Her lips pursed. “That’s the thing. Preston Academy’s traditional attitude equates sports skill with professional success, and they’ve poured so much money into their football, basketball, lacrosse, and rowing programs—and except for the girls basketball team they only started ten years ago, they’re all male dominated.”
Ah yes. Jaycee mentioned the same observations. She’d played volleyball in middle school, but Preston didn’t have a team. Then there was the lack of fine arts options at the school.
“It’s going to be a hard attitude to change,” I said.
Natalia snorted. “You’re telling me. I dropped the idea of incorporating a general art track, starting with a basic visual arts class next fall and…” She rolled her eyes. “But to do that, we’d need to reallocate money and the football coach is out trying to recruit two players for full rides. Four years of tuition times two and we could have started two classes and sent the teachers to additional training. Not to mention that after the last principal’s embezzling, I think we should suspend all attempts at recruitment until we get through the full fallout.”
“I thought the board hired you to make those changes.”
She reached for her water and took a sip, then washed down a larger mouthful like she found the whole discussion sour tasting. “Oh yes. But once the parents catch wind, they attack the school board. Some of them are friends or run in the same social circles. The last school I was at, they held strong, but my suggestions weren’t quite as radical. This time, the guy I just replaced did a number on the school. It’s ugly.”
“I’m sorry” was all I could say. I didn’t envy her job.
“How about we don’t talk about work or my parents anymore?”
“Deal. I have something I want to ask you.” Her answering grin was cautious, and it should be. I wasn’t sure how she’d take what I asked. “Arcadia is having their Christmas party the weekend before New Year’s. Care to join me? Jaycee will be going as well.”
Natalia didn’t respond right away. My heart sank at her lack of enthusiasm. We were dating. Sort of officially. I wanted to do more than sit on the couch and watch movies, or take turns fucking at each other’s place once a month.
“We have it after-hours on a Saturday,” I explained. “Close the store, have the food catered, and just talk and play games without having to stop to help customers.”
She nodded slowly. Was she coming around to the idea? “That’s a few weeks away. Who all is going to be there?”
“All of us employees and our families, some close customers who’ve helped with the business, and the guy that built the place will bring his family. I dunno, maybe twenty people. It’s pretty informal. Fun, but informal.”
“Can I let you know closer to the day?”
It was three weeks away. “I might have to ask the other deadly derby assassin I’m dating.”
Her chuckle was the most genuine response I’d had from her since her orgasm. “My parents haven’t informed me of their plans for Christmas. They might be coming here, or I might fly to Seattle. If I’m around, I’d love to go.”
I read between the lines. If she was around, and they weren’t, then she’d go. It wasn’t the answer I’d hoped for, but I’d take it. Extending the invite to my parents was on my lips, but my intuition suggested I wasn’t ready for her reaction. I should be used to not being good enough for the families of Preston Academy.
Chapter 11
Natalia
I stared at the message on my phone. Can you make it?
Arcadia’s Christmas party. And my parents were in town. They didn’t plan to fly out until after the new year. They were the reason I’d spent the last week of holiday break at work. Thankfully, they’d stayed at a hotel—room service and housekeeping. But I couldn’t escape my dad at work, either.
He was wandering the empty halls of Preston while I ran numbers for a fine-arts track versus the number of full-ride scholarships we had to satisfy. Father was probably gloating over the trophies proudly displayed across from the main entrance. He’d no doubt comment on how they’d gone down over the last few years.
I would point him to the former principal, but I had no plans to pursue any regional, district, or state trophies—participation ribbons weren’t even on my agenda. My main concern was getting the school to be less reliant on the donations and the insinuations that came with them, and that meant cutting down on the sports scholarships and working with the talent of current and prospective students. Not recruited students.
When I’d approached the board before Christmas break with the outline of my plan, they’d stared at me like I was proposing to recruit super villains to fight crime—until I’d whipped out the figures the new accountant had come up with for me.
Next month, I planned to offer up a list of opportunities we could provide to the students with the funds we did receive from the families and estates of former alums. Fine-arts courses. Study abroad. Exchange programs. I knew which ones I preferred and which ones would appeal to the school board, and unfortunately, they weren’t the same.
My office door opened, and my dad strolled in. One hand was stuffed in his charcoal slacks. He was dressed casually today with a cream, cowl-neck, cashmere sweater and a maroon undershirt for a pop of subdued and acceptable color. His trimmed salt-and-pepper hair was cropped short and his stern expression was relaxed for once. He’d gotten the same educational background as me but had never taught a day in his life—like me. He’d spent most of his time traveling from school to school to wine and dine those with deep pockets and make sure their bottom line was satisfied. My mother’s schooling had been forgotten, her role relegated to charming hostess with a well of intelligence. Mom was the epitome of the refined and well-bred woman donors wanted their daughters to become or wanted their sons to marry.
Meanwhile, I had been relegated to our home in Seattle, being raised by hired employees. What a goal.
“It’s a fine establishment.” Father’s voice had dropped low, and sometimes I wondered if it was an affectation. When he conversed with Mother, he didn’t have a deep voice. Within the school walls—baritone.
“Yes. It has good bones.”
His small frown made me regret not enthusiastically agreeing. “Did you know a graduate from a decade ago is in the senate?”
My heart seized. Was he talking about Chris? No. Chris’s time was more than a decade in the past, and his election as a state senator wouldn’t impress my father enough.
“I’m not surprised.” I snagged my glasses off the desk and dropped them in a drawer before Father asked when I’d started wearing them. If he noticed. He wouldn’t approve of me needing something other than my last name and good breeding to be taken seriously and changing my last name had been the battle of a lifetime.
“His picture is in the trophy case. He was quarterback, went on to play at West Point, and is now a senator.” Pride rang in Father’s voice, like he was taking credit for the kid’s experience at the academy. What did he tell people about me?
I had never played sports, but I’d sewn my own costume for Halloween once, closed up in my closet while my parents slept—if they were home. Too bad I hadn’t gotten to wear it. My mother had asked Wonder Who? and made me change before the black-tie Halloween party. Would he say, she went to college in Washington and is a principal now. She has to wear glasses when she talks to men or they take a few points off her IQ and think she’s too young to take seriously. The dimple—it throws them off.
I needed to go to bed early tonight. I’d been defaulting to my alter ego less and it showed in my bitchy internal monologue. Father was proud of me. I was the fixer, after all—not that he admitted any of the schools had faults, only that I improved on perfection.
Chris was waiting for my answer. Looking at the time, I still had a nice window to get home, change, and meet him at Arcadia. It all depended on what Father and Mother were going to do.
Thankfully, Father didn’t make me wait long. �
�An old classmate’s in town. He and his wife invited us to their place tonight. I’m sure you’re fine with what you’re wearing, but we could head to the hotel to pick your mother up.”
Tan slacks, red pumps, and a red sweater that shouldn’t itch so much for what it cost? Yeah, I’d loved to socialize in this outfit.
I really wanted to see Chris. Hell with it. “I have plans tonight.” Father raised his neatly trimmed brows. Was he surprised? “Are you and Mother okay without me?”
The familiar disapproving frown pulled at Father’s mouth. “I think William would love to hear what’s going on with the academy. His sons are your age, and he’s anxiously waiting for his grandchildren to attend.”
“You can fill him in.” Surprise flickered across Father’s face. It wasn’t usual that I breezed past his wishes. “But I committed to a holiday party with a friend before you and Mother called. I’d hate to go back on my word.”
Father used to love saying A man’s word is all he has. I used to mentally fill in unless he has money, but I never dared say it out loud. My parents thought of bank accounts as a measure of prestige.
“Very well. We will grab you for brunch tomorrow and I’ll pass on any ideas William has for the school.”
Yes, because who else would know better what the academy needed than someone who hadn’t done more than write annual checks and have drinks with the owner?
Please. But I was off the hook for tonight. As I gathered my purse and phone, I shot back a confirmation to Chris.
My phone pinged when I was locking up the office. Father was well on his way down the wide corridors to the staff entrance. I peeked at the message, not bothering to hide the smile I got when hearing from Chris in any form. Even better, I’d spend the evening with him and his friends. I hadn’t officially met any of them, but from his stories I could probably identify each one. Even better, they didn’t care what my profession was or how frivolous my interests were. I didn’t have enough people like that in my life.
Great. Pick you up at seven?
I paused. He wanted to pick me up. Then he’d drop me off and probably come inside because maybe he was just as desperate for my touch as I was for his. It’d been three weeks since we’d last had sex and while just seeing him was nice enough, the thought of spending time in his arms catapulted this school break to the best one ever.
I punched in a reply, Seven it is, and rushed to catch up with Father.
We parted ways at the parking lot. Father needed to change, and Mother was probably in her Louboutins and pearls, with a pencil skirt two inches past her knees, and her outfit accented in red or green to be properly festive.
I rushed home and sprinted through the shower. I toweled off and dried my hair into a sleek, straight do, then went to stand at my closet, frowning. What should I wear? Since when had I worried about my attire? Sweats to derby practice. Valaria to cons. The same clothes I wore to work also served for meetings, and I dressed like Mother if I had to suffer through any stuffy social function. My current what-to-wear conundrum was whether or not to upgrade Valaria or come up with a new character altogether because it gave me an excuse to bust out my sewing machine.
Leggings, leggings, or jeans? What if I should wear slacks? No, I’d never seen Chris in anything but jeans. My heart pattered when I pictured him in a snug suit, tailored to his tall, lanky, but muscular frame. No wonder he’d gotten elected to office. Dressed up, he would’ve appealed to the politically driven crowd and the folks who were invested in politics but too busy to deal with the bullshit.
And none of that gave me ideas. The party was at Arcadia. Racks of pop culture clothing ran through my mind. They couldn’t be too formal.
Butterflies flitted through my stomach as I stepped into black leggings. Next, I selected a long, cream-colored sweater. Holding it up, I lifted a brow. Was I channeling my father in this outfit? I couldn’t deny his confidence in any setting.
The doorbell rang. Damn, he was early. I tossed on the sweater and stuffed my feet into supple knee-high brown boots.
Scurrying down the stairs, I swore as I passed the clock. Had I wasted that much time worrying about what to wear?
I could call Valaria my alter ego, but she was a made-up character with one outfit.
Whipping the door open, I grinned and froze. Out of the corner of my eye, Chris’s car was visible in my driveway. Jaycee was climbing into the back seat. So, no sex tonight. I’d forgotten it wasn’t the grandparents’ weekend.
But a night with Chris and Jaycee was better than any other I’d normally have.
My gaze landed back on him. His winter coat was zipped, but he wore his usual jeans. Only instead of athletic shoes, loafers were on his feet. Quality footwear, probably a throwback to his young, single, professional days.
“You look good,” he said, the gleam in his eyes clear. If we didn’t have an underage chaperone, he would’ve slept over tonight.
“Thanks. Let me grab my coat.” I darted around the door to the closet. My hand paused over a dressy, long, black coat. Too much?
Why did standing out in Chris’s crowd bother me?
I selected a North Face winter coat instead. Its powder-blue shell with white insert and accents didn’t go with my attire, but I had warm mittens in the pockets. Practical. Just like Valaria—with three extra layers.
I hopped into Chris’s toasty vehicle.
On the way to the store, Jaycee leaned into the gap between the front seats. “What’d the board say?”
I caught myself before I went Um… Putting on my principal persona, albeit slightly softened, I answered, “I’m approaching them next month. I don’t know that their priorities align with what we have outlined, but perhaps we can find middle ground.”
Chris glanced toward me. His jaw was tight and his eyes dark. He read between the lines.
Jaycee sat back. “Awesome. It’d be such a cool course track. And wouldn’t a graphic-art class be a welcome break between AP English and International Business Concepts?”
Jaycee was in neither class, but hypothetically, yes, it’d be a nice break. In the girl’s mind, she equated art with easy. It came to her naturally. I would’ve relished an art or literature class, but my mind was naturally geared toward international marketing techniques and political science.
Who’d Jaycee get her talent from?
To change the subject before Jaycee’s hopes rose as high as Tony Stark’s tower, I asked what they’d been doing for vacation. We chatted until the beacon that was Arcadia lit up the night.
Green lights lined the front windows of the store and a massive evergreen tree took center stage, lit in red. I had been in last week to update the roller derby flyer and grab more face paint—and get costume ideas for my next cosplay creation. The tree had the best ornaments. Mara and Chris had to have bought out the state in superhero-themed ornaments.
After we parked and rushed in from the cold, another tree graced the entrance. It had been loaded with ornaments that listed a charity and a dollar amount. The tree was bare, except for red-and-blue garland. Justice League or Captain America colors?
“Ooh, all the donations were taken?” I unzipped my coat as warmth surrounded me in spicy fragrant air. The catering had arrived, and my stomach rumbled in response to the savory smells.
“A lot.” Chris held his hand out for my coat. I shrugged out of it. “Wes took the rest.”
“Wow. That was nice.” And I’d only taken one. I could’ve filled the requests of the whole tree, too. Why hadn’t I thought to offer?
Jaycee raced by us, a sketch pad clutched in her hand, and disappeared around the corner. A chorus of voices greeted her. How many people were here?
Chris chuckled. “Flynn’s sister Lynne enjoys Jaycee’s work. And Jaycee enjoys showing it off.”
“It’d be a shame to keep it private.” I squared my shoulders. Chris wound his arm around my waist and steered me toward the party.
I was going to tremble out of my boots. Wher
e were my unshakeable nerves? I wore skintight costumes in public. With a mask, but still. I careened around a track and elbowed other women out of my way. I stared down mutinous kids and their imposing parents.
This was so much harder. These people cared about Chris. They were invested in who he dated. This was new territory. I hadn’t been groomed for personal relationships. My former last name was usually enough to win over my date’s parents.
A small sea of faces greeted me. I recognized Mara and Wes. Wes could make ovaries melt the way he hovered close to his wife and propped his little boy on his shoulder. Mara’s dark hair was streaked with green, her little black dress adorned with a bold yellow bat on the front.
I wanted one of my own.
“Hey!” Mara’s wide smile instantly relaxed me, but I stayed hugged into Chris’s side as he made introductions.
“Over there by the lasagna is Flynn. He built Arcadia, and his wife Tilly bought and paid for him fair and square.”
Flynn nodded at us, his hands full of plates and utensils. The woman next to Flynn turned. She was wearing a tight shirt over a round baby belly. In pink letters on her shirt was We’re hoping for a Warrior Princess. Her grin could power Arcadia’s lights. “He was worth every penny.”
I chuckled. “I’ve heard the story.” Chris had said he’d narrowly missed the bachelor auction, He had shamelessly used Jaycee as his excuse.
Mara sat next to an older woman in a motorized wheelchair who was laughing. The gentleman beside her had the stiff posture that came with wearing a suit all day. No slouching allowed.
First to Fail: A Strictly Professional Romance (Unraveled Book 3) Page 11
