I looked up Brett's father's number, then dialed and held the phone to my ear.
“Hello, this is Hannah. How may I help you?”
I frowned. On Brett's contact page, his mother was listed as Marlene.
“I'm calling for Thomas March,” I said. “I'm June Rogers – Brett's teacher.”
“Oh,” Hannah cooed. “Want me to take a message?”
I frowned. She sounded annoyingly chipper. “No,” I said curtly. “I really need to speak to Mr. March, if possible.” I cringed – if possible? Really? I knew I needed to start being a lot more assertive if I was going to make it as a teacher.
Hannah sighed. “Fine,” she snapped. “Hold please.” Before I could agree, I heard a click followed by elevator music. After just a few moments, there was another click and a deep masculine voice filled my 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.