Asking the standard questions the position required, ensuring that Dr. Evans was aware of—and supported—the standards of conduct demanded by Montford, Will completed his portion of the new-hire interview.

“So what do you like most about teaching English?” he asked, trying to ignore the twinge of conscience that told him he had no need to ask such a question. “Literature or writing?”

He’d read the reports from his colleagues, the unanimous recommendations that Dr. Evans be offered the position for which she’d applied. Normally this last interview was merely a formality, a handshake and an offer. But Will didn’t want Dr. Evans to leave his office so quickly. He was curious about her, this woman with her downcast eyes who reminded him so much of his wife.

“Literature,” she said after some thought.

“Though I do a lot of personal writing, too.”

Hands folded across his stomach, he leaned back in his chair and nodded. “Ever been published?”

She looked away. “Some, not a lot.”

He found it hard to believe that someone with her credentials, her many impressive references, hadn’t yet realized success in the journal-publishing arena. Scholarly journals usually snapped up people like her, regardless of whether they could actually write or not.

Judging by the two-page review she’d submitted on her views of education, she could write.

“You must be submitting to the wrong forums,” he suggested.

Her eyes, when she turned them on him, struck him with an almost tangible sensation. Held him captive. So full were they of pride, of self-respect—and insecurity.

“What I’ve submitted has been published. I just don’t submit a lot.”

He’d have jumped on that instantly, encouraged her to submit as often as possible, offered to help her if he could, but she forestalled him.

“I write for myself,” she said. “A form of catharsis. My work isn’t intended for anyone else to see.”

Will wanted to read what she’d written more than he could remember wanting anything in ages.

Christine Evans was having a strange effect on him. For the first time in weeks, he was starting to take a genuine interest in the world around him.

He hired her on the spot.

BECCA CHATTED all the way to the doctor’s office. Through Shelter Valley, along the freeway, across the busy Phoenix streets, she kept up a string of comments and questions that prevented her thoughts from flaying her raw. After two weeks of virtual silence, she and Will once again got caught up on each other’s lives.

So far, he’d been able to avoid the Todd issue. The alleged pictures were never produced. Stacy had been questioned and had managed to avoid admitting anything that proved Todd had committed any ethics violations.

“So it all just goes away?” Becca asked, not sure she agreed with that. It really sounded as though Todd was involved with this girl. And if he was, something should be done about it. A lot of people stood to get hurt.

Will signaled to change lanes. “Not quite.” Looking in his rearview mirror, he slid back into the right lane. “I’m obligated to do some checking,” he said. “The complaint was filed officially and demands investigation.”

“What are you going to do?” She didn’t envy Will his task. But she admired his ability to do what was right, even in a situation as hard as this one. She’d complained to Randi that he seemed uncompromising these days, but as she watched him struggle with the questions of Todd’s guilt, she was no longer convinced of that.

“I’ve hired an investigator from Phoenix to do some simple surveillance,” he said. “I don’t expect him to come up with anything.” He glanced over at her, his expression pained. “I hope to hell he doesn’t, that this is all some big mistake.” His eyes were back on the road. “But at least I’ll have a paper trail to prove that we did look into it to clear Todd’s name if this ever comes up again.”

Becca settled herself more comfortably in the seat. Her skirts were getting a little tighter than she liked. “I saw Martha at the grocery the other day,” she told Will, glad to finally have a chance to speak with him about it. “The whole thing was really awkward. She was her usual cheerful self, asking about the Fourth of July script as if nothing was wrong. I felt horrible for her.”

He loosened his tie. “Did you say anything?”

“I didn’t.” And she felt bad about that, too. She was weak. A coward. “I wanted to, though.”

“I don’t think we should. Not unless we have something substantial to give her.” He glanced quickly at Becca again, then back at the road. Traffic was heavy. “Otherwise, we’re just as bad as the old ladies in this town passing gossip that has little basis in truth.”

“You’re right,” Becca said, feeling much better. This was why she needed Will. He was the sounding board for her thoughts, helping her see issues and concerns that remained hidden from her, giving her a second and immensely valuable viewpoint.

Which was what made this whole baby thing so much more devastating. She’d thought Will would be logical, fair, clear-minded, as always. She’d counted on him to help put her fears to rest, to give her some insight that would have made the decision, either way, feel like the right one.

Not only had he not done that, he’d removed himself from the position of sounding board altogether. He’d retreated into a kind of numbness.

Tags: Tara Taylor Quinn Billionaire Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net