Before You Go

by Ava Claire

  “What?” I snickered. “I’m totally capable of—”

  “You want me to go all Nancy Drew on some girl?” she spat. “Promise me.”

  Her concern made my heart swell in my chest, but I pushed the emotion away. “Fine.”

  “All right.” She stepped into the hall. “I hope you know what you’re doing. Cade.”

  The door clicked shut, and I dropped onto the bed, turning away from the minibar that was calling my name.

  You and me both.

  Chapter Two

  Megan

  I looked up from the stack of long division assignments, gripping my red pen tight when my fears were realized. It was half an hour past the scheduled parent/teacher meeting. Ms. Jaden Brewer wasn’t going to show, even though I had stressed how important the meeting was. Her son, Jeremiah Brewer, was withdrawn and sullen and his grades had gone from A’s to F’s. I used to feel such pride when he ignored his classmates jeers and his arm shot up to answer my questions. He’d stay in from recess, nose buried in a book. But something had changed in him. He was distant, always staring out the window with a rueful look, much to world-weary for his young face.

  I put down the pen and pushed away from the desk, smoothing the front of my cotton blouse. My flats whispered against the floor as I made my way to the window. The blinds were open, the cityscape stretching as far as the eyes could see. I dropped my gaze to the playground beneath me, a spot of lush green grass and the pop of color from the jungle gym and swings standing out against the concrete jungle. Standing out like Jeremiah, who was crouched on one of the swings, kicking himself back and forth with his toe, like he wished he was anywhere else in the world.

  Heart aching for him, wanting to help him so badly it hurt, I rapped on the window. He flashed his dark brown eyes up at me and I smiled. He looked away.

  I crossed my arms and retreated with a sigh. I’m not sure what I expected. Not a smile, he hadn’t smiled in weeks. I’d wanted today to be a moment for him and his mother, a chance to fix this before I talked to Suzy Carpenter, the school counselor. Sadly, that moment was about to pass by, and I’d have to take stronger measures.

  Bang!

  The door to the classroom flew open and slammed against the wall. The woman that hustled into the room had Jerry’s deep brown complexion. She was dressed in a white, button-down shirt and black slacks, her braids pulled into a low bun at the nape of her neck. Her name tag read ‘Jaden Brewer: Guest Services’ and her face read, ‘This better be good’. When her eyes narrowed on mine, I saw Jerry’s hazel, expressive eyes looking back at me.

  “Mrs. Brewer!” I snapped to my feet, extending my hand. “Thank you so much for meeting me.”

  She didn’t share any pleasantries. “What has he done now?”

  I blanched, my arm dropping to my side. “Excuse me?”

  She rolled her eyes and gestured at the seat in front of my desk. I nodded, and she lowered herself with a tired sigh that rippled over her petite frame. “He’s in trouble for something. Why else would you ask me out here?”

  Realization dawned on me. My class was filled with third graders that other teachers had written off, thrown up their hands, and decided they just weren’t worth the stress any more.

  “No, no,” I said quickly. Had his other teacher’s sent home letters about behavior and that’s why she hadn’t read the one I’d sent? I’d made it clear that he wasn’t causing any problems. “Jeremiah isn’t in trouble. I’m concerned about him.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Concerned about him?”

  “Yes.” I leaned back in my chair, sweeping a strawberry blond lock from my eyes. “He has done amazing since he was moved to my class at the beginning of the quarter. He had one of the highest averages in the entire 3rd grade. 98.”

  Mrs. Brewer’s eyes widened in disbelief. “My Jerry had a 98?”

  Her shock was catching. I was shocked that she was so surprised. Grades went home in a weekly folder and the parents signed and sent it back. “Hold on one second.” I skated over to the file cabinet, my fingers skipping over the labels until I hit Jerry’s folder and pulled it out. I flipped open the folder and went to the separate paper for parent signature, confirming their receipt and viewing of their child’s progress. All the appropriate lines were signed, a sweeping ‘Jaden Brewer’ in blue ink.

  Had Jerry forged his mother’s signature?

  He wouldn’t have been the first. Jessica Grant gave herself away when she signed her mother’s name with hearts over the I’s. But the kids that usually forged did it when their weekly folders were filled with bad grades. Why would Jerry hide his good grades from his mother?

  Something inside me told me to take out the page with the forged signatures and just show her his good marks. She leafed through each one, tears filling her eyes. When she was done, she cleared her throat, like she was steeling herself. When she flicked her eyes back to me, there was no evidence of the emotion her son’s good grades obviously inspired.

  “Those grades are good, so why are you concerned?”

  I folded my hands in my lap, looking her dead-on. “The past few weeks his grades have plummeted. He doesn’t answer questions in class, he snaps at me and his fellow students, and he hardly eats anything at snack time or lunch.”

  Mrs. Brewer’s face remained stoic, but the nerve beneath her eye pulsed. “T-Two weeks?”

  “Yes.” I took a breath, knowing my next question could open a can of worms. She could go off on me; tell me it was none of my business or that I was over stepping my bounds. But Jerry was my business, just like every other kid in my class. I loved every single one of them and I saw their potential, even if they couldn’t. Even if their former teachers and parent’s wouldn’t. “Is something going on at home that’s affecting Jeremiah?”

  She brought her hands to her face, scrubbing the length of it with a groan. “My baby,” she whispered. “I just knew it. I knew it...”

  I didn’t push her, even though alarm bells went off in my head. Mrs. Brewer’s mask had disintegrated, her emotions no longer guarded. One emotion was clear as day: guilt.

  The tears she’d pushed down after seeing his grades returned, spilling down her cheeks. I handed her the box of Kleenex I kept on my desk, trying to temper my own emotions. My mind was running through all sorts of unsavory scenarios, and her silence was driving me crazy. What happened two weeks ago?

  She exhaled, breaking the silence. “Jerry’s father got out of jail two weeks ago.” She blotted her eyes. “He didn’t have anywhere to go, and a boy needs his father...” She trailed off, then let out a bitter scoff, like now that she’d said it out loud, she doubted the truth behind her words. Mrs. Brewer sniffed and looked up at me. “His grades started dropping two weeks ago?”

  I dipped my head twice. “That’s right.”

  She looked down at her hands for a long moment, then rose to her feet. “Then maybe Jason is not good for us after all.” Her eyes swept around the classroom. “Jeremiah?”

  “He’s at the playground,” I replied, joining her on my feet. “Mrs. Brewer—”

  “I’ll take care of it, Miss Scott.”

  Her eyes were filled with a sadness I was all too familiar with. Falling in love with a man that was toxic, and unable to extricate yourself because you want to fix him. To fix your relationship, even though it was broken from the start.

  She left the classroom, headed to the playground to take Jerry home. I watched her with him from behind the blinds. She dropped onto the swing beside him, gripping his hand tight. She leaned in and whispered something to him and something in Jerry snapped. He threw his arms around her neck and she embraced him, her smile as bright as the sun that hung in the sky. I turned away with a smile of my own, giving them their privacy.

  “Thinking about someone special?”

  My smile dropped instantly, right along with my stomach. I knew the voice intimately; its deep timbre, filled with smug confidence. It was the same voice that turned my name
into honey, that told me I was the thing that made him want to change.

  A voice that finally spoke the truth, after I caught him in between the legs of my intern a few weeks prior—that a tiger can’t change his stripes.

  I glared at Mark Winters, leaning against my door jamb like he hadn’t made a fool of me. It was totally unfair that he was more handsome than the last time I’d seen him, a few days ago at a staff meeting. His blond hair accentuated his sky blue eyes and he made a heather gray V-neck and jeans look like the most delicious thing I’d ever seen. My body betrayed me. It remembered the way he tasted, the sweet testosterone of being taken by him, hard and sweaty, all over this very building. But my heart remembered being ripped out, lying pulsing on the ground when he just shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal to cheat on me. Like betrayal was part of the package deal.

  “Go away, Mark,” I growled, the heat of anger turning my pale skin crimson red. “I have nothing else to say to you.”

  “Well, I have plenty to say to you,” Mark said softly, faking concern. “You never let me apologize.”

  I stomped to my desk, stuffing folders into my satchel. “Apologize? For what? If memory serves, you said that ‘Apologies are pointless...it was bound to happen’.” His callous response after I asked how he could do such a thing to me poured from my lips like venom. I yanked my bag strap onto my shoulder and glared at him. “Get out of my way.”

  He ignored me, taking a step into my classroom. “I know you, Megan. Your bark is louder than your bite. You’re mad at me, but once I apologize—”

  “Then what? I’ll fall into your arms like nothing happened?” I shook my head with disgust. “That may be as insulting as you cheating with my intern. On my desk!”

  He didn’t even flinch. His eyes glittered at the challenge. The smirk on his face made me so angry I could punch a hole through the wall.

  “Get out of my way, Mark!”

  He strode forward, the toned lines of his body confident and alluring, calling to me even though I hated his guts. He reached out and tucked a red lock behind my ear. I almost leaned into the touch, his fingertips warm on my skin.

  “I’ve missed you, M,” he murmured. “The way you laugh, the way you feel.” His tongue flicked over his bottom lip. “The way you taste.”

  I ripped away from him, remembering how he had been thoroughly tasting another women, mere feet away from where we were standing.

  “Fuck you,” I hissed.

  His eyes were hot with lust. “That’s what I’ve been saying for the past five minutes.”

  He advanced and I panicked, reaching for my pencil cup and pulling out my scissors.

  Mark stopped, his bright gaze dropping to the scissors in my fist. He let out a deep, condescending chuckle. “What, you gonna stab me?”

  “Stab you? No—that’s too good for you,” I spat vehemently. “If you ever come that close to me again, I’ll use these to make you useless to a woman.”

  All amusement fell right off his face. I’d never seen the cocky man look anything but self-contented, but he suddenly looked scared shitless.

  “You wouldn’t,” he said hoarsely.

  I didn’t bat an eye. “Try me.”

  He backed up slowly, his aqua eyes locked on me like he was worried breaking eye contact would make me pounce on him. Once he stepped in the hall, he disappeared from sight.

  I exhaled, dropping the scissors to the floor. I’d never let him see the truth. It was just threats. How many times had my first love, Brad Haniford, cheated before I got the courage to leave him for good? I threatened him with bodily harm too, but he knew me and would just laugh and pull me into his arms. He’d tell me he loved me. That it really was the last time. I’d take him back and give him what was left of my heart, until I finally realized I’d have no heart left if I kept giving it to a man that refused to keep his dick in his pants. I’d made a promise to myself—that I’d never date another guy like Brad. Someone devastatingly handsome, with full knowledge of just how hot he was. Cocky.

  And then I dated Mark.

  Tears of frustration and loneliness drowned my eyes as I shut off the lights and headed home. This time, I meant it.

  Never again.

  Chapter Three

  Cade

  My phone buzzed incessantly in my back pocket. As badly as I wanted to turn it off or put it on silent, I knew that wouldn’t quiet Lisa for long.

  I pulled it out. The screen was illuminated with her text.

  I know I’m wasting my breath, but I’ll say it again. Behave.

  The side of my mouth tipped into an involuntary smirk. I tapped out a reply.

  You are wasting your breath, bc the only thing I want to be hearing from you is Megan’s story.

  I tucked it away after I pressed send, knowing I’d bought myself a few minutes. I knew how Lisa felt about looking up Megan, and she’d be too busy cussing me out and thinking up a retort to send a quick reply. It would give me a chance to prove that I didn’t need her in my head; that I was capable of conducting myself in a professional manner.

  I stepped into the hotel bar, the dim light accentuating the silhouettes of those draped around the room. My eyes roamed over the sultry bodies in little black dresses with ruby red lips. Bright eyes shifted in my direction, perking hopefully, but I muted the spark of interest that flared inside me. I could take home any woman in the room, with little effort; even if I wasn’t a Hollywood actor with properties all over the world, and a blockbuster opening soon, I could snare a pretty face with a single look.

  My mother told me I had the ‘thing’. It was the same ‘thing’ that my father had. She’d met him when her car broke down, and he was the tow truck driver they sent her way. I thought it was the whole damsel in distress bit that made her cling to her knight in a shining tow truck, but she said he just did something to the air. Turned everything electric.

  Maybe that’s why they were always at each other’s necks. They loved each other passionately, but they hated each other just as hard. The ‘thing’ might have been something good once but when it came down to it, it made them both miserable.

  My eyes shot to the far end of the bar, finding Missy Diaz immediately. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a painfully high ponytail. Her blouse and blazer were like her armor. It was long past five, but she was still on the clock. Always working.

  You act like that’s a bad thing. Always working means she’ll always have her head in the game.

  Still, there was something off-putting about it. I nodded at the bartender, an elderly man who looked like he was one hell of a secret keeper, and could make a mean drink. “Scotch and a vodka on the rocks.”

  Armed, I made my way to the far side of the bar. Every other female gaze at the bar had found mine except for hers. Her eyes were on her cell screen, her fiercely drawn lips fluttering as she read to herself.

  “You look like you need this.”

  Her eyes didn’t register my comment, but her red lips dipped into a scowl. “Not interested.”

  A less confident man might’ve been wounded, but I was just amused. Missy Diaz was an attractive woman. Skin the color of rich caramel and eyes like dark chocolate. The cut of her clothing would have detracted from most women’s bodies; the boxy, masculine lines would do their forms no favors. But not on her. Her white button down shirt rounded her curves, and when she realized I wasn’t the latest in a line of guys trying to score, she leapt to her feet. Ebony, wide-leg trousers skimmed her thick legs.

  “Mr. Wallace,” she huffed, her cheeks a deep, embarrassed rouge. “I thought you were...” She trailed off. She swept the front of her thighs, her lips pursed.

  I could have given her a hard time, but I just extended the drink.

  Her nerves smoothed as she cocked an eyebrow. She played along, taking a cautious sip. Once the alcohol slid past her lips, a devastating smile brightened her face. “Vodka...how did you know that I didn’t drink cocktails?”

  I flashed a smile of m
y own. “I make a habit of knowing what makes a beautiful woman tick. You just didn’t strike me as a Sex On The Beach kind of woman.” As soon as it came out, Lisa’s words a few minutes ago were the angel on my shoulder. Chiding me. I was supposed to behave. Remain professional.

  She traced the rim of her glass, the blush traveling to her neck. “You think I’m beautiful?”

  I tilted her chin upwards to meet my gaze. “You’re the most beautiful woman in this room, Missy.”

  Missy’s eyes were darkening with a need that made me want to skip right past the conversation and move right to the main attraction. There was something freeing in letting bodies do the talking. Lips, fevered skin, and breathy moans left no room for awkward small talk. Fucking—that I was good at. Dating? Love? Not so much.

  My eyes stroked the line of her neck, the subtle hints of a spicy perfume inviting me closer. Begging me to breathe her in.

  Stay focused. Professional.

  I gestured at the seat beside her, reining it in. “May I?”

  “Absolutely,” she said, voice smooth as sin.

  I took a solid gulp of my drink, the liquor coating my tongue, then scorching a path down my throat. “I just wanted to touch base with you. Let you know that I’m ready to work.”

  Her eyes raked over me slowly, settling on my eyes with unsettling clarity. I felt pinned in place. Nowhere to hide.

  “Ready to work?” she said finally, her tongue rounding the three words like they were foreign to her.

  My hackles went up for two reasons. One: Missy Diaz was clearly no stranger to work. Two: There was an undercurrent of sarcasm running beneath her words.

  “If the tabloids are to be believed, work is the last thing on your mind. If you’re not trying to drive a wedge between Leila Montgomery and Jacob Whitmore, you’re trashing dressing rooms or picking up women at bars.”

  My blood simmered. Only one person got to talk to me that way—and that person was not Missy Diaz. “Isn’t that what I hired you people for? To control the media?”

  She whipped her ponytail over her shoulder with a self righteous snort. “Control the media? There’s no controlling the media, Cade. We can whisper in her ear. Cajole her. But the media is a bitch that will spread her legs to the highest bidder.”