shot up, and her mouth fell open.

I looked over my shoulder and immediately put my feet down on the floor, stopping myself.

“Mr. Marek,” I said, looking up at him leaning against the wall next to my classroom door.

What is he doing here?

My chest rose and fell from the exertion, and he tipped his chin down, cocking an eyebrow at me.

I shot up, smoothing my dress down and glancing over at Kristen. I only caught her smirk before she disappeared, pushing her chair into her classroom down the hall.

I turned back to Marek. “Excuse me,” I said, feeling heat spread over my cheeks. “We were just…”

I trailed off, leaving it there. He knew what we were doing.

His three-piece black pin-striped suit looked crisp and dark against his fair skin, and his white shirt and slate-gray tie shimmered in the glow of the light overhead.

I took a few steps forward. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

His eyes shot down to my feet, and I followed his gaze, remembering that I’d forgotten to put my heels back on.

“Always losing your shoes,” he commented, a smile curling his mouth.

I pursed my lips and turned around, snatching my heels off the seat and slipping them back onto my feet. Grabbing the back of the chair, I pulled it behind me and entered my classroom, knowing he’d follow.

“You came to my workplace unannounced,” he stated behind me. “I thought I would return the favor.”

I replaced my chair behind my desk and looked up, seeing that he had closed the door behind him.

“And?” I prompted.

“And I came to apologize,” he admitted, stopping a few feet in front of my desk. “I’ve been unfair, and I’m sorry. Christian has his phone back, so we’ll see how this goes.”

I stilled, my heart galloping in my chest, and I almost smiled.

Really?

I opened my mouth but had to swallow the lump before I could speak. “Well, that’s great,” I said, surprised. “Thank you.”

I guess I got through to him at his office.

He slid one of his hands into a pocket and narrowed his eyes on me, looking a little surprised.

“You seem very knowledgeable and determined.” His voice sounded genuine. “You’re an impressive woman, Ms. Bradbury, and I should’ve taken the time to understand your methods.”

I kept my shoulders squared, but my eyes dropped, embarrassment warming my cheeks.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, turning around to grab a dry-erase marker to start writing the schedule on the board for when the kids came back on Thursday.

“Christian talks about your class,” he said behind me. “I can tell your teaching interests him, even if he would never admit it.”

I uncapped the marker and rested my hand on the board but didn’t write anything.

“He really can’t stand me, can he?”

I dropped my hand to my side and spun around slowly, surprised by his question.

And feeling terrible all over again. I should never have said that.

No matter how much I thought I knew about him, they were nothing more than assumptions. Who was I to insinuate his son didn’t care for him or vice versa? And what gave me the right to say anything at all in the first place?

He breathed deeply, and for the first time since I’d met him, he looked unsure of himself.

“I was twenty when he was born,” he told me. “That’s no excuse, but it’s the only one I have.”

Twenty.

I was twenty-three, and I couldn’t imagine having a child right now.

I watched him and waited, not wanting to say anything or interrupt because I found I kind of liked it when he talked.

“I know what you think of me.” He looked me dead in the eye and then dropped his gaze, speaking in a voice close to a whisper. “And what he thinks of me.”

And then he let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I even care what you think. You don’t give a shit about me, but I guess that’s what’s so intriguing.” He moved forward, his soft eyes turning to steel. “You’re so cold and distant,” he charged. “I guess I wouldn’t think anything of it if I hadn’t seen you so different at one time.”

I inhaled a shaky breath, looking down at his right hand. The same one that had held my waist while we danced.

I licked my lips, barely noticing him advance.

“You were flirty and fun.” His voice turned husky, and I looked up, seeing him round my desk slowly. “And you keep pissing me off, but it feels good,” he whispered, playing with me, drawing me in.

I knew that look in his eyes. I may not know much about him, but I knew that look.

And we were in my classroom.

His son’s classroom.

I may have had little shame, but he had none.

“Mr. —”

He cut me off. “Why won’t you ever say my name?”

I shook my head, confused. “Why do you care what I think?”

“I don’t,” he maintained. “I care that you don’t think of me at all.”

I narrowed my eyes on him, clenching my teeth. “That’s not…” I trailed off, plastering my back against the whiteboard as he hovered over me.

“That’s not what?” he pressed, his voice sounding strained.

He stood so close that I had only to lift a hand and I could touch him.

“That’s not true,” I finished.

He leaned in. “You look at me like I don’t matter.” His eyes searched mine. “And I don’t like it.”

“I…” I shifted my eyes, avoiding his gaze. “I…”

Did I look at him like that?

“The masquerade, Shaw’s office, my office…” he went on. “You’ve completely held my attention in any room we’ve been in together,” he admitted. “Whereas you make me feel like I’m not worth your time. How do you do that?”

My body vibrated with his heat, and it was like being with him at that ball all over again. My eyelids fluttered, and I couldn’t look at him.

“I…” Fuck, why can’t I speak?

I cleared my throat, forcing my eyes up to his. “I don’t mean to be cold.” I spoke softly. “You are worth my time.” And then I added, “Like all of my students’ parents.”

He dropped his eyes, speaking softly as well. “It’s not often I let people speak to me the way I let you,” he confessed. “Nor should I enjoy it as much as I do.”

My heart hammered in my chest, and I wanted to tell him all of that was true for me as well. He dominated my attention when he was around, and I felt like he didn’t see me or think anything of me.

And even though he pissed me off and riled my temper, I kind of enjoyed it.

In fact, I wanted to run toward it.

“Why you?” he questioned. “Why have I been thinking of you ever since that Mardi Gras ball?”

He pressed his body to mine, and I shook my head slowly.

“Mr. Marek,” I pleaded, but it was useless. My eyes fell to his mouth, and then I glanced to my closed door, knowing that even though the students were gone for the day, there might still be staff around. “Please.”

“There was something that drew us together that night,” he maintained. “Something that got under my skin, something that’s still there.”

His mouth was an inch from mine, and I breathed hard, needing to push him away, but at the same time, that was the last thing I wanted.

“Easton,” he whispered, and reached down behind my thigh, lifting it to press himself closer against me.