by Lucy Lambert
A guy wearing a bulky sweater near the back of the room stuck his hand up.
"Terrence?" Charlie said.
"Lady can't admit she’s been dumped," Terrence said. To my surprise, there were mutters of agreement around the room.
"Yes," Charlie said after a long moment that had me looking at her. That smile that she kept on for the whole class faltered a little. And did she just glance over at her briefcase.
Her eyes flicked to mine again, saw that I saw her little emotional hiccup, and then flicked away.
"That's simplifying it a bit much, I think, but still good. And now I think we're about to be graced by the thoughts of our resident CEO. Mr. Crossley, do you have any words about our lesson?"
That small smile of hers returned. I could see that she thought she was putting me on the spot.
This was nothing, I knew. I'd once had to do an impromptu meeting with a Saudi oil prince in Riyadh. The man literally had power over my life and death and I hadn't even broken a sweat.
So why did the barest tremble run down my back when I stood up? It's nothing, I told myself.
I was casual, striking an easy smile while I went and stood close to Charlie's desk. Really close. I could feel the little corrugated metal shelf holding the chalk push against the back of my thighs.
I looked at Charlie. She was still smiling. I almost didn't want to say anything, just so I could keep that smile on her face. It beamed.
Almost.
"The most important thing you can take away from this first part of the book," I said, "Is to take opportunities when they come up, because you never know where, or who, they'll come from. Grab them and don't let go.
"Oh, and Miss Havisham? She's a character study in what happens when you wallow in your feelings and let them rule you rather than you ruling them. Don't let your feelings get in the way of living your life the way you want to."
I felt rather than saw Charlie flinch at the Miss Havisham comment and wondered at that. She was letting herself wallow in something, but what?
A few of the guys nodded like they got me, and that pleased me. I stood back, pushing my hands into my pockets. My shoulders brushed the wall behind me.
"Again," Charlie said, "A simplification, but on the right track. We'll talk more..." the bell chimed and the kids immediately stood and gathered their books, "...next time."
"That was pretty cutthroat," Charlie said. She crossed her arms in that slightly miffed way I found so adorable. However, this time I noted a hint of amusement in the way the corners of her mouth quirked up just a little.
"What can I say? It's a cutthroat world. They know that already, having the lives they do. No use in you trying to sugarcoat it." I found myself adoring the little wrinkles of irritation that formed between Charlie's eyebrows. "It's your break now, right? Let's go to the lounge and talk about it some more."
She let out a sigh and shook her head. For a moment I got a glimpse of the real Charlie Morgan. The beautiful young woman who lurked beneath the surface of that teaching persona. It was like stepping outside into the perfect spring day, everything fresh and new.
That vision disappeared as quickly as it came. "I'll meet you there. I think we need to have a talk about the kind of message we're sending to the students."
She looked good. I wanted to eat her up she looked so good. And this little hard-to-get game she kept playing at only served to whet my appetite all the more.
A few dirty thoughts about being alone in a classroom with a sexy teacher crossed my mind. Crossed my mind with enough of an edge to make my abs flex and my stomach tighten.
"We can talk all you like, but we both know that I'm right," I said. That was as good a way to leave things hanging as any, so I started for the door.
I started pulling it open when Charlie said, "Alex?"
"Yes?"
"You have chalk all over your back," she said.
I paused, grabbing at my shoulder so that I could pull at my shirt for an easier inspection. White chalk dust formed smudges where my shoulder blades had brushed against the chalkboard. Which I had apparently been leaning against the whole time.
Had I really been so distracted by her that I hadn't noticed doing that? The only possible answer was yes, of course.
And I also couldn't avoid the delicious irony in her voice, both of us recalling when I said those same words to her.
I winked at her and left, her little triumphant expression changing to a confused frown.
Chapter 12
CHARLIE
I waited until I couldn't hear his footsteps in the hall anymore and then I sank down onto my chair.
I was in a dangerous situation, and it was all Alexander Crossley's fault.
Against all my better instincts. Against all my better judgments, I liked him. He was as charming as a snake in the garden. And I was beginning to realize that he could probably convince me to eat the fruit.
Maybe these two weeks won't be so bad, I let myself think. Alexander Crossley made a handsome addition to my classes and if I ignored the words coming out of his mouth that was all right with me.
"It could have been worse, you know."
I jerked in shock. Ash peered in at me, her frizzy-haired head poking in through the door that she had opened without me noticing.
"Thanks for knocking," I said.
Ash knocked on the door. "I knocked. Just now, see?"
"Sure," I replied, still trying to get my racing heart under control. I was unreasonably happy with the fact that I hadn't brought my phone out to stare at that text message. I hadn't told Ash, pretty much my best friend, about it yet and I never intended to.
"What do you mean it could have been worse?" I said.
Ash walked into the room, her shiny black flats clicking on the linoleum. She'd been teaching here at Edison for 11 years now and I admired her for managing to cling to her sense of humor when so many of the other senior faculty hadn't.
"He could have been an old fat bald guy with pit stains who liked to smack you on the ass every day," she said, "But instead you got Bruce Wayne. And I mean handsome Bruce Wayne, like George Clooney, and not creepy Bruce Wayne like Adam West or Val Kilmer."
"I know what you mean," I said, "Please don't continue the metaphor."
"Aww, but I was just getting started. So tell me, girl, tell me you're letting some of that hotness get to you."
"I just want to do my job," I said.
Ash threw her hands in the air, "Your job is to make him like you so that he gives the school a nice fat check at the end of the two weeks. Why do you think the PTA picked you?"
"The teaching award..." I started, recalling Mr. Stockwell's words on the subject.
"Well, that, yeah. But the thought never occurred in that pretty little head of yours that you're the prettiest and youngest white girl we have teaching here? Hmm?"
My eyes widened, "They wouldn't..." I started, but then stopped. Ash watched silently as I went through the thought process. I'd been so busy trying to ignore my personal life, trying to be a good teacher that I hadn't bothered trying to read anything into the PTA's decision aside from my reputation as a teacher. "Oh, God..." I said.
Ash crossed her arms and nodded, "That's right. Like I said, it could have been worse."
"You haven't met him yet, have you?"
"No. But I've seen his pictures. The ones that keep popping up on the Yahoo news. That man is Fine with a capital Eff."
"You're welcome to him," I said, smiling at her. I got up and started gathering everything to put back in my briefcase. It kept popping into my head that I was making Alex wait for me.
I knew it shouldn't bother me, especially after this little revelation, but it did.
"That's more of the old Charlie. Where'd she go, anyway?" Ash said.
The muscles in the small of my back stiffened, and I tried playing it off. "What do you mean? It's always the same me."
She shook her head. "Don't give me that. You're different. Been acti
ng different ever since the summer. It's not the break up still, is it? Because I have to tell you, it's been half a year. Get over that stuff, girl."
"It's not that," I said. My right hand itched to grab my phone. Instead I balled it into a fist and pressed it against my hip.
"Of course it isn't," Ash said. I could feel her looking at me, and I couldn't make myself meet her eyes.
And Alex was waiting for me in the staff room. "I'd love to chat, Ash, really. But I've got a billionaire in the staff room that needs babysitting."
"You better get your head on straight, and fast."
"Thanks," I said, brushing past her.
Alex and I were the only people in the staff room when I got there. He looked out of place, sitting at the table closest to the window. The window had smudges on it and a crack up near the corner. And the laminate on the table itself had begun peeling back from the edges in long strips.
Of course, he also looked completely at ease there. Like he had all the time in the world to do whatever he wanted.
His smile arrested me at the door. "I thought that I would have to come and get you."
Little tingles started in the pit of my stomach. "I ran into a coworker." I thought about telling him what Ash said, about why they'd paired him with me. But then I thought that he might give me another one of those smiles and tell me, well, it's working.
"You don't have to stand there all day. We're alone in here. No need for the teacher persona right now."
"It's not a persona. It's who I am," I said. I eyed the chair across the table from him and then sat in it. The barrier the table made helped settle my nerves a little.
Alex crossed his arms casually and leaned back, ignoring the way his old chair creaked at the movement.
I still couldn't get how strange it was to see him in here, so incongruous with his surroundings. There was the little kitchenette in the corner with its ancient Black & Decker coffee maker, the undersized fridge that buzzed and groaned. The scuffed linoleum under our feet.
And somehow in spite of all that he still looked comfortable, as though nothing about any of this was strange in the least.
"Are we going to be professional now?" I said.
"Not until you admit that you're intrigued by me," he replied, arms still crossed, a small smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. A few strands of dark hair had fallen down across his forehead, adding just enough imperfection to his perfection to set it off.
"This is about more than me and you," I said, "It's about my students, too. Do you ever think about anyone but yourself?"
"I've thought of a similar question for you. Do you ever think of yourself over anyone else?"
We sat there, each of us waiting for the other to break the silence and answer first. He seemed as implacable as a brick wall. He didn't even fidget.
I, on the other hand, had to will my foot not to tap the linoleum. Had to force my mouth to stay shut. I was tired of losing all these little games to him. Even though I knew I shouldn't bother playing them at all.
"You really are stubborn," he said.
A moment's exhilaration filled me before another thought overrode it. He'd spoken first, broken the silence. That meant I won, didn't it? But if it did, why did it still seem like he came out ahead?
Maybe it was that little box of guilt I carried around with me in the form of my iPhone. Wasn't I thinking about myself quite a lot? Hadn't I become the way I am because I couldn't get over my old feelings?
The worst prison is the one that you build for yourself, after all. And I'd managed to lock myself into a doozy.
"So are you," I said, because I had to say something.
"Because I know you like it," he replied. His smug smile became smugger, even more self-satisfied.
"You have no idea what I like and what I don't like," I said. This seemed to me like an argument, like me defending myself, but at the same time it felt like flirting.
And the worst part was that it seemed to be working, I could tell he knew that. The stiffness in the small of my back started letting up. A girlish impulse overtook me. One I hadn't felt... well, since Brady.
I wanted to toss my hair back, to smile.
Remember your job, I kept thinking. I had more than my own emotions to worry about. I had several overstuffed classrooms worth of students who deserved my undivided attention.
If there was one thing Alexander Crossley did well, it was dividing my attention. It had to stop. Even if it did feel good, almost normal, to act like a young woman flirting with a handsome man.
"We need to talk about what you're going to be telling my classes. And other stuff. Like the photographers and the journalists who I know are coming to coo and fuss all over you."
He shook his head. "They're going to hear what I have to say. Besides, we have more important things to talk about right now."
"Such as?" I said, quirking an eyebrow. That flirty feeling was back again. Stronger than ever. It made my skin tingle and my heart race.
"How you'd feel about me kissing you," he said. His eyes flicked down to my lips and then back up.
Leaving the description at my heart racing couldn't cut it. It went into overdrive. Like someone had just pressed my accelerator down to the floor. I couldn't help thinking about what his lips might feel like fitted to mine. What his hands might feel like, gripping me, touching me.
I brushed a few strands of hair from my eyes. "That would be... inappropriate. In the extreme."
"Let it be inappropriate. Let it be scandalous. I don't care."
"You should," I said. I looked over at the door, wishing someone might come in. Anyone. Mr. Stockwell, or even Mr. Stark the phys ed teacher, whose idea of cologne was wearing yesterday's sweaty gym shirt.
Again that awareness rippled through me. Awareness of his eyes on me. Of the desire inside of him. The same rebel desire that began throbbing deep and low inside of me.
We're all alone in here. It was a little voice in my head. An excuse, a justification.
One that I wanted to accept. The need to accept it lanced into me sudden and hot and far more intense than I could have thought.
I'm just a curiosity to him. Something that he can't have and because he can't have it he wants it. That's all. There's no depth to this. Pull yourself together!
"I don't care," he said.
This time I dragged my eyes until they met his. His were grey-blue and as sharp and clear as a sunny sky on a cold winter's day. The kind of day that freezes you in place as soon as you step outside.
"But I do. I care. It doesn't matter how I feel. This—my job, my students—are too important to me."
"So you do feel something then?" he said, apparently unperturbed by anything else I had said. I had to admire how he refused to give in, to let go.
Part of me wondered just how far he would push, how long he'd hang on. Some other part, or maybe the same one, wanted him to not let go, I knew.
"Alex..." I said.
"Charlie, tell me about your next class."
"What?" I said, startled. I'd been expecting a long siege on my emotions.
He let his hands rest on the table and leaned forward a little. "Your class. Your next one. Tell me what you're planning on lecturing about today so that I can come up with something to say."
Was this some little game on his part? Some way of his to get me to let my guard down and let him in?
I looked into those eyes of his and tried figuring him out. I couldn't.
"Okay," I said. I grabbed my briefcase and opened it on the table, looking for my notes for the next class.
Chapter 13
ALEXANDER
Charlie laughed and my heart throbbed in my chest while hunger panged in my stomach.
It wasn't a desire for food. No, not at all. It was for her. I wanted to feel her lips against mine, their soft yet insistent pressure. What did they taste like, those lips?
When we weren't discussing (arguing) about pedagogy, we were good together. This
little private conversation of ours proved it to me.
She made me forget about the office. She made me forget about Alisha and all the other women.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she said.
"Because you're nice to look at," I replied, knowing how she would respond, a tingle of anticipation low in my stomach.
A blush of rouge spread across her cheeks while she struggled to keep from smiling. My throat tightened at that sight, and I swallowed against that tightness.
I needed this woman. I needed her to need me.
"You shouldn't say things like that," she said, "Especially if you don't mean them."
"What could possibly suggest that I don't mean what I say?"
"Because I know your type. You're bored here, and I guess I understand that even though I love my job. You're just looking for a way to pass your time a bit faster. And I'm not... casual like that. That's not the kind of woman I am."
I leaned forward, pushing my hands across the table until they almost, but not quite touched hers. She didn't draw her fingers back. "You're making a lot of assumptions about me."
"Are you saying that they're wrong?"
"Assumptions usually are. For instance, I'm not nearly so 'casual' about this sort of thing as you seem to believe. In fact..."
I stretched out the fingers of one hand and placed them over hers. She drew in a sharp breath, held it. Her skin was warm and smooth and soft beneath my fingertips. And she didn't pull away.
"I think you've got me all wrong," I said.
This was going even better than I expected. I was even looking forward to our next class together. I wanted to learn more about her. Wanted to learn everything about her.
Then the door to the lounge opened.
I turned to spear whoever had interrupted us with my eyes, wanting a few more minutes alone with Charlie.
"Mr. Crossley," Alisha said. She looked down at my hand over Charlie's.
Charlie yanked her hand back and clutched it like she'd just grabbed a baking sheet out of the oven with her bare fingers.
"Alisha," I said, "What are you doing here?" I let some bite come through in my voice.
