by Lucy Lambert
"I'm over him. How many times do I have to tell you that?" I said.
"As many times as it takes for the two of us to believe the words coming out of your mouth. And I know that neither of us do. I believe what I see. And I see a handsome, successful, charming, and did I say handsome, man who sees you like a man sees a woman," Ash said.
"We're just too different. Our lives are too far apart. I mean, you should have seen his assistant who came in today. I'm nowhere near that league. Besides, I don't need any man in my life right now but Rufus. Isn't that right, boy?" I said, kneeling down and scratching behind his big, floppy ears while his tail thumped the grass.
Even the mention of Alisha had me seething on the inside. I never thought another woman would make me feel like this.
"You're wrong. What is the major malfunction, anyway?"
"My major malfunction is wondering why I'm even bothering to talk to you about this. The issue's closed. It's not happening," I said.
"If the issue was closed you wouldn't be talking about it at all."
"Could we just give it a rest?" I said.
"Maybe. If you tell me that you like him," Ash replied, smirking.
"Fine, I like him," I said, just meaning to say the words to get Ash off my back. But they struck something inside of me.
There's something different between thinking about something and giving it voice. In your head, you can say it's all just a fantasy. Idle thoughts.
I said it out loud though, and then it seemed real. I knew it had been kicking around up there in my head, but in my mind I could safely ignore it.
My skin prickled with sudden awareness and I shivered.
"It is a bit nippy out, isn't it?" Ash said, mistaking the cause of my shiver.
"Yeah, cold. Hey, I'll see you tomorrow at school, okay?"
Mercifully, Ash let me go at that. She left, calling out over her shoulder while she walked towards her car, "Okay, and you try not to have any dreams about Alexander Crossley's smoking hot body, hear me?"
The blush burned my cheeks and I looked around to see if anyone else might have heard her lewd remark.
I went back upstairs to my apartment, Rufus doing his best to wrap his leash around my legs while I fiddled with my key ring, the keys all jangling together.
Inside, I knelt down and took the lead off him. "You're both traitors, you know. You and Ash. Normally I trust your judgment, but I don't think either of you are right about Alex."
Rufus replied with a woof.
Still, I found myself glancing up at the clock, counting the hours in my head before tomorrow's school day would begin.
I wondered if Alex might show up at my door again, offering another ride. It seemed like something he might do, just to display his casual defiance of my requests.
Outwardly I'd be upset I knew. Inside, that was another matter altogether. Inside, knowing that tomorrow we'd see each other again knotted my stomach.
I didn't sleep well that night.
Chapter 15
ALEXANDER
Thursday and Friday passed in a haze of camera flashes and chalkboard dust. Episodes here and there stood out, however.
Jean Carmody, the strict stepmother I never had, briefed me again that Wednesday evening.
"Do you know how many requests for private interviews I've had since the news broke that you've actually gone through with the program?" she said, peering out at me with those sharp eyes. Her silver hair was pulled back in a bun.
"No," I said.
"Too many. And why you decided to keep the press away from the school so long is beyond me. Why? The whole point of this thing is to make the public see you differently."
"Because I felt like it," I said. I didn't want to tell her it was because I knew that Charlie would hate that sort of attention and scrutiny. That I just wanted some more time with her before the press put my life under a microscope again.
"It will all be over soon," Carmody said.
"Yes, I know," I replied. Two weeks wasn't very much time. At the beginning it had felt like an eternity. But now the time slipped through my fingers like so much sand.
That first classroom looked even more stuffed than usual.
In addition to the 35 or so kids sitting at their already crowded desks, there were three reporters and two cameramen.
Their large, black, Sony-marked cameras stood on tripods between the desks taking up even more room.
The kids kept glancing back, uncomfortable with the intrusion. The reporters themselves also couldn't keep their eyes still.
I could tell what they were thinking. They were wondering if they were going to see any of these faces out in the parking lot, or maybe in some secluded hall, a knife or a gun clutched in one teenage hand while someone demanded all their money.
And that made me angry. I stood by Charlie's desk, my hands tight fists in my pockets and a pleasant smile on my face.
Don't judge them so quickly, I wanted to tell those prim and pretty reporters.
They felt like intruders here, and I didn't know whether that kind of feeling should alarm or comfort me.
Hadn't I been an intruder here just a few days ago? Was I still?
The bell chimed outside in the hall and we all stayed still, like gunslingers in a Mexican standoff, all waiting for the other to make the first move.
Charlie kept thumbing through her old copy of Great Expectations, her eyes flicking down to the pages and her notes but not really seeing any of them.
I could feel her annoyance, her nervousness, coming off her in waves.
One of the reporters, a pretty blonde in a red skirt and jacket with her legs crossed beneath the desk, smirked and started scribbling something down on a notepad.
All the reporters were women. And they were all beautiful. They knew it, I knew it, and their networks knew it. Playing on my reputation as a playboy, I also knew.
Usually I didn't mind. Usually I took at least one home with me after all the interviews were said and done.
But this wasn't usual. I could feel the way Charlie looked at them, compared herself to them.
And for all their glitz and glam, I still thought Charlie was the most beautiful, most desirable woman in the room.
"I left you guys last time talking about opportunity," I said, striding forward so that I stood dead center at the front of the classroom.
I forced my hands out of my pockets and started letting my eyes scan across the room.
"Well, today I'd like to start by telling you that not all opportunities are obvious. In fact, sometimes they seem like an obstacle..."
The woman in the red skirt broke in, "Is that what you're saying this program is? An obstacle you need to overcome?"
She said it to faze me, but it didn't work. "No. I'm saying opportunities present themselves in strange ways sometimes. You have read Great Expectations, haven't you?"
The smirk disappeared from her face and she suddenly became very interested in whatever she'd scribbled down on her notepad before this.
This had the effect of quieting the other two, as well. However, I knew that the worst was yet to come.
Chapter 16
CHARLIE
When the bell finally, mercifully rang at the end of the class I thought that the worst was over. My students thought so, too.
They gathered their books and rushed out of the room. I tried giving them apologetic looks. We’d spent far too much valuable class time letting Alex field questions about his participation.
They’d only questioned me once, thankfully. The woman in red, who I believe was with the local Fox affiliate, had asked whether Alex’s presence in the room was a disruption.
I knew it was an important question because the other two reporters stopped stabbing at their phones with their thumbs (setting a great precedent for my students, by the way) and looked at me.
I envied Alex’s calm in the face of this storm. Just having those cameras pointed at me sent my stomach into somersaults.
/> The red-skirted reporter smirked at my obvious discomfort. “It can be intimidating, having someone like Mr. Crossley here, can’t it?” she said, like she was trying to commiserate with a fifth grader about having to do a speech at the front of the class.
And then she gave Alex an appreciative glance, as though she might be able to handle his… presence better.
My stomach stopped churning and instead turned to boiling.
So I smiled back at her in that fake-friendly way that all girls seem to learn from a young age. “I think we’ve found Mr. Crossley insightful and courteous. For one, he shows enough respect to not use his cell phone in class.” I let my smile drip with honey. My eyes slid down to where the top of her iPhone poked up over the desk and then back up.
Hot, tingling shots of excitement worked their way through my stomach and chest. Normally I didn’t like speaking to people like that.
But nothing had really been normal since Alex had arrived, had it?
A few of my students sniggered and I knew it had been the right thing to call her out on the phone use.
Her cheeks burned a shade similar to her outfit and she slid her iPhone back into her bag.
When class ended I wanted to retreat to the teacher’s lounge.
I got five steps into the noisy, crowded hall before I heard someone behind me say, “Ms. Morgan? Excuse me, but can I have a few words?”
I could have pretended to not hear her. The racket from dozens of conversations, locker doors opening and slamming shut, and the squeak of shoes on the linoleum were all more than enough to justify that excuse.
But the polite streak running deep inside me balked at that.
“Yes?” I said, turning around, hoping it wasn’t the red lady.
It wasn’t. She was dark-haired with a heart-shaped face under a $200 haircut and perfect skin. She even smelled expensive, somehow.
A cameraman stood behind her, the glossy lens of his Sony glaring at me.
“We just need a few words. I’m with CNBC. You’ll be able to see yourself on TV tonight! …Make sure you get some shots of the kids going to their classes,” she muttered to the cameraman.
“Oh… I really do need to go get some material prepped for my next class…” I started. The last thing I wanted was to see myself on TV.
Then I remember the conversation I had with Mr. Stockwell earlier, before the reporters showed up.
Do whatever they want he’d said. Unequivocal.
“Just a few minutes, then?”
She smiled, “Why don’t we get closer to the door? I think it’s a nicer shot over there.”
So we went and stood by the door back into my classroom while she held up her mike and started looking into the camera.
I didn’t really hear anything she said.
From here, I could see the red lady interviewing Alex. She turned away to ask her cameraman something and Alex looked at me and caught my eye as though to say, This will be over soon.
“You know,” the woman from Fox said, “We could do this just one-on-one if you want. It will be more candid.” She put her hand on his chest. My eyes widened and I couldn’t look away.
“No,” Alex said. He took her by the wrist and removed her hand. It was the Fox lady’s turn for wide eyes.
“You’re… not what I expected,” she said.
“Happy to disappoint you,” he replied. He looked bored.
The lusty, come-hither look dropped from her face and she made a quick, jerking motion at her cameraman that apparently meant start rolling, asshole. He jerked the camera up and pointed it at Alex.
“I have Miss Charlie Morgan here with me this morning at Thomas A. Edison High School, which is currently hosting CrossFire chief Alexander Crossley for the pilot CEO-in-Residence program being tested in Chicago schools this school year, and set to roll out across Illinois school boards if deemed a success. Miss Morgan, as a teacher do you feel that this program has a positive impact on your students?”
I heard the words without really listening, saw the woman hold the mike up to my face without really seeing.
The Fox woman had said something that made Alex frown and shake his head.
“Miss Morgan?” she repeated.
“Oh, sorry. Yes. So far, yes,” I said, giving the camera a quick smile.
I was far more interested in Alex’s interrogation. And that’s what it looked like, an interrogation. The Fox lady had turned from temptress to cross-examiner.
“Mr. Crossley, I have it from inside sources at CrossFire that you have absolutely no interest in this program and that you are only doing this as a final attempt to try to divert public attention from recent corporate and personal scandals. That doesn’t sound fair to the students at this school,” she said.
“Miss Morgan…” my reporter said, touching my arm.
“That’s a rather inflammatory statement,” he replied. He was still smiling into the camera, but I could tell he was irritated from the way he clenched his jaw, the way he pushed his hands into his pockets so that no one could see them squeeze into fists.
“Miss Morgan…” the touch became more insistent.
“Inflammatory because it’s the truth, correct?” the Fox reporter said, pushing her mike closer to Alex’s lips, perhaps hoping to catch some half-muttered curse of annoyance.
“Miss Morgan?”
“I don’t have anything else to say,” I said to the woman from CNBC, “But thanks for coming today. Please excuse me.”
Then I walked over to the spot in front of a bank of lockers where Alex and the Fox reporter stood.
She turned her attention to me. “It’s Rowan, right? Miss Rowan? Would you characterize Mr. Crossley as merely a disruption to your classes, or is it something worse?” She shoved her mike into my face, the cameraman behind her refocusing on me.
Alex started to step between us. I thought it was nice that he wanted to protect me, but I didn’t need it.
“I would characterize it as invaluable. He’s assertive, straightforward, and treats my students like adults instead of prisoners,” I said, choosing my words and phrasing so that she couldn’t chop it up in editing to make it sound like I said something bad.
“This interview is over,” Alex said. Then he turned to me, “Ms. Morgan, I believe we have some notes to go over before the next class?”
“Right,” I said, taking his cue.
I waited until we’d rounded the corner before stopping. I trembled from adrenaline all over, my skin prickling.
“I can’t believe I just did that,” I said.
“I can,” he replied.
I saw the way he was looking at me. I noticed how close we stood, facing each other. For once, the halls were quiet and empty. I swallowed against a suddenly dry throat.
Our eyes locked. Some invisible magnetism began urging me towards him. Some pull I almost couldn’t stop.
But I did. Stop it, I mean. I broke eye contact, looking at the opposite wall, which was cream-colored cinder blocks with a poster encouraging the use of the kids’ help phone system.
“We do have some stuff to go over,” I said, still feeling his gaze boring into me. Heat crept up my neck and into my cheeks.
He paused for a long moment, and I wondered if he might put a hand beneath my chin and lift my eyes back up to his. I wouldn’t stop him, I knew then.
He didn’t.
Why? Why not? I wondered, stymied.
“I’d like that,” he said.
Chapter 17
ALEXANDER
The rain started when school let out. As usual, the two of us stood at the front of the room and waited for it to empty.
Somehow, neither of us noticed that rain until we reached the set of double doors leading to the staff parking lot.
“Oh,” Charlie said, pausing in mid-push so that the door let in some of the fresh, cool smell of the fall shower.
I remembered then that I’d checked the forecast before leaving the office today and had my umbrel
la with me. It was a big black London Fog one that I had actually purchased in London.
As we watched, the drizzle intensified. A downpour. Mist rose up from the asphalt from the force of the water.
She glanced at me. “At least one of us remembered our umbrella.”
“We can share,” I said, thinking of how close that would bring us. Thinking of the way she’d looked at me in the hall just after that poor excuse for an interview.
“No, I couldn’t. Your car is parked so much closer than mine. Even with an umbrella we’ll both get soaked,” she said.
“I insist,” I said, smiling. I pushed open the door and stepped outside, opening the umbrella as I did. The rain drummed against the taut material so hard I could feel it in the handle.
And she was right. The backsplash from the ground coupled with the angle of the rain already began soaking my pants.
“Are you going to make me stand here all day?” I said.
“You’re insufferable,” she replied, trying to keep her own smile hidden. She stepped outside.
The rain pressed in on her, and she pressed in on me in an attempt to keep dry, “This is crazy!”
We had to yell to speak to each other. On the other side of the building, the buses with their big wheels rolling through all the wet and roaring engines filled the air with noise.
I spotted her car near the back of the lot. “Follow me.”
I started and she followed, forced to keep close to me by the literal sheets of water deflected off the now small-seeming umbrella I clutched over our heads.
By the time we reached her dented old Camry I could feel my shirt sticking to the small of my back. Charlie’s blouse kissed and clung to her skin. She looked amazing. And for a few seconds there I thought she wasn’t going to leave the slightly less wet patch of air under my umbrella.
“Thanks! You really didn’t have to do that,” she said.
“I wanted to,” I replied.
That brought some color to her cheeks. I opened the door for her and she got in. Then I started away.
