“What? I’m…” The mask has come off and Cynthia is glaring now. “I don’t understand. This is —”
I take a step toward her and she gasps. “Oh, I can make you understand. Why don’t you come outside with me? And we’ll solve —”
“Poe.”
That’s his voice.
That’s the first thing he’s said to me since I interrupted them.
And it makes me clench my thighs.
Because it’s also the first thing he’s said to me ever since he sent me away.
From his office a week ago.
With my heart pounding in my chest and my belly fluttering, I look at him.
I’ve been avoiding doing that for some reason. I’m not sure why. My best guess is that if I had looked at him, I would’ve lost all composure and broken my promise to him. I would’ve dashed up to him. I would’ve begged him to stop seeing Cynthia. Not that he was seeing her or he even wanted her here. It was clear by their conversation that he didn’t.
But still.
I would’ve begged him to see me instead. To let me see him. To let me in his office.
To let me touch him and call him Alaric.
But I don’t think I can avoid looking at him now, so I do. I look at him and then, I also have to clench my fluttering belly.
Because he stands there, all tall and broad and beautiful, with his chocolate chip eyes heated and trained on me. The last time they were focused on me was when he was looking at my naked pictures.
When he was watching me give him fuck-me eyes and talk about all the shameless things I did.
“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?”
I jerk awake at Cynthia’s voice, reality slamming back as to where we are and who we are around.
Alaric seems to already know though.
Because nothing changes on his face as he glances over to Janet. “Can you show Miss March out?” Then, glancing back at me, “In my office.”
Cynthia isn’t happy about how Alaric is handling it because she goes, “I’d like to stay. I’d like to see how students get handled for their rudeness, if you don’t mind.”
At this, finally Alaric looks at her directly. “I do mind.” Cynthia blanches at his stern words but he keeps going. “This is my school and I like to handle my students without witnesses present. I also mind you stopping by without prior notice. So as I was saying, next time please call.” Then he adds, “My assistant.”
With that, he turns to me and clenches his jaw.
Meaning I should start walking.
Which I do, my heart ten times lighter now that he put Cynthia in her place. I wish I could shoot her a smile of satisfaction but I’m not going to rock the already wobbling boat so I duck my head down and walk to his office.
He enters after me and shuts the door.
I wait for him to walk in further and reach his desk before I burst out, “Before you say anything, let me just say that I hate her.”
My voice echoes around the office or at least it feels like it.
But he doesn’t seem to mind.
He simply props himself against the desk, folds his arms over his chest and trains his eyes on me as if he’s ready for my tirade with all the patience in the world.
Which is actually a good thing, because I have a lot of tirade to get through.
“I absolutely hate her,” I begin when he’s all settled. “And the more I see her, the more I hate her, and that’s saying something because I hated her plenty the first night I met her. And that’s because I didn’t like the way she talked to you. I thought that was extremely mean and rude. And now that I know she went to school with you,” then I wave my hands, “I mean, I already knew that because you told me that first night. But now that I know how horrible and how torturous and fucking cruel your high school was, I can’t stand the sight of her and you can’t blame me for that. You can’t. I’m sorry but you absolutely cannot. And I’m not going to apologize for it.”
There. That makes me feel a little better.
But not a whole lot.
He keeps watching me for a beat or two. Then, “I think you just did.”
“Did what?”
“Apologize.”
I frown and realize yes, I did do that. Lifting my chin, I say, “I take it back then.”
A few seconds of staring then, “What were you doing outside of my office?”
The subject change throws me a little bit but still I reply, “I was here to make an appointment to see you.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed to talk to you.”
His eyes narrow. “About?”
I open my mouth to answer him but then close it. Frowning harder, I point a finger at him. “No.” I stab that finger in the air. “No. Absolutely not. You’re not changing the subject. That’s what you did that night, in my bedroom. When I was angry.”