ear.
“Hello, this is Thomas.”
“Hi, Mr. March,” I said. “I'm calling about your son – Brett.”
“Oh. What's the problem?”
I sighed. “Mr. March, I'd really rather discuss this in person. Would you be able to come by the school tomorrow evening, say around three-thirty?”
“Of course.” I shivered. Thomas's voice was thrilling and deep. After listening to the sound of ten-year-old kids all day, it filled me with a kind of pleasure that made me blush.
“Thank you,” I said. “I really mean it.”
“Not a problem. Brett is my first priority.”
We hung up and I shivered again, suddenly nervous about tomorrow. I hadn't had very many parent-teacher conferences, and they'd all gone pretty well...but I'd never had to call a parent about a child's behavior before and I wondered how Mr. March was going to take the news.
When I got home, my roommate Angela was sitting on the couch and watching a movie. She grinned when she saw me. Angela worked at an investment bank, from six-thirty in the morning until three in the afternoon. She was the only person I knew who had a similar schedule to me. That wasn't why we lived together, though – we'd been best friends ever since college, when we'd been assigned as roommates, freshman year. I wouldn't have survived Hunter College without her, and I was still grateful that we were close friends.
“What a day,” I groaned. “I felt like I was behind that desk forever!”
Angela smiled sympathetically before yawning. “I know,” she said. “I opened a bottle of wine. It's in the fridge, you want?”
I hauled myself off the couch and walked into the kitchen, kicking off my heels on the tiled floor. Sure enough, there was a jumbo-size bottle of a white blend in the fridge, and I poured some into a plastic wine glass sitting on the counter.
“How was your day?”
Angela rolled her eyes. “Not any better,” she said. “I had to deal with some really needy clients over at the clearing firm.”
We clinked glasses and I told her all about Brett and Lily.
“You did the right thing,” Angela said. “Don't worry about that, June.”
“It's not that.” I shook my head. “I’m not worried that I did the wrong thing, exactly, but Mr. March...I dunno. His voice was so powerful and intense.”
Angela snickered. “Sounds like someone has a crush,” she teased.
I blushed hotly and shook my head. “It's not that,” I told her. “It's just...I don't know. I wonder if he's going to be angry that he has to come in and deal with his son.”
Angela shrugged. “Well, he's a parent, and his kid screwed up,” she said. “Don't beat yourself up, June. You'll be fine. That kid was being a little brat.”
I nodded. As much as I knew Angela was correct, that didn't quell my nerves about the meeting tomorrow. After dinner, when I went to bed, I lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling and wondering how it was going to go.
–
In the morning, I wore my favorite outfit – a grey pencil skirt with a cream blouse – and put on my highest pair of heels. Teachers were allowed to wear jeans on Fridays, but I had a feeling that Mr. March was going to come in looking incredibly professional, and I didn't want him to think that I was just a kid. There was also the fact that I was so young – I wondered if he would blame me, for being an inexperienced teacher? Plus, my wide eyes and pale face had a habit of making me look even younger. My stomach sank when I realized that no amount of fancy clothing would make me look professional enough to teach a billionaire's son.
I didn't know very much about Brett's family, but I did know that his father was incredibly wealthy. Thomas March worked for Steel Visions, Inc – a high-dollar consulting firm. There were always whispers about him at school. One of the other teachers, Michelle, had taught Brett the year before and I remembered her talking about Mr. March in the teacher's lounge. She'd been blushing the whole time.
Thankfully, my students were well-behaved – even Brett, who kept his head down for most of the day. He still seemed sullen and quiet, and I wondered if he'd already gotten into trouble despite the fact that I hadn't disclosed yesterday's events to his father.
By the end of the day, I was a nervous wreck. Thankfully, Ruth had helped out a lot – she'd taught the kids a new song during their music hour, and then she'd taken them to play soccer for the last hour of the day. They were exhausted and sweaty as they waited for their buses, and I sat nervously at my desk, trying to make myself look as organized as possible.
At three-thirty on the dot, there was a knock at my door. I glanced up to see a gorgeous older man walking towards my desk. I guessed he was in his late forties, with tanned skin, brown eyes, and dark brown hair shot through with silver.
“Hi, are you Miss Rogers?”
I flushed. “Please, you can call me June.” I stood up and tried to make myself as tall as possible. I'm not a short woman, but Mr. March was so tall that I only came up to his shoulder.