Sweetest in the Gale - Olivia Dade Page 0,41
soap.
He didn’t, of course. Instead, ignoring her question, he turned stiffly and gestured toward the nearest table. “Let’s discuss my initial observations.”
With a mocking little bow of her head, she sat in a student chair. Tempted to choose the one beside her, he instead selected a seat safely across the table.
They were both professionals. No small talk was necessary.
“If today’s lesson is any indication, you’re obviously a teacher of great experience and skill, well able to keep the attention of a roomful of students while covering all necessary topics and meeting all required objectives. Your rapport with your students is remarkable, as is your ability to elicit participation from them. Your classroom is impeccably organized.” He kept his voice cool, as befitted an objective mentor. “If the rest of this week’s lessons prove similar to today’s, I can only conclude that Marysburg High is fortunate to have you amongst its faculty.”
He flicked a glance up from his notes, meeting her wide eyes.
An unkind observer might have described her mouth as agape, and a more whimsical man might have been tempted to throw a grape in there.
Those soft lips snapped shut quickly enough, however, when he continued.
“That said, the faculty’s dress code appears to have escaped you. Today’s outfit is appropriate and very, uh, becoming—”
Shit.
“—um, becoming for a professional teacher.” There. Saved it. No room for misinterpretation. “But your clothing at the faculty meeting did not meet the standards set by school guidelines. No jeans, except on Denim Fridays, and all garments worn by teachers must be clean.”
Since her eyes were currently narrowed slits of hazel affront, he was smart enough not to mention the faculty meeting’s droopy buns. Those could wait for a debriefing session later in the week.
In the spirit of tearing off a bandage as quickly as possible, he continued hastily, before her glare lasered actual holes through his skull. “The contents of today’s lecture, while fascinating and well-presented, also put you at risk for student and parental complaints. The topic was, in short, overly macabre and ghoulish. I would suggest you pick more school-appropriate topics in the future.”
One of her pale eyebrows arched high. “Would you?”
She’d settled back in her chair, affront replaced by steely calm.
The expression bolted down his spine in a way he couldn’t interpret. Was that electric jolt warning him he’d erred somehow? Was it a visceral response to the challenge betrayed by her pugnacious, upturned chin and haughty stare? Was it because, beneath that witchy, alluring dress, her plump thighs had shifted and rubbed—
No, it wasn’t excitement. Professional evaluations did not prompt passion of any sort. Not for him, anyway.
If his tie suddenly constricted his breath, he’d merely fastened it a bit too tightly that morning. The prickling heat spreading lower and lower, making his button-down tease against every nerve ending his skin possessed, was simply the result of the school’s inadequate HVAC system. Nothing more.
His throat might be dry, but he would remain entirely businesslike.
“I also believe you left the student diorama assignment too open-ended, given the limited time available for this unit. You might consider providing a handout of preapproved topics in the future.” That was the last item on today’s list, but he continued looking down at his legal pad. “Finally, I inadvertently insulted both you and your work last week. My remark was rude and uncollegial.”
After sketching a tiny, perfect cube on the edge of his paper, he continued. “Furthermore, my study of your work today elucidated my comment’s essential injustice. I might consider the subject matter disturbing, but it was quite evident why consumers would pay a great deal of money to possess such a wondrous, meticulous piece of artistry.”
Two squared is four. Two cubed is eight. Two to the fourth power is sixteen.
He raised an expressionless face. “Please accept my sincere apologies.”
Her face had also turned unreadable, but at least she wasn’t openly scowling at him anymore. As always, small victories.
After a lengthy pause, she spoke slowly. “I’ll address your feedback one topic at a time, if that’s acceptable to you?”
He gave her a jerky nod, and somehow he already knew.
By the end of this conversation, he’d feel like a fool once more.
“Last Tuesday, the day of the faculty meeting, my students were making papier-mâché masks using paper plates, aluminum foil, hot glue guns, newspapers, flour, water, and paint. I defy anyone to oversee the making of those masks without finding their clothing soiled in some fashion, protective apron be damned.” Her lips tilted up in a