Charlotte glanced at the guy on the treadmill. He was watching the TV now, their conversation obviously boring him since they’d stopped discussing sex.
“All right, fine. The principal gets one more chance,” she told Lola. Though she might have to be less available. She wouldn’t go to his house whenever he demanded it, or let him drag her to places like the Park and Ride and Lookout Point. She glanced at her program on the cycle’s screen. They were on the downhill side of their ride. “Now let’s turn the spotlight on you and the coach. When are you moving in?”
Lola groaned. “I don’t know. We’re still talking.” She shrugged. “But we are taking Rafe up to Tahoe for Thanksgiving to do some skiing.”
Charlotte gasped, truly surprised. “You mean the ex-wife from hell is going to let Gray have his son for the holiday?”
“They made a bargain. She gets Rafe for Christmas and Gray gets him for Thanksgiving. We’re taking Wednesday off to drive up.” Wednesday was the last day of school before the holiday and not much of anything happened. Lance always let classes out at noon.
“Wow. Family time,” Charlotte said. “How does that feel?”
“Kinda scary. I’ve never spent this much time with Rafe.” She rolled her eyes. “There’ll probably be some kind of blowout.”
“Don’t start thinking that way. So”—Charlotte shot Lola a beady-eyed stare—“are you staying in Gray’s room? Or do you get your own, and he and Rafe will share?”
“We sleep together at the house. Gray doesn’t hide it. So we’re not going to do anything differently up there. I stay with Gray, Rafe gets his own room. But I am not having a communicating door.”
“Thank God.” There were some limits. “This is a huge step in acceptance, you know.”
“I’ll tell you about acceptance when we get back. Rafe and I are holding our own so far, but five days might be stretching it.”
“Be positive. And call me if you feel like you’re ready to implode. I’ll talk you down.”
With Lola gone, she wouldn’t have anyone to talk her down. She hadn’t even thought about the holiday in terms of the principal. Did that mean she wouldn’t see him for five days?
Her heart gave a little lurch. She shouldn’t have felt anything at all. It was only five days. Only a holiday weekend. She would spend the majority of it with her family—Mom, Dad, two brothers, two sisters, and assorted nieces and nephews. She wouldn’t miss Lance at all. Besides, after the way he’d lorded it over her last night, some time apart would give them both greater clarity. Yes, a short break was in order.
* * *
“YOU WANT TO TAKE A BREAK UNTIL AFTER THE THANKSGIVING holiday?” Lance was stunned.
He’d called Charlotte Sunday night to apologize. Well, not apologize, that wasn’t the right word. To discuss whatever issue she had.
“This is a big holiday for my family. It’s not just Thanksgiving Day itself, but lots of activities. We all go to the movies on Friday. And if the weather’s nice over the weekend”—which it was forecasted to be—“we’ll go down to Monterey. We’ll probably do the aquarium. The kids love it.”
It all sounded like an excuse not to see him. Dammit, he’d been making plans as if she were now part of his life, while she was still relegating him to the role of dom. And nothing else.
“Besides,” she went on in an almost airy tone, “we don’t want to give David Smith any more ammunition right now.”
“This is private. Just between us. He doesn’t know. No one knows.” But Charlotte had a point. With Smith on the warpath, Lance stood a better chance of defending Charlotte if no one knew about their relationship. That was in her best interests for the time being.
“All right,” he agreed. “But when I see you again, we’ll talk about the overnight arrangements. I’m changing the rules.” Said just like the dom he was supposed to be. Charlotte would fight, but he would maintain the upper hand.
She huffed loudly, a sure sign of her annoyance. “We’ll see about that, Principal Hutton. Until we speak again.”
She was gone. He wasn’t done, not anywhere near. He’d wanted to hear her come. He’d wanted to come with her.
A week without her? He’d definitely go into withdrawal. But when he had her again, Jesus, it would be explosive. The wait might very well be worth it.
* * *
DAMN. SHE SHOULD HAVE AT LEAST GOTTEN AN ORGASM OUT OF that phone call last night. In her haste to assert control over the relationship by saying they needed a break, Charlotte had hung up on Lance too soon. One tiny little orgasm wouldn’t have hurt anything. It would definitely have taken the edge off her nerves, especially when she wouldn’t have a sexual outlet other than her vibrator until after the holiday. That bit about overnight arrangements and changing the rules, however, didn’t bode well for her retaining control.
To top it off, Charlotte was a little edgy before her appointment with Jeanine. She still hadn’t decided on the best tactic for handling her client. Should she coerce her into a couple’s session with Smith? Charlotte didn’t like the word coerce. She simply wanted a chance to mediate between them, an opportunity to understand exactly what Jeanine had told her husband, and to correct any misconceptions. At least to identify why he was so angry. Most likely he was afraid Charlotte was going to tell someone what he wanted his wife to do.
The red light flashed on her phone, and her chance to come up with a firm game plan was gone.
Dressed in what Charlotte could only describe as a power suit—tailored jacket with matching skirt—Jeanine took her usual seat, crossed her legs, and primly pulled the skirt’s hem to her knees.
“Thank you for coming,” Charlotte greeted her.
Jeanine set her purse on the table between them. “First, I apologize for that scene in the principal’s office. I didn’t handle it correctly.”
“It was a shock.” Charlotte would give her that.
“If I hadn’t gotten upset, David would have been none the wiser.”
This gave Charlotte the opportunity she needed. “Our therapy is confidential and private. I would never divulge anything to anyone. But you have the right to privacy, too.” Charlotte encouraged her clients to talk about their sessions with their significant others, but she also counseled that they had a right to keep whatever they wanted to themselves. It was a balance. Some of the frank discussions she had with clients could be hurtful to the other partner.
“I didn’t tell him much.” Despite her power suit, which Charlotte suspected was meant to give her courage, Jeanine stared at her stylish pumps. “He was angry that I went to a psychiatrist without telling him.”
“You have a right to consult with a therapist. The issue that needs to be addressed is why you didn’t want to tell him in the first place.”
Jeanine gaped. “You know why. He’s asking me to do something, well, amoral.”
“I know that upset you. But my question is more about why you didn’t say to him that you were feeling uneasy with some aspects of the relationship and needed to talk out your feelings with a professional.” She let the polite words sit for a beat, then added the punch. “Why weren’t you honest with him about seeing a therapist?”
“Because he wouldn’t have let me do it.” Jeanine’s voice rose.
“You didn’t need his permission.” Jeanine needed to stand up for what she wanted.
“It’s not about permission. He would have been afraid that I’d tell you everything. Which is exactly what I did.”
“I could have assured him that anything said within these four walls stays here.”
Jeanine shook her head. “I never would have gotten that far.” She set her mouth in a straight line. “And I wanted something for myself. I didn’t want to tell him. I didn’t want him trying to direct things. I didn’t want him coming to see you, telling you his side. This is about my side, about how I feel.”
Well, that certainly was a new perspective. Jeanine had demanded something for herself. “I agree,” Charlotte said. “But now
it’s out in the open. I see no reason why we can’t continue.”
Jeanine snorted. “Oh please, you’re joking. I’ll never hear the end of it. And neither will you.” She pointed a finger. “He will hound you.”
A shiver ran down Charlotte’s spine. The man was already hounding her. “Perhaps it would be a good idea if I talked with him, assured him about confidentiality, allayed his fears.”
Jeanine shook her head. “Absolutely not. It will only make things worse.”
Without Jeanine’s permission, Charlotte was out of options. “I’m concerned about you. We still haven’t resolved the issues you came to me with in the first place.”
“Believe me, he and I aren’t talking about sex at all.”
“That doesn’t mean things are resolved.” It meant they were far worse.
Jeanine drew in a deep breath, sat up straight, squared her shoulders. “I’m not coming back, Dr. Moore. There’s nothing you can say to convince me. I’ll work this out myself.”
Charlotte hated failure. And this one was huge. Jeanine was leaving in worse shape than when she’d arrived that first day. Except for that straight back. Perhaps she was a tad less spineless. It could be a good omen for a change in the way she dealt with her husband.
“I want you to feel free to contact me at any time. But before you go, we need to talk about the mistaken impressions your husband has regarding my practice. I’m not a sex surrogate, and I am not advocating that you commit deviant acts.”
She would have said more, but she was alerted by a sound out in the waiting room. A glance at the clock assured her it was too early for her next client, yet a moment later, her office door burst open.
David Smith stood on the threshold, his face mottled with anger. “I thought you said you weren’t coming to her anymore.”
Jeanine jumped to her feet. Charlotte rose with her, heart beating wildly. “Mr. Smith, please calm down.”
“I’m not talking to you.”
She didn’t like his tone. Or his attitude. “But I’m talking to you. Please keep your voice down. There are other offices in this building.”
With three big steps, he towered over her. She loved it when Lance did that, but David Smith vibrated with malice. “This isn’t high school. I’m not one of your students. Don’t tell me to shut up.”
All right, she needed to take charge. “Regardless of the circumstances, Mr. Smith, I’m glad you’re here. I’d like to talk about any issues you might have. With Jeanine’s permission, I’m sure we can alleviate any fears about our therapy.”
His voice boomed in the otherwise quiet office. “I’m not afraid of anything, least of all you. We will not be discussing the situation, and I want you to leave my wife alone. Leave my son alone, too.” He stabbed a finger at the center of his chest. “Don’t you realize I’m chairman of the school board? I can have your job.”
He was threatening her. It was unbelievable, like something out of a melodramatic TV movie. “I haven’t done anything, Mr. Smith. You can’t take away my job.”
He dropped his head, glared at her, and lowered his voice. “Wanna bet?”
She didn’t like to admit it, even to herself, but the man frightened her.
“If you’re not careful, I might even take away your license to practice as well.” Then he turned his gaze on his wife. “Jeanine, we’re outta here.”
He didn’t grab her arm or drag her away. He simply turned. And Jeanine followed. The outer office door slammed behind them.
She’d been upset that Lance hadn’t let her handle her own problem. Well, she’d certainly gotten her chance.
And all she’d done was make a bigger mess.
21
LANCE SLUNG HIS JACKET OVER HIS ARM. IT WAS UNSEASONABLY warm for Thanksgiving week, especially considering the temperatures and rain the previous week.
“Principal Hutton, I gotta talk to you.”
Eric Collins cornered him in the staff parking lot early on Tuesday morning. His hair was wild and his face pale with dark circles beneath his eyes as if he’d pulled an all-nighter. Lance didn’t think the boy had even bothered to use a comb before leaving home.
Other faculty and staff were entering the lot, parking their cars, heading up the aisles to the school. A few glanced their way. He thought about telling the boy to come by his office during his study period, but Eric appeared frantic, bouncing on his heels, his pupils large and dark. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s about my stepdad.” Eric tapped his fingers nervously against his jeans. “Can we talk in your office?”
“Don’t you have class”—Lance flipped his wrist to check his watch—“in fifteen minutes?”
“I do, but I guarantee you’ll give me a pass after you hear what I have to say.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Lance didn’t like Eric’s ominous sound. Smith was becoming a huge pain in the ass.
He gestured for Eric to follow. They garnered curious stares as they traversed the halls, Eric half a pace behind as if he were a dog Lance had told to heel. Or a kid who was in trouble and being taken to the principal’s office.
Mrs. Rivers looked up as they passed through, her eyes seemingly magnified through the lenses of her horn-rimmed glasses.
“Do I have any meetings in the next half hour, Mrs. Rivers?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Hold my calls.” He ushered Eric into his office and closed the door.
Eric waited until Lance was seated behind his desk, then took the chair opposite.
Lance leaned back. “All right, tell me.”
“It’s my parents, Principal Hutton. And Melody’s.”
Despite Lance’s nonchalant pose, his senses were on alert. “What about them?”
“Well, my stepdad had the Wrights over to our house last night, and he was fuming.”
“With them?”
“No, at Miss Moore.”
His stomach sank. “You didn’t talk to her again, did you?”
“No, it was my mom who went to see her yesterday, and my stepdad found out. I guess he and Miss Moore had a fight or something, then he dragged my mom out of there.”
Lance gnashed his teeth. Dammit, why the hell hadn’t Charlotte told him? Oh, yeah, because they were taking a break from each other. But this was school business, not personal.
Eric twisted his hands together. “Anyway, they were all in my stepdad’s study, but the laundry room’s on the other side, and if I put my ear up to the wall socket when there’s no plug in there, I can hear whatever they say.” Talk about cheap construction. How did kids figure this stuff out? It was ingenious. “That’s the only way I ever know what’s going on around there.” A typical kid, Eric rolled his eyes.
“Go on,” he said, as if Eric needed permission to reveal what he’d overheard.
“My stepdad was saying they had to put a stop to her—Miss Moore, I mean—that she was a menace to kids like me and Melody. That if there’s anything wrong with Melody”—Eric looked at Lance beseechingly—“and there’s not, I swear it.”
“I know there isn’t. She’ll be fine. We’ll work through this.”
“But she won’t get through it if she doesn’t have Miss Moore.” The boy’s features were tense, earnest.
Lance wondered how Charlotte inspired this kind of faith. But then he knew, because she cared. She was the real thing. She didn’t mouth platitudes or fob off responsibility. She did anything she could to help the kids who came to her in need.
“Melody will get all the help she requires,” he promised. “But finish telling me about this powwow last night.”
“Well, Mrs. Wright was pissed—I mean angry,” he changed the word this time as if afraid pissed would be considered profanity. “Anyway, she says that whatever’s wrong with Melody is all Miss Moore’s fault, that Miss Moore is telling Melody that she—Mrs. Wright, I mean—is abusing her because she’s offered to let her have surgery. She says a guidance counselor can’t be allowed to turn
kids against parents.”
“Surgery? What kind of surgery?”
“Breast implants.”
Lance drew his brows together and leaned forward. “That woman wants her fifteen-year-old daughter to get breast implants?”
“Yeah.” Eric nodded vigorously. “She thinks it’ll solve all Melody’s problems.”
He’d thought acne was her problem. How did they suddenly jump to breast implants? At this point, though, it was academic. There were only two germane points: First, Smith hated that his wife was Charlotte’s client, and second, Kathryn Wright thought she was being bad-mouthed to her daughter. Maybe it was the same symptom, the two didn’t like what was said about them behind their backs, most of which was probably true.
“Then what happened?”
“They were going on at my mom about what Miss Moore might have said to her, and she just kept saying that it was confidential and she couldn’t talk about it.”
The truth was that it was confidential only for Charlotte. She couldn’t reveal anything, but Jeanine Smith could say whatever she wanted. Dammit, why the hell hadn’t the woman defended Charlotte instead of clamming up?
Eric grabbed the arms of the chair and leaned forward gravely. “Then my stepdad starting saying how Miss Moore was probably talking about sex with all those students she has in her office, corrupting them, telling them that it was okay to have sex as long as they used condoms, and maybe she was even encouraging them to have multiple partners and orgies and stuff.”
It was so ridiculous, Lance would have laughed. Except that he could hear Smith’s voice in his head, pandering to parental fears, whipping up fury.
“And Mrs. Wright was agreeing and Mr. Wright was saying he didn’t want Melody alone with her.” Eric lowered his voice. “It was scary, Principal Hutton. Like one of those Salem witch hunts.”
Yes, indeed, it was. “What do they plan to do about all this?”
“They’re starting a petition to have her fired. Mrs. Wright’s going to take it round to all the parents of the freshman class.”
Shit. His worst fear.
Teach Me a Lesson Page 20
