Seeking Mr. Wrong

by Natalie Charles

  It was a huge miscalculation on my part.

  ERIC PULLED into the school parking lot, turned off his vehicle, and sat staring out the windshield. There were no cameras waiting for him that day. A check in the “plus” column. Lettie Osbourne’s car was already there. A check in the “giant mess” column, because he was going to have to face her and tell her in no uncertain terms that they needed to forget what had happened between them on Saturday night. Then he had to pretend that was even possible.

  He’d spent too long on Sunday wondering what had gotten into him the night before. Not the alcohol, because he hadn’t had much. It would’ve been a convenient excuse. When he’d gone into the bar, he saw this hot girl chatting with Darren—that in itself was odd enough to make him do a double take. Then when he’d realized the hot girl was Aletta, and that she was laughing at something Darren had said . . . he’d lost his mind. Officially lost it. Some instinct had taken him over, and he’d wanted to knock Darren out with a club and drag Lettie back to his cave, shouting, “Mine!” How charming and enlightened.

  Part of that instinct was comforting, if he was being honest. Becca, his ex, had complained that he wasn’t dangerous enough. “I need someone more exciting.” She’d said it as simply as if she was telling him she needed a new pair of shoes. “Someone who makes me feel alive.”

  When Becca said it, he knew what she was looking for. Someone aggressive. A guy who would punch out another guy for looking at her the wrong way. Well, he’d grown up with a father like that, and he knew that aggression didn’t stay appropriately contained, if there was such a thing. It became abuse. He would never be that guy. But he resented the implication that he was passionless. Weak.

  The memory still needled him, and he hadn’t seen her for over a year. Becca’d had the alarming ability to hurt. She’d find old wounds and dig a finger inside them to test their depth. Then when she was finished exploring, she’d mark that spot and move on, to return if she needed to. He knew when he’d met her that she was a big mistake, and he’d gone ahead anyway. But Becca had taught him that women want someone who will take risks. The women he was attracted to, anyway. But he’d gone too far with Lettie. He’d crossed a line and he needed to fix it before both of them got hurt.

  A figure walked past his car. Eric opened his briefcase and pretended to look for something. When she passed, he righted his posture again. This was absurd.

  He felt conspicuous as he walked into the school. Paranoid, as if everyone already knew. Impossible. He tried to read smiles as he walked to his office. Everything seemed normal. He could be projecting—

  There was a figure standing outside his office, waiting for him. His pulse quickened as he reached the door. “Can I help . . .”

  His voice trailed off as Aletta turned to face him. She looked panicked. “Hi,” she said.

  She was so pretty, the way her brown hair framed her face and brushed her shoulders. He puffed his chest slightly and turned on the lights. “Good morning, Ms. Osbourne,” he said loudly. “Did you have a nice weekend? How did your apple project turn out? Sorry I haven’t been by to see it.”

  All of this was for the benefit of the administrative assistant sitting outside of his door. There were lots of things he needed more of in his life. Wisdom was one. Self-control was another. Gossip did not make the list.

  Aletta’s forehead tightened in confusion. “The apples? Fine. They look great. Listen—”

  “Glad to hear it!” He set his briefcase on his desk with a thud. The light on his phone wasn’t blinking, but he said, “Looks like I’ve got some phone calls to return, and I have to get ready for a meeting. Is there something I can help you with now, or can it wait?”

  She looked at the non-blinking light on his phone and then back at him. Then she reached behind her to shut the door. “I thought we should—”

  “Don’t do that!” He was louder than he intended, and he darted around the desk. “It gets warm in here now that the heat’s on. I prefer to leave it open.”

  She looked stung. He might as well have slapped her across the face.

  “All right.” Her gaze flew to the admin area and then back to him. “It’s just— We should talk.”

  All of his bad decisions had come to find him there in his office, and he was feeling rattled. One thing was for sure: he could not have this conversation here, within earshot of any living person. If he could have the conversation at all. At the moment, he wasn’t certain he was prepared.

  “Nothing to talk about,” he said tightly in a lowered voice. Then, more loudly, “If you’re concerned about teacher observations, those haven’t been scheduled yet. That was mentioned at the last teachers’ meeting, wasn’t it?”

  Lettie folded her arms across her chest and delivered a withering stare. “No. It wasn’t. And that’s not what—”

  “Oh, right. I’m thinking of the supply closet sign-out policy,” he boomed. Then he whispered, “This is not the time.”

  “You think there’s a better one?” Lettie’s left eye twitched slightly. “Fine. I had a question about construction paper,” she said, partly over her shoulder for the benefit of the admins. “If I sign out three pieces, do I still have to account for that?” She added softly, “I’m not going to tell anyone about Saturday. It was a mistake.”

  Now it was Eric’s turn to feel stung. Was he being rejected? Sure, he’d been about to say something similar to her, but even so.

  “Yes, every single piece of paper needs to be accounted for. I know it sounds tedious, but we’re under a lot of scrutiny.” He sucked a breath and hissed, “Huge mistake. I couldn’t agree more. One of the worst of my life, frankly.”

  That was too far. Were her eyes watering? Was she going to cry?

  “That is pretty draconian.” She looked away, then narrowed her eyes at him and whispered, “You don’t need to be a dick about it.”

  Now she was name-calling. This was so juvenile. They were professionals. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said as he turned and rounded his desk. “You understand the situation. You seem like a smart girl. It’s like everyone’s watching our every move. We’re living in a fishbowl.”

  He was only trying to load his harmless-sounding words with meaning, but he suspected he was coming off like a jerk. One look at Lettie’s face told him that she agreed completely: he was a jackass.

  She lifted her head high and set one hand on the door. “I understand. You’re not really in charge of these policies. I should speak with someone higher up the chain of command.”

  What the—? Was she being insubordinate? His jaw tensed. Why, he should bend her over his knee and spank her. He raked his hand across his cheek. He needed to scrub his mind clean. “All right. Have a good day.”

  There. That went well.

  Lettie was halfway out the door when Gretchen stormed in on a cloud of perfume. “Eric! We need to talk about the Winter Concert.”

  Of all the stupid things he didn’t need. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sure. Maybe after lunch.”

  Gretchen pursed her lips, then shook her head. “No. Better to do it now before we forget. It won’t take long. I need you to take it over. Marlene did it last year. It’s a vice-principal duty.”

  They both knew she was making that up. The Winter Concert wasn’t something Gretchen wanted to deal with, that’s all. So like anything else she didn’t want to do—talk to the press, find documents for the police or lawyers, buy apple cider and doughnut holes for staff meetings—it landed on his desk.

  Eric attempted a smile. “Most of Marlene’s files are with the police. What’s the first step?”

  Lettie was stuck in his office, blocked by Gretchen’s broad shoulders. She stood quietly to the side, still gripping the doorknob. The principal waved one hand dismissively in the air, continuing as if they were alone. “Pull together a committee to help you. Make them do most
of the work. Here”—she pointed to Aletta—“you were on the Winter Concert Committee last year, weren’t you?”

  She opened her mouth and then closed it again, resigned. “Yes.” It was barely audible.

  “You can help out again this year, then,” Gretchen said. “Assemble some of the teachers who sat on the committee last year. It’s not hard,” she continued, looking at Eric again. “You need a date, decorations, and a song list for each grade, and you can let Evelyn Pierce handle the last part.” She rolled her eyes. “Godspeed with that.”

  Gretchen turned and left the room, muttering something about a report she needed to write. Lettie and Eric exchanged a glance. He looked down at his desk blotter. “Anything else? Like I said, I have some calls to make.”

  Lettie spun on her heel and stormed out of the office. He was impressed she didn’t flip him the bird.

  CHAPTER 14

  THE FACULTY LOUNGE smelled like fish sticks. I slumped down in my seat and kept my face close to my salad, but the smell reminded me of the many thawed fish dinners I’d eaten over the summer. It was enough to make me lose my appetite. I set my plastic fork in the salad container and pushed it to the side. “So. What are you doing for the next six weeks?”

  That day, Mindy was wearing a silver long-sleeve shirt, lots of thin silver bracelets, and a striped red-and-white scarf, wound loosely. Her dark hair was pulled back into a bun, but a few strands hung around her face. For once, she’d followed the dress code. She pulled an orange from her lunch bag. “Depends on why you’re asking.”

  “I’m on the Winter Concert Committee again. I need warm bodies.”

  My friend scoffed and shook her head. “Oh no. I’m going to manifest an excuse for that.”

  “Come on, please?” I pressed my hands together in prayer. “Brunhilda is making me do this.”

  The scent of fresh orange went some way toward clearing the air of the stench of fish, but it didn’t quite mask the odor. Mindy stacked the orange peels neatly on a napkin. “You’ll have to pay me, hon. I served on that committee a few years ago and almost stabbed Evelyn in the eye with a plastic icicle.”

  I pressed my lips together and glanced around the room. We were the only ones at our table, and there was plenty of activity and chatter in the lounge. If we kept our voices down . . .

  I leaned forward and whispered, “I can pay you in information.”

  Mindy lifted one elegant eyebrow while the other remained in place. It was a trick I’d yet to master. “This better be good.”

  “It is. I swear it.”

  She bit into a slice of orange and chewed silently. “Okay. Spill.”

  “I had sex with Eric on Saturday night. In the office at Bar Harbor.”

  Mindy’s mouth paused midchew. She calmly folded her orange peels into her napkin and slipped them into her brown paper bag. “Fucking hell,” she whispered. “I drove you home and you didn’t even tell me.”

  My hands were fisted in my lap, and I realized then how desperate I was for her to shoulder some of my shame and humiliation over the episode. “I totally screwed up. I’m sick over it—”

  “Do you realize I’ve spent the last six months trying to manifest an exciting life for myself?” she said. “And I have never come close to having sex with a hot boss. Not even once. Not even someone else’s hot boss.” She fluttered her lips. “That’s juicy. It’s my fantasy. I’m super jealous.”

  “You shouldn’t be. It’s awful,” I said. “I went to talk to him about it this morning—”

  “No you didn’t. In his office?”

  “Yes—”

  “Damn.”

  “And he told me it was the biggest mistake of his life.”

  She crumpled up her paper bag. “What an asshole. No one talks to my girl like that. Don’t listen to him. You’re the best he’s ever had.”

  I loved Mindy. I needed to hire her to interact with people and run my mess of a life. She’d set Eric straight, tell him not to screw with me. “So in conclusion: I thought I had a crush on him, but it turns out I hate his ass face.” I shrugged nonchalantly and smiled. “How’s Chase?”

  “Oh no you don’t. You’re not changing the subject.” She inched her chair closer to mine. “Was it good?”

  “Yes,” I answered without hesitation. Sex with Eric had been amazing. The things he’d done and the way he’d taken charge of my body . . . “Let me put it this way: it’s the first time I realized I’ve been missing out. Big-time.”

  She blew out a long breath and sat back in her chair. “I knew it. I could tell just by looking at him that he’s a sex god.”

  Heat crawled up my neck, and I darted a glance around. “No one’s listening,” she said. “But good for you. Better than James, eh? And you don’t need to answer that. I already know.”

  I busied myself with covering up my half-eaten salad and sliding it back into my lunch bag. “Anyway, the Winter Concert Committee appreciates your service.”

  “Ugh. Maybe I can give you some money and buy my way out of this?”

  “Sorry. I need you to sit in a room with me and pretend you care. Plus, Eric’s in charge. I need your support.”

  Mindy’s eyes widened. “Wow, Lettie. You don’t know how to keep yourself out of trouble, do you?”

  “No, it’s fine. Really.” I zipped my lunch bag and folded my hands primly on my lap. “I did what you said and I went after Mr. Wrong. Found him. Scratched that itch. Now I feel ready to get back on track, you know? Move in a healthier direction.”

  “Uh-huh.” She wasn’t convinced in the least. “So now you want a relationship or something?”

  No, I didn’t. Relationships were complicated. I came home every night to a male who kissed me and followed me around like I was the only person in the world. He licked my feet while I complained about my day. Sure, sometimes he ripped the crotch out of my jeans and peed on the floor, but really. What more could I possibly ask for?

  “Relationships are a dead end,” I said gravely. “All I want is to stay focused on my class, plan this Winter Concert without choking someone or putting my head in an oven, and put this whole ugly episode behind me.”

  Mindy fluffed her scarf and folded her arms across her chest. “I’m actually proud of you. You did it. You had incredible sex with a hot guy. I’ll bet you’re not thinking about James anymore, right?”

  The realization set me back in my seat. She was right. I’d managed to screw up my life in colossal new ways, and James was no longer on my radar. I was almost pining for the days when all I had to deal with was a canceled wedding and a fiancé who’d moved on suspiciously soon. “Wow, Mindy. You should be an advice columnist or something.”

  “Don’t I know it.” She nodded wisely. “Mindy Ling, Doctor of Love.”

  CHAPTER 15

  FOR THE FIRST MEETING of the Winter Concert Committee, I assembled a faculty dream team of sorts: stylish, dynamic Mindy; depressing Evelyn Pierce; stinky Henry; and golden child and general kiss-ass Justin Meyers. Oh, and me. And Eric, of course, but I was trying not to think about him.

  Our committee meeting had been planned entirely by e-mail.

  To: eclayman@noahwebsterelementary.ct.ed

  From: aosbourne@noahwebsterelementary.ct.ed

  Subject: Winter Concert Committee

  Dear Mr. Clayman:

  As you know, Dr. Hauschild has asked us to coordinate a Winter Concert Committee to discuss the school’s winter festivities. I have a number of eager faculty participants. We are available to meet at your convenience.

  Sincerely,

  Aletta Osbourne

  Kindergarten, Room 116

  I’d fretted for a full hour about the wording and whether it was too personal to write “dear” in an e-mail, and whether signing it “Very truly yours” would make him think I was a doormat. If I’d lived in a world
without consequences, I would’ve greeted him with, “Hey, asshole,” and signed off with “Happily-moving-on-and-grateful-every-day-that-we’re-not-together.”

  His reply was chilly:

  To: aosbourne@noahwebsterelementary.ct.ed

  From: eclayman@noahwebsterelementary.ct.ed

  Re: Winter Concert Committee

  Sounds good. I’m available Wednesday afternoons. You can reserve the principal’s conference room.

  That was it. No “Dear Lettie” or “Thank you for taking this on. You are the driver of my dreams and the mistress of my desires. I adore you. Love, Eric.” It told me everything I needed to know about the man. So I fired back:

  To: eclayman@noahwebsterelementary.ct.ed

  From: aosbourne@noahwebsterelementary.ct.ed

  Re: Winter Concert Committee

  We’re meeting November 4 at 4:00.

  To which he replied:

  To: aosbourne@noahwebsterelementary.ct.ed

  From: eclayman@noahwebsterelementary.ct.ed

  Re: Winter Concert Committee

  K

  We hadn’t spoken for weeks, but officially, I hated him.

  The principal’s conference room was the fanciest in the school because it had an actual conference table and a window to the outside. Everything is relative, and the room itself was mustard yellow with light brown carpeting, but all things considered, it was quite literally the best we could do.

  On the day of the meeting, I brought in mocha chocolate chip cookies and a fresh bag of coffee. I went to the conference room to set up immediately after school ended and was arranging the cookies on a silver tray when you-know-who walked in, looking all hot. My stupid heart poked a finger in my chest as if to say, Hey, did you notice?

  Yes. Of course I noticed, but I only glanced up briefly from my duties. “Hey.”

  Eric paused in the doorway and looked confused. “You brought cookies?”

  “Yes. Is that a problem?”

  He held up a white plastic shopping bag. Inside I could see a box of coffee cake and a quart of apple cider. “Oh,” I said, and suddenly felt a little bad. He looked like a disappointed child. “I’m sure not everyone will want my cookies. I’ll put that out, too.”