He clenches his jaw. “Nope.” He gestures toward the car impatiently, and the boys walk past him into the front yard. “I’m going to be aggressive aggressive.”
I roll my eyes. “Can you not?”
“Claire.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I will not for one fucking minute have him treated in this manner, and if you are asking me to bite my tongue . . . it’s best you don’t come.”
“Christ Almighty,” I mutter under my breath. “Can you just be calm, please?” I ask. “You’re stressing me out.”
“I’m stressing you out?” He points to his chest incredulously. “Don’t come, Claire. Sit in the car. Because I am telling you right now: I’m not about to take shit from this fucking teacher.”
Oh jeez. I brush past him and get into the car. It’s big and black and has a new-car smell. Patrick and Harry bounce in the back. They love it and made Tristan drive them around the block ten times last night.
I watch Tristan leave the house and lock the door. He takes a deep breath, drops his shoulders, and undoes his suit jacket with one hand as he walks toward the car.
I smile as I watch him . . . Tristan Miles is here, the takeover king. The take-no-shit, get-what-he-wants man whom I used to hate is here batting . . . for us. Somehow, he has taken my naughty little boy under his wing.
I don’t think I’ve ever loved him like I do right now.
H
e gets in and slams the door. “Harrison, you will be coming to the meeting with us, please.”
Harry’s eyes widen in horror. “But—”
“No buts. You need to learn how to defend yourself.”
Oh jeez. I slide down in the seat in dread. I don’t even want to come to this meeting myself . . . maybe I can sit in the car?
Ten minutes later we pull up at the school, and Tristan parks the car. We walk into the office. The receptionist does a double take as she sees him. Her eyes flick to me and then back to him, as if questioning what he’s doing here with us.
She’s a real bitch, this one, and I’ve had run-ins with her before.
“Can I help you?” she asks flatly.
“Hello, I’m Tristan Miles. I would like a meeting with Mrs. Henderson, the principal, the vice-principal, and someone from the parent-teacher association, please.”
Her eyes flick to me, and I swallow the lump in my throat.
“When for?”
“Now.” He stares at her deadpan, and I really wish the earth would swallow me up.
“What is this in regard to?” she asks.
“Harrison Anderson.”
“About?”
Tristan glares at her. “Can you please just do your allocated job and book the appointment? This is a private matter.”
Harrison looks up at Tristan and gives him a hopeful smile, and Tristan takes his hand.
I wither . . . oh crap.
Aggressive aggressive, here we go.
She glares at him and then twists her lips in annoyance. “That won’t be possible. You need to book a meeting at least two weeks in advance.”
“All right.” Tristan fakes a smile. “I would like you to get the board of education on the phone for me immediately.”