job called for being a counselor. Preston Academy had one on staff, but I wanted to learn about Jaycee before I shuffled the girl’s case off.
Jaycee crossed her legs. One or both of her parents must be tall. I had topped out at five foot five. My mother was two inches shorter and my father three inches taller. But I’d learned from both of them how to walk with swagger and an air of entitlement.
“No. Dad used to be a suit guy. Long hours, killer pay. But when he got me, he quit to be home more. Now he works at…” Her gaze cut away. “When’s he gonna be here?”
“In a few moments. Would you rather wait with Ms. Branson?” That’d give me some time to watch more footage and read Mr. Budinsky’s entire report.
The girl sauntered out, her shoulders rounded in and her steps not as cocky as when she’d entered.
Was there trouble at home or unresolved issues with her mom’s absence?
Several minutes ticked by. I scanned each day of the previous week. It was a daily occurrence. A quick disappearance into the closet until five minutes past the bell. Jaycee would creep out first and then Dresden would strut out like he didn’t have a care in the world.
So why hadn’t he been sent to my office? I looked up his schedule. My stomach sank.
If I were a superhero swooping in to save the school, Dresden’s fifth-period teacher would be my nemesis. An evil villain who also happened to be the athletics director: Sam Samuelson. Coach Sammie, beloved by all the check-writing, former-jock parents.
“Fuck me,” I muttered and jumped in my seat when someone rapped on the door. “Yes?”
Ms. Branson peeked in. “Mr. Halliwell is here. Would you like me to send them both in?”
“Just Mr. Halliwell first.” It’d give me a chance to gauge his reaction. Sometimes parents talked more openly when their kids weren’t around.
Ms. Branson stepped inside, and I rose to greet Mr. Halliwell. I was stepping around my desk when he cleared the doorway. I stopped short and my thigh bumped the edge of the desk. Pain shot through my leg, but I gritted my teeth against a curse word.
The man I had twined myself around not two days ago at the comic con had just entered my office.
Chris was Mr. Halliwell? He was dressed nearly identically to when I’d met him. There was no denying he was the same person I’d dry humped.
I’d made out with a student’s parent?
Mortification swept through me. The one time I’d lowered my guard, and I’d committed professional suicide. I’d come here as the ballbuster to knock the place back into shape. If those who resisted my efforts found out I had a personal relationship with a student’s father, they would double down to undermine me.
He smiled, that easy grin I’d dreamed about each night since the convention, but it was filled with tension. “Hello, Ms. Shaw.”
He didn’t recognize me. Gone was the black wig, leaving my shoulder-length honey brown hair wound tightly in a bun. Gone were my contacts. He wouldn’t have been able to tell my eyes were hazel, more on the brown side than green, under the contacts. And thanks to my father’s dental plan, I didn’t have chipped teeth, gaps, a gold cap, or any other identifiable feature in my mouth.
Had I evaded social destruction? “Hello, Ch—Mr. Halliwell.” I stomped around the desk to give him a firm handshake, trying to forget his hands had been on my ass, squeezing and rubbing. I gestured to the seat Jaycee had vacated and scurried back to my own.
He glanced around the office. It was what everyone did when they first sat down. Of course, his gaze landed on the single prism I’d set on the shelf. It was the shape of Superman’s emblem, but when I turned it a certain way, no one could tell. It was the one geeky adornment I allowed myself. If anyone mentioned it, I could fake ignorance.
“Okay, Mr. Halliwell, let me get to the point of why we called you here.” I gave him the rundown of Jaycee’s tardiness, made him aware of her last-name angst, and outlined the consequences.
And I did it all without my voice shaking and without staring at his lips. Good. It was time to shove the case file off to the counselor. Now that I had his number from Jaycee’s file, I could make sure I never answered if he tried to call.
Chapter 3
Chris
It was hard