Misconduct (11 page)

“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.

“
W
hat 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.

I groaned, feeling the ridge of his cock nestle between my legs.

“We can’t do this,” I told him.

My clothes felt like sandpaper on my skin, and I wanted them off. I wanted his shirt open and to know what he felt like under my fingertips.

“I know,” he answered.

But while his left hand held my knee up, his right hand slid between my legs and rubbed my clit through my panties.

I sucked in a sharp breath and clutched his shoulders, letting my eyes fall closed as my head floated away from me.