“No security needed. I have no desire to be here a moment longer.” There was a temptation to threaten him again, but responses that felt good in the moment were often the ones a person regretted later. She needed time to think. Would he actually smear her son’s reputation? Was she willing to risk testing if he would?
Oh, God, what am I going to tell Whitney?
I’ll have to tell him something.
She hesitated at Mrs. Tellier’s desk. She wanted to reassure her that everything would be okay, but she was still in shock. The only thing she was certain of was that she didn’t want to make things worse for the older woman. There had to be a way to win, but something told Angelina that was a battle for another day.
Right then, her son was being pulled out of class and likely being told he was leaving the school. No warning. No explanation. She needed to be there when it happened.
Without another word, she strode across the hall, grabbed her purse, then in a controlled but quickened pace made her way to the main office.
Whitney was already seated on the bench outside of it with a manila folder in his hand. He stood as she approached. “You okay, Mom?”
She pulled him to her and simply hugged him. He was tall for his age, nearly eye-to-eye height when she stepped back. “I’m fine. We’re fine. Do you have everything?”
He nodded. “Yes. I don’t keep much in my locker. Did you withdraw me from the school?”
“We’ll talk about it in the car, okay?”
He followed her out of the building without protest. “I can handle Keaton, Mom.”
Deep breath. She opened the passenger door for him then went around and slid into the driver’s seat. To give herself time to collect her thoughts, she started the car engine and drove away from the school. For several moments neither said a word. They simply drove. She stopped at a small park with the bridge she and Whitney used to throw twigs off to see which would float away faster. Together, they stepped out of the car and walked to look over the bridge as they had so many times before. “First, I’m sorry, Whitney. I’m so sorry about how today went down. I’ll fix it. You may need to miss a few days of school, though.”
He pulled a leaf from a tree and released it above the rushing stream. “What happened?”
“It’s not something you need to worry about. Just know that although we left today that doesn’t mean I’m giving up. Sometimes a person’s best strategy is to back up and gather information before acting.”
“Were you fired?”
She gripped the railing of the bridge. “Yes.”
“Good.”
Her gaze flew to study his profile. She expected him to be sad, scared, maybe even angry with her. He looked a whole lot calmer than she felt. “It’s not good, Whitney. You’re at Reemsly on a scholarship based on my employment there. I either need to get my job back or empty our savings to re-enroll you.”
“I don’t want to go back.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” He released another leaf over the water below. It floated gently down then disappeared beneath the turbulent current. “I’m good at soccer, Mom. Really good. I bet I could have been one of the best players on the Reemsly team.”
“I thought you didn’t like soccer.”
“I love soccer. I just didn’t want to be on that team.”
Angelina turned more toward her son. “Why?”
“I don’t like the way they think they’re better than everyone else. I didn’t want to be like that, and I didn’t want to fight with any of them about it because—”
He stopped abruptly and Angelina’s heart clenched. “Because?”
He kept his eyes on the water below. “I didn’t want to get in trouble and get you in trouble. Everyone knows Mr. Svete is an asshole.”
Angelina gasped at the first swear she’d ever heard come out of her son’s mouth, but didn’t correct him. It was too accurate. She hugged him and realized he wasn’t a little boy anymore. At thirteen, he was her height and growing up so fast. Part of her hated that she’d put him in a position where he’d felt he needed to take care of her. Another part was so proud of him for wanting to. “Thank you, but don’t worry, Whitney. I can handle him.”
He stood taller and pressed his lips in a straight line before saying, “Don’t go back there, Mom.” He hugged her this time and her heart broke as she realized he was afraid for her.
I thought I was protecting him, but what was I teaching him?
To be quiet? To accept a kick without complaint?
She hated that Connor’s questions were still so fresh in her thoughts. “When I needed help, my little sister kicked ass for me. If you’ve already given up the fight, who’ll do that for your son?”
I’ve always seen myself as a fighter.
A survivor.
I wanted better for my son.
Life didn’t come with an instruction manual. She’d made the best choices she knew at each step, but that didn’t mean she didn’t wonder if she could have done better.
“Mr. Svete doesn’t scare me.” Angelina cupped her son’s face. “I’ll get you back into Reemsly.”
He pulled his head away. “I’m not going back to that school, Mom.”
Angelina took a deep breath. She adjusted the collar of his shirt. “I want you to be happy, Whitney, but school is something I can’t be flexible on. There are two things in life no one will be able to take away from you—”
His shoulders squared and finished for her, “A good education and my dignity. I know, Mom. That’s why I don’t want to go to that school. I want an education, just not the one that school is serving.”
How could she argue with that? She’d never heard education referred to in the same terms as a school lunch, but somehow it was fitting. Honestly, she wanted a job, but not the one that school was serving her, either. She nodded. “We have a little time to figure it out. I have some money saved. I’ll see what’s online and homeschool you until we find a place where they’re serving something better. How’s that?”
Her son cocked his head to one side. “How will that work when I’m already better in math than you are?”
“The hell you are.” She chucked her shoulder against his.
They shared a laugh.
When hers ended in a shaky sigh, her son turned to look down over the water. “It’s going to be okay, Mom. You’ll see.”
She took a place beside him. “How could it not be when I have you for a son?”
They took in the view without speaking for a moment, then he asked, “Why did he fire you?”
Before they’d decided he wouldn’t return to Reemsly, she wouldn’t have told him. Now though, she was beginning to think he needed to see that sitting down and watching someone get kicked or accepting the kick yourself wasn’t the best way to live. Sometimes you have to be the first voice to stand in protest, and even if it ends badly for you, it’s still the right thing to do.
So, she told him about Connor Sutton’s speech . . . repeated it as close to word for word as she could. Then she explained how his words had stayed with her and made it impossible for her to watch Mr. Svete belittle Mrs. Tellier.
“She didn’t stand up for you?” he asked with surprised outrage. “She just let you get fired?”
“I didn’t want her to. She’s almost seventy, Whitney. And she has people who rely on her. I can find another job. Where would she go?”
“I like Mrs. Tellier.”
“I do too.”
Eyes too solemn for someone his age, Whitney met Angelina’s gaze. “We could find her a new job.”
You mean after I find one for myself? How did I luck out and get such a good kid? “We could sure try.” She straightened off the railing. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. What do you say we go out to lunch?”
He perked up. “To celebrate our freedom.”
“Our freedom,” she echoed his words. Was that what Mr. Svete had given her? It felt scarier than tha
t.
Her son didn’t look afraid, though. He looked happy. Happier than he’d looked in a while. She smiled and ruffled his hair. He was right—everything was going to be okay.
First, lunch.
Then a hot bath, early pajamas, and some mind-numbing movie binging—hopefully with a huge bowl of popcorn and this kid at my side.
Tomorrow is a whole new day.
I’ll shine then.
Chapter Five
Early the next day Connor was in his office in New York City, kicking his own ass in a game of darts. Having an office had never been a goal for him, but everyone in his family now had one. Claire said having it lent him a level of credibility. No one needed to know the filing cabinets were empty or that his secretary spent her time writing romance novels rather than doing any actual work. Like everything else in his life, she was a prop he tolerated.
And thankfully, she was happily married. It kept things easy between them.
He was feeling restless. He’d spent the night thinking about a woman he told himself he’d be better off forgetting. He couldn’t shake the look that had entered Angelina’s eyes when he’d asked her if things were really that bad where she worked.
I should have done more.
But what?
He headed out to his secretary’s desk. “Kimmie.”
She looked up in surprise. “Yes, Mr. Sutton?”
“I need your honest opinion of my badass impression.”
She smiled and closed her laptop. “Sure. Is this for a new role?”
“You could say that. Promise not to laugh, though. I can’t break character.”
With a wave of her hand over her face, she erased her smile. “No laughing, okay. I’m ready.”
Connor turned away, did a few facial exercises, then shot for the same expression he’d held to the day before. He channeled his inner Bradford and stared down the petite brunette with purple-rimmed glasses. “How long have you worked here, Kimmie?” He shook his head. A real badass wouldn’t use her first name. “Mrs.—Mrs.—what’s your last name again?”
“Sanchez. My name is Kim Sanchez. Same as the day you hired me. And it has been almost a year.” She didn’t even crack a smile. Damn she was good.
“Do you think you’re funny?” he demanded.
Her eyes twinkled with humor. “No, sir.”
He motioned toward his office. “Hold my calls. My morning is back-to-back meetings. Unless it’s the president himself, take a message.”
“You have meetings? Did I miss something?” she asked.
“Of course not.” He chuckled, then narrowed his eyes at her. “Focus. If you didn’t know me and I looked at you like this would you think I’m an asshole or dangerous and mysterious?”
She tapped a finger on her chin. “When I first met my husband he used to do this thing with his hand.” She stood up and pushed her jacket aside to rest her hand on the belt of her slacks. “I thought it was sexy in a dangerous way.”
Connor mirrored her stance. “Like this?”
“Slower. Like you’re reaching for a gun you haven’t decided if you need to use yet.”
He shook his arm out, then brought his hand to his hip again, slower.
“That’s it,” she exclaimed. “Want my honest opinion?”
He threw both hands up in the air. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I love that about you.” She smiled. “If you’re really trying to look dangerous you shouldn’t bound into a room. When I picture a badass, I imagine someone with tense, abrupt movements. Your expression works for me, but your body still says relaxed and happy.”
Connor flexed his shoulders then walked to the door of his office again. “Okay, take two.” He spun on his heel, narrowed his eyes, and walked toward Kimmie’s desk in a deliberate, slow fashion. When he came to a stop, he brought his hand to his hip and stared her down.
“Oh, that’s good,” she exclaimed. “You’ve got it.”
The outer door of her office opened and Bradford walked in. Slow and tense. Coiled like a snake about to strike. Connor nodded rather than offering his more enthusiastic greeting.
“We need to talk,” Bradford said in a terse tone.
Kimmie clapped. “Is he helping with your character study? Good choice! Yes, copy those mannerisms and you’ll nail badass.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Bradford said with no humor. “Am I interrupting?”
“No, no,” Connor assured him. “Bradford this is my secretary, Kimmie. Kimmie, this is Bradford—Do you have a last name?”
“I do,” he replied but didn’t offer it up.
Connor thumbed at Bradford. “Coolest guy I know.”
“We need to talk,” Bradford said without acknowledging Connor’s compliment.
“See, I have meetings. Hold my calls,” Connor said to Kimmie with a wink and a smile before attempting a stern, serious expression.
“Will do, Mr. Sutton,” she said in a respectful tone as she opened her laptop to likely write another chapter of her novel.
After leading the way into his office, Connor closed the door. “What’s up?”
Bradford walked around the room to study the photos on the wall as well as the shelves full of an eclectic collection of books—classics, nonfiction, biographies, thrillers. “What do you need an office for?” he asked.
Another man might have been insulted, but it was a valid question. Connor went to sit behind his impressive oak desk, then laced his hands behind his head, leaned back in his chair, and propped his feet up on it. “Claire thought it fit my image. Mostly I nap—or read. It was a good place to memorize my lines.”
He scanned the photos without commenting on any. “Your instincts about the headmaster at Reemsly were spot-on. On the surface his record and reputation are spotless. When I dug deeper, things got murkier. Since he joined the school, the administration has undergone several major turnovers. Anyone who questions him is instantly let go. Everyone in the finance department is fresh from college. I can’t imagine they know how much money has come in or gone out since he took over.”
Connor dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward. “You think he’s embezzling from the school?”
“I don’t have proof yet, but he’s dirty. I’d bet my life on it. How involved do you want to get in this?”
After surging to his feet, he groaned and pocketed his hands. “What are my options?”
“Do you think shit like this comes with a menu? All I need to know is if you want to keep your hands clean.”
He didn’t want to admit it, but he had to. “You’d have to tell me what that means.”
“Never mind.” Bradford sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Should I bother to tell you what else I learned?”
“You don’t have many friends, do you, Bradford?”
Bradford’s head snapped back, but he said nothing.
“You’ve got to learn how to talk nicer to people. Your little digs don’t bother me, but when you use them on Dylan they actually hurt his feelings. Is that what you want—to hurt people all the time? Wouldn’t it be more fun to sit around, shoot the shit, and laugh? That’s what I miss doing the most . . . hanging out with my buddies, sharing a case of beer, and doing nothing.”
“Sounds like a complete waste of time.”
“Or a little piece of heaven. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Life is about balance, Bradford. According to Aristotle that’s the secret to being a happy person.”
“You read Aristotle?”
Connor nodded toward the bookshelves. “I started reading more only recently. He has some interesting ideas. Moderation. A coward sees a building on fire and runs from it. A reckless fool rushes in and dies. A firefighter goes into the building in a balanced, prepared way with the tools needed to actually make a difference. Courage is intelligent action in the face of adversity.”
Bradford walked over to the bookshelf. “That actually sounds like a good read.”
Connor cleare
d his throat and dug the graphic novel version of Aristotle’s teachings out from beneath a pile of scripts and slapped it down on his desk. “It’s even better with pictures. The Greeks definitely knew how to party too. Nothing we do today would have shocked anyone back then.”
Rather than walking over to check on Connor’s suggestion, Bradford continued to study the books on the shelf. “The Billionaire Wins the Game. You have an interesting selection of books.”
“Kimmie introduced me to the author. I thought romance novels were just for women, but I binge read that whole series. Joseph Anderson has three single sons and he wants grandchildren . . .”
Bradford turned around and cocked an eyebrow.
Flashing a sheepish smile, Connor shrugged. “Hey, it’s helpful to know what women find sexy and Melody Anne writes a good story.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Bradford said, turning his back on the bookshelf. “So, anyway, your girlfriend got canned.”
Connor froze, all humor leaving him. “Angelina?”
As if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell, Bradford made his way over to Connor’s desk and picked up the comic version of Aristotle and flipped through it. “From what I could gather she took what you said to the soccer team to heart. She overheard Svete laying into his secretary and intervened. He tossed your girlfriend and her kid to the curb.”
Fists clenching, Connor fought a desire to hunt down Svete and unleash on him all the fury building inside him. “How did you hear about it?”
“Mrs. Tellier, the secretary. I bumped into her at the grocery store next to her house, and she had no problem telling me exactly how it all went down.”
Connor paced the room. “This is my fault.”
“It’s not and she’s probably better off. Now when his ship sinks she won’t go down with him.”
With a growl of frustration, Connor said, “People watch everything I do now. I can’t just go over there and punch him in the face. I need a plan.” He stopped. “What would you do?”
“You’re not me, Connor.”
Rubbing a hand over his face, Connor conceded that fact to himself as well. He wasn’t some badass international spy. He wasn’t even that smart of a person. Neither had ever stopped him before. Yes, he needed to be careful now that his name was linked to the Barringtons . . .
Reluctantly Alpha (The Barrington Billionaires, Book 8) Page 6
