Seeking Mr. Wrong

by Natalie Charles

  Eric glanced uncertainly at the tray. The cookies smelled wonderful, and I knew they tasted even better. “Did you buy those?”

  “I made them this morning.”

  “Before school?” He looked at me with wide eyes.

  I shrugged. “It’s an easy recipe I know very well. I can practically make them with my eyes shut.”

  Confession: I’d baked cookies for lots of meetings, and I had never until that day baked them on the actual morning of the meeting. I wanted these particular cookies to be as fresh as possible, because in my mind, Eric would bite into that treat and the flavors of chocolate and mocha would melt on his tongue, and he would know that his life was a stinking mess without me in it. To seal the deal, I’d worn a dress that was a little bit tight and had a neckline that was a teensy bit low. I just needed him to desperately want me, that’s all. I hadn’t considered what to do if my plan worked.

  “And you brought in your own coffee?” His gaze cut to the cheap white school coffeemaker on the rickety side table.

  “It goes perfectly with the cookies.” And it was delicious. Even straight out of a new bag, the coffee the school provided tasted like poop.

  He paused to frown at nothing in particular and then unwrapped his plastic-bag offerings. Sure enough, it was a convenience-store-bought coffee cake with raspberry jelly and frosting swirls on top. Even though Eric Clayman was officially my sworn enemy—and the reason my erotica heroines had taken to spanking my heroes and making them lick their leather boots—my heart twinged at the sight of his small, simple gesture. A lock of hair fell into his eyes, and he was wearing those wire-rimmed glasses again. He looked so smart, sweet, and boyish that I wanted to tousle his hair and kiss him on the cheek. Then I’d put him in the time-out chair and make him think about what a naughty boy he was.

  And oh, he was naughty. Underneath that starched white shirt and boring blue tie was a stretch of smooth, warm skin and a six-pack. Just enough hair for a girl to run her fingers through, curly and dark brown. His neck was soft and clean-smelling, and when she’d kissed him there, right above the collarbone, she’d felt the force of his pulse on her lips. She loved his hands the best: strong, with long fingers. Too masculine to be elegant. Skilled hands that had made her legs shake with a few well-placed strokes.

  I was staring at him. He balled the plastic bag and looked up and—too late. He’d caught me. I added a few more cookies to the tray, but the pile was already high and a couple slid off. As I picked them up and dusted the crumbs off the table, I felt his stare on me. It was the same stare I’d felt that night in the bar. A thrill shot through me and my cheeks grew warm. Yes, I hated him, but hate was such a strong word.

  SHE WOULD BE the death of him—her and that dress she was wearing, which showed every curve that she usually seemed so desperate to conceal. He hadn’t stopped thinking about that body and the feel of her skin against his, and that usually led to inconvenient results that he couldn’t exactly deal with at school. When she leaned over the table to do something to the cookies, the neckline of her dress loosened, revealing a black lace bra. Good lord. He had to look away.

  Not like touching her was even an option these days.

  This was new territory for him, and he didn’t know how to fix it. Fine, he’d been a jerk. He shouldn’t have said that he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. But they’d both agreed that they’d made a mistake, so what was the big deal? Except when they crossed paths in the hallway she wouldn’t look at him, and then she’d sent a series of e-mails to schedule the Winter Concert Committee meetings so she wouldn’t have to speak with him. He would never understand women. If it had been up to him and the world was different, they’d be spending every night together. But she’d ended things first, and yeah— He was her boss. It was messy. Didn’t she understand?

  “We need napkins.”

  Lettie seemed to make sure he was looking before licking her tongue into the edge of her mouth. He reached up to loosen his tie and said, “There should be some in the cabinet there, under the coffeemaker.”

  He hadn’t meant anything by it, but when she bent over to check— He cleared his throat and pretended to be busy arranging the coffee cake he’d brought. The sad little coffee cake that had no doubt been baked weeks ago, right there next to her fresh chocolate chip cookies. Why bother setting it out at all?

  “Is this the meeting?”

  Henry Givens squeezed through the doorway, knocking his shoulders against the frame. Moments later—egads. The whiff of body odor and mildew. Eric lifted his hand toward his nose but managed to stop himself before he looked too rude. He glanced at Lettie, who was watching him with her arms folded and amusement on her face. “You’re in the right place, Henry,” Eric said, and secured his hands on the back of his chair. “Sit anywhere you’d like.”

  Evelyn Pierce filed in next, wearing the angular black glasses that made her look like a cat. “Welcome. Help yourself to some snacks and coffee,” Eric said.

  Henry reached across the table to grab some cookies, but Evelyn continued around the conference room table to sit on the other side. “None for me, thanks. I gave up coffee weeks ago and I feel so much better. All that mold in the beans. And pesticides.”

  Lettie pushed the food toward Evelyn. “Would you care for cookies or coffee cake?”

  “Uh, no,” Evelyn said with a pointed you-must-be-kidding-me look. “Those store-bought pastries have formaldehyde in them.”

  Henry took a bite of a cookie. “Doesn’t taste like formaldehyde.” He brushed crumbs off his tie.

  “There’s no formaldehyde in my cookies,” Lettie said flatly. “Or in that coffee cake. I don’t know where you read that, Evelyn—”

  “It was on the Internet. I can send you the link.” She tugged at her short dark curls. “Is this it or are other people coming?”

  Eric rubbed at the back of his neck and glanced at the white institutional clock on the wall. “We have a few more coming and a couple of minutes.” He’d no sooner said it than Mindy and Justin walked in. “And here we are.”

  “Are we late?” Mindy lifted her hand to check her cell phone, the bracelets on her wrist clattering.

  “Just in time,” Lettie replied, and patted the empty seat beside her.

  Eric stared down at his hands and wondered how much Lettie had told Mindy. Not that she’d been any different around him, but they were obviously close friends. It all underscored the need to get his head on straight. He and Lettie had made a big mistake. He’d been unprofessional, and just because she walked into that meeting with her nice breasts and her cookies, that didn’t mean he had to succumb to his attraction.

  “All right, let’s get started.” He pulled out his chair at the head of the table. “Evelyn, you’re running the show—”

  “And that’s exactly where we should start,” she said, and set her cat glasses on top of her head. “I’m running the show, and with the music program reduced to one half-hour session a week per classroom, I don’t see how I’m expected to get this done.”

  Eric nodded patiently but squared his jaw just the same. “I hear you. This is certainly a challenge. What can the rest of us do to support you?”

  The question appeared to have caught Evelyn off guard. She blinked a few times and folded her arms across her chest. “I need more rehearsal time.”

  It didn’t surprise him. It was what she’d been complaining about for months now, but as Gretchen had pointed out, what were they going to cut to have more music? Math or reading? “Evelyn, the issue is—”

  He paused as the door opened and Max Anderson walked in. “Heard there was a party,” he quipped. “Mind if I join?”

  “Not at all,” Eric said, but he noted that Max sat in the seat right next to Lettie and flashed her a big smile as he did so. Eric’s stomach tightened. He turned back to Evelyn. “The issue is that we only have so many hours
in a day, and where are we going to get extra time for music? What do we cut?”

  She lifted her shoulders. “You asked me what I need. I need more time.”

  He inhaled deeply and folded his hands on the table. Complainers without solutions got under his collar. He wondered if he’d ever get used to dealing with them. “I want to help you—”

  “I’m sure it’s mostly the kindergarten you’re concerned with, correct?” Lettie said. “They need a little extra help.”

  Evelyn nodded. “It usually takes them the longest to be comfortable with the songs.”

  “I can talk to the other teachers, but maybe it’s possible for us to alter some activities in the short term to give you extra time with them.” She glanced at Eric. “Not academics, but I could cut one of the dramatic play sessions once a week for the next few weeks to give Evelyn more time for music. Would that help?”

  Evelyn’s posture softened, and her arms relaxed to rest on the table. “That would be great, Aletta. Thank you.”

  But Lettie was watching him, waiting for his approval. “Eric? Do you have any problem with that?”

  He supposed it would be harmless to reduce some time for dramatic play for a few weeks. None of the students should land in therapy over it, and they’d probably welcome the chance to practice their performance. “No problem with me,” he said. He looked down at the pad of paper in front of him. “Good idea, Lettie.”

  As she beamed and sat back in her seat, Eric realized what he liked about her. Lettie was someone who went above and beyond and didn’t complain about it. She found solutions. For the first time, he was grateful to have been paired on this committee with her. He cleared his throat. “All right. Now that that’s decided—”

  Evelyn cut him off. “I have the song list already prepared. Some folk songs and songs about snowmen, nothing religious. Only a few songs for each grade, and then one group number. Here: I brought copies for everyone.”

  “LETTIE, may I see you in my office?”

  The meeting had ended and the teachers were picking up their notes and bags and leaving the conference room. She was talking to Max, and she looked surprised that Eric had asked. “One minute,” she said, and turned back to whisper something to Max, who laughed.

  Heat rose from Eric’s collar as he watched the two of them giggling together. “I need to speak with you now,” he said. When he saw her eyes widen at his sharp tone, he added, “Please.”

  He swept his notepad and pen from the table and stood by the door, waiting. Lettie sighed and said to Max, “Guess I need to go.”

  Max shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ll be around if you want to talk later.”

  She nodded and turned on her heel, taking a moment to carefully push in the chairs at the table before striding past him as if he wasn’t there at all. Eric clenched his jaw and bit his tongue. Fortunately the meeting had been productive. They had set a date and time for the performance, approved the song list, and come up with a list of decorations that would be needed. Everyone had a job, from designing invitations to running the sound system. It was a relief to think that the committee might not need to meet again.

  Lettie walked down the hall to his office and waited with her arms crossed for him to unlock the door. “So I take it we’re talking again?” she mumbled.

  “I didn’t realize we weren’t.”

  Eric had no interest in playing games. He opened the door and waited for her to walk in. The motion-sensitive light sensor registered her movement and light flooded the room. Lettie stopped just short of his desk, her arms still crossed, a surly look on her pretty face. “What’s going on?”

  He leaned against the front of his desk and set his hands beside his thighs. From there, he could smell her perfume: sweet, like vanilla and lemon. Actually, she smelled a little bit like a lemon cookie. He brought his face closer to her neck. “You smell nice.”

  Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she actually smiled at him. “You didn’t bring me in here to sniff me, did you?”

  Her tone was playful, her head tilted coyly at him. He could look at that face all day. He straightened. “No, I brought you in here because your neckline violates the dress code. The part about no cleavage lines.”

  It was meant as a little light humor, just something to break the ice between them. She didn’t laugh. “Part three, section one, letter D, if I remember correctly. Yes, I’m aware.” Lettie brought her hands up and tugged the neckline of her dress down even lower, this time exposing the edges of the lacy black bra he’d peeked at earlier. “Are you going to make me take it off?”

  She held his gaze, her hazel eyes issuing a challenge. Yikes. “They ought to put a sign on you,” he said. “You’re dangerous when provoked.”

  “You have no idea.”

  He laughed softly. “I may know something about it.”

  He couldn’t explain his attraction to her. Maybe it was in the particular angles of her face, or in the light, melodic sound of her voice. It was possibly in her depth, and in the way she kept him guessing. If that was the case, he wondered if he’d get bored once he figured her out. It was a risk he was willing to take.

  He ran his gaze across her delicate features: her fine, straight nose; her deep-set brown eyes; her high cheekbones; and her full, wide mouth. “You’re angry with me,” he said. “I wish you weren’t.”

  She glanced down. “We made a mistake. Things have been awkward.”

  He knew it. And it was still requiring all of his self-control not to reach out and touch her. “I’m sorry for anything I said to upset you. I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”

  Lettie smiled with her mouth closed like she was holding on to a secret. “What’s your suggestion? Should we build a time machine?”

  She reached out slowly to toy with a button at the center of his chest, closest to his heart. He grabbed her wrist in his hand and pulled her arm around his back, bringing her hips between his thighs. She made a little chirp. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered. “And I don’t want to.”

  “What a coincidence,” she purred. “I’m looking to acquire a lover.”

  Odd choice of words, but whatever. He brought his head down to kiss her, and she tilted hers up. But just as he was about to touch her, she lifted one finger to stop him. “I can’t.”

  He froze, the torment building inside of him. The attraction was almost too much to bear. “What is it?” he whispered. “Is it because of work? Because I’m in the administration?”

  He knew she wasn’t tenured, not yet. She’d spent a few years in a different school district before moving to River Junction. It was understandable that she’d worry about that, but the board was collecting CVs and looking to fill his position permanently. He wouldn’t be there forever, and so he didn’t see what it mattered. “We wouldn’t be the first ones. One of the teachers in the middle school is married to the principal—”

  “It’s not that. It’s me.” She pulled back and raised her face to meet his. “I’m a little bit damaged.”

  She said it as easily as if she was describing a dented can of beans.

  “Damaged? Who isn’t?” Eric winced. “What’s that even mean? Is this about your engagement?”

  “Yes. And no. There’s more to it.” With flat hands she smoothed her already neat hair. “I can’t get involved.”

  Eric straightened his posture. At one point in his life he was sure he’d expected people to be predictable and consistent as a rule, but that was a long time ago. Even so, this conversation was beginning to make his head hurt. “You just told me you were looking for a lover.”

  “Yes. I can understand your confusion.” She found a thumbnail and started to chew on it thoughtfully. “What if we entered into a contract?”

  “A contract?”

  “Yes. Sex only. No strings attached. No feelings and promises. No publi
c disclosures to the administration. Just sex.” Her face brightened. “That could be perfect, actually.”

  Eric doubted he was competent to enter into any kind of agreement while she was standing between his legs like that. He pulled her finger between his lips to suck the fingertip, and she released a soft moan that sent a chill through his core. “I want to bend you over this desk,” he groaned.

  Her eyes softened with desire, but she recovered in a flash and yanked her hand away from him. “You don’t understand. I’m no good at relationships. And you’re wrong for me, Eric. In a hundred different ways. But you’re good at what you do, and I need to broaden my horizons. So,” she concluded with a shrug, “contract.”

  His forehead tightened as he attempted to sort out the mess she’d just tossed his way. “You need to broaden your horizons? What’s that mean?”

  “I need to have good sex. I have my reasons.” She tightened her lips.

  Eric scratched at his cheek and considered whether he was maybe hallucinating, or asleep. It was all too weird. “I don’t like the idea of a sex contract. It seems degrading to both of us.”

  Her face fell. “It’s done in books all the time!”

  “What kinds of books are you reading, Lettie?”

  She inhaled and looked off to the side at his bookcase. The sex kitten had left as quickly as she’d come, and in her place was a vulnerable woman who seemed determined to gnaw her thumbnail off completely. He leaned his palms against the surface of the desk. “Listen. It’s not just about sex for me. I like you. I want to get to know you better.”

  A crease appeared between her eyebrows, and she frowned. “I just got out of a relationship. I’m not ready to date again.”

  “I respect that. But I don’t beg. And I don’t enter into sex contracts.”

  Her eyes widened and she pulled her handbag closer to her side. She was quiet for a moment before collecting herself and saying, “Then I guess we’re done here.”