by Cass Kincaid
“I didn’t know you taught this class when I enrolled,” I admitted, my tone sharp and to the point. “I’ll call the coordinator tomorrow to get transferred into another intake.”
To his credit, Cohen looked uncertain of himself. The Cohen I’d known ten years ago had rarely, if ever, worn such an expression. But that was before he’d killed every chance we’d ever had of a future together.
“Don’t transfer on my account, Vi,” he said, then wisely cleared his throat. “Or, Vienna. Besides, I can tell you right now, there is no other class to transfer to. The next intake is in the fall, and I’m teaching it, too.”
This was obviously not my day. I knew coming back to Garrison had been a bad idea, but this? Having to suffer through six weeks of having my ex teach me everything I needed to know so I could keep a job I didn’t really want?
I wasn’t a drinker, socially at best, but if there was ever a time to want to drown my sorrows away, this would be it.
“Fine,” I stated bluntly. “It’s only six weeks.”
“It’s so good to see you, Vienna.”
My eyes met his, and I immediately regretted it. “Don’t do that,” I snapped. “Don’t pretend this is a happy reunion.”
Once again, his patience surprised me. “It may not be for you, but it is for me. Maybe now I have the chance—”
“You’ve got no chance, Mr. Bradley.” I was being irrational, but it didn’t matter. “You’re the teacher, and I’m the student. That’s all this is. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
“I didn’t know you were back in Garrison,” he stated after I’d turned away, halting me again.
“And I didn’t know you were either, or I would’ve never come back.”
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Corrupting His Good Girl
