First to Fail: A Strictly Professional Romance (Unraveled Book 3) Page 12

  “It’s almost more salacious than our story,” Mara said. “This is my mom, Wendy, and one of our most faithful customers, Ephraim. He sued my husband for me.”

  “I tried,” the man said in a deep timbre. Wendy lifted her hand in greeting.

  Jaycee was parked next to another woman in a standard, unmotorized wheelchair.

  Chris steered me next to Jaycee. “Lynne, this is Natalia, the woman I told you about.” He leaned down and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “The assassin.”

  Chris had said Lynne was nonverbal, but since Flynn had been back in her life and in charge of her care, they’d all been learning some basic signs Lynne could do with her functional arm. I got a thumbs-up.

  “Nice to meet you.” I peeked over Jaycee’s shoulder at the pad in front of Lynne on the table. My eyes widened at the page the sketchbook was open to. The pencil drawing of Lynne was in black and white, but the detail put into the woman’s hair, clothing, and even her wheelchair was at a level that not many fourteen-year-olds possessed. “That’s stunning.”

  Lynne ducked her head.

  Jaycee shrugged. “The others seem embarrassed when I sketch them. Not Lynne. We’re planning a canvas for her room, but I need to practice on a smaller scale first.”

  If Chris’s heart wasn’t going to burst with pride, mine would. This was the rebellious, obnoxious girl in my office at the beginning of the year? And she didn’t suddenly turn this corner. Jaycee might spend one weekend a month with her grandparents, and have a meal or two with her mother, but these people at Arcadia were her family.

  I swallowed and glanced around. Flynn carried two plates loaded with food to a spot across from Lynne and Jaycee. His wife was articulating with her hands and laughing over the story she told. At the neighboring table, Mara had just taken her son to the restroom with a giant maroon-and-black tote thrown over her shoulder. Were those Deadpool eyes stitched into the side?

  Wes had joined the conversation with Wendy and Ephraim. Chris led me to the food table. I went through the motions of picking and choosing lasagna, salad, and—was that cheesecake? I carried my plate to a separate table and sat. As Chris took his chair next to me, Ephraim turned. “I found a vintage Axis & Allies on eBay.”

  The two men delved into a conversation I couldn’t follow. Board games weren’t my thing. I picked at my food and looked around. The party was informal, comfortable, a way for everyone to connect without the interruption of daily life. So different than any gathering I had ever experienced.

  And I felt horribly out of place.

  Chris

  I poked around in a cupboard at Natalia’s place. I’d thought I was going to have to wait another week before I could spend a night with her, but Mara and Wes hadn’t seen the newest Star Wars movie and Jaycee had offered to babysit and she’d just spend the night at their place. I hoped it’d give me a chance to ask Natalia if anything was wrong, and I had, but she’d brushed me off. And once we were here and naked, well, talking wasn’t what either of us were interested in.

  I focused on the sad contents of the shelves. Rye toast, tins of tuna, and packets of shredded chicken with their own crackers that had actual flax seeds on the surface. I must be out of touch with the cracker world.

  Switching to the fridge, I searched for something I could make us for breakfast. Who didn’t even have eggs?

  Greek yogurt, something called kefir, and an assortment of already-sliced fruits and vegetables stocked the fridge.

  Froufrou crackers and fruit then. I couldn’t stomach yogurt, but I’d grab her a container.

  The doorbell rang and I jumped, letting the appliance door swing shut.

  I rounded the corner of the kitchen. Natalia had sprinted to the top of the landing, a sheet wrapped around her, ready to trip her if she attempted the stairs. Her hair was as wild as her expression.

  “Oh my god. I forgot about brunch. My parents!”

  The panic in her face didn’t make sense, but maybe getting caught with a guy at any age wasn’t something a kid wanted to do. At least they hadn’t walked in on me in the kitchen like I was stuck in the Groundhog Day episode of Supernatural. Only instead of watching Dean die over and over, I was repeatedly busted half naked with Natalia.

  I was about to suggest I let them in, but I was in nothing but boxers.

  “Just a minute,” Natalia shouted. Her frantic gaze swiveled from the front door to me. “You’re naked.”

  “Nearly. Let me get dressed.” I jogged up the stairs. By the time I reached the second floor, Natalia had disappeared into the bedroom. More clothing littered the floor than before. A Preston sweater had already been pulled over her head and she was dancing around on one foot to get into the black leggings I’d peeled off her hours ago.

  “Brunch. Dammit.” She tore out of the room.

  My gaze lingered on the doorway for a moment before I picked through the items on the floor to find my clothing. I was in my thirties, but flashbacks of my time with Cierra ran through my mind, her terror that her parents would find out we were dating. It was like she’d thought she’d be disowned if her parents discovered we were sleeping together. It turned out that hadn’t been far off the mark.

  But Natalia wasn’t a scared seventeen-year-old girl. She was independent and had an enviable career. I refused to be ashamed of where I was in my life; I was exactly where I wanted to be. And that included spending the night with her.

  Voices drifted upstairs.

  “I, um, had a friend over last night.” Natalia never lacked conviction, but she could pass for Jaycee the way she talked to her parents.

  “Oh?” That must be her mother. And she didn’t sound thrilled. “I was concerned you were going to wear that outfit to the restaurant.”

  Harsh.

  “Well, invite him along.” Natalia’s dad. “I have a reservation at Nicolette Island Inn. It should be no problem to accommodate another.”

  “Uh…”

  I paused at the top of the stairs and waited for the rest of her response.

  “I’m not sure he can make it.” Natalia’s back came into view. She had herded her parents away from the entry to where they couldn’t see the stairs.

  I descended, my stocking feet not making a sound. My back straight, proud, I turned the corner. Natalia wasn’t facing me. Her parents noticed me first. Had they ever worn a stitch of denim in their life? The way her mother’s manicured eyebrows rose and her gaze drifted down me, growing more dismayed as it went, probably not.

  Natalia’s father was dressed in slacks and shoes that cost more than any pair in my closet, and I still had every pair I’d ever bought that weren’t athletic shoes. The black peacoat the man wore was trendy and kept him from looking older than his sixty-ish years. Given the more traditional threads Natalia’s mom was sporting, his choice was probably a style risk in their world.

  Natalia spun around. “Chris. Mother, Father, this is Chris Halliwell.”

  Her father stepped around her and extended his hand. “Bertram Preston.” My heart stammered at the last name. Natalia’s family really were the owners and founders of that damn school. “This is my wife, Carina. Halliwell, you said?”

  Carina politely inclined her head, but she kept her hands tucked into her front pockets as she assessed him. A flash of understanding hit me—this was why Natalia acted the way she did in various situations. She and her mother were nothing alike. Or were they more alike than either imagined?

  Natalia put her hand on my shoulder. “Chris is an alum of Preston, actually.”

  Approval lit Bertram’s eyes and Carina’s body language softened, if only going from as rigid as lead to as hard as steel.

  I smiled, summoning the charm I reserved for winning customers and suppliers over. “Yes. I was awarded a basketball scholarship.”

  Bertram’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “And I’m sure the trophies are proudly displayed. What do you do now?”

  Natalia jumped at the answer before I could. “He’s
a business owner.”

  I leveled my gaze on her. Guilt flashed in her eyes, but at least she had enough conscience not to hide it.

  I was good enough in bed, but not good enough for her family.

  No. I wasn’t playing this game. Not again.

  I met Bertram’s gaze. “I co-own a comic book and gaming shop.” I could mention that their daughter was a customer, but that wasn’t my fight. If she wanted to hide parts of herself from the various worlds she lived in, that was her issue.

  Carina cocked her head like she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “A what?”

  “The Arcadia. It’s a comic book and gaming shop. We also host related events.”

  “Chris used to be on the—”

  I cut Natalia off without looking at her. “It doesn’t matter what I used to be. I’m a dad now, and I enjoy my work. Speaking of which, I should go pick up my daughter.”

  Bertram’s brows lifted. “Daughter?”

  Why the surprise? Many men my age had children. Or were the Prestons used to having “people” for their children?

  “She’s a student,” Natalia said, her voice soft. “Third generation.”

  I had to give it to her. She hadn’t given up on what was the good fight in her eyes.

  “It was nice meeting you both.” What a lie.

  I stepped away and went in search of my shoes and coat. Thankfully, they were by the garage entrance and out of view of her parents. I sensed Natalia behind me but ignored her as I stepped into my loafers.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Yeah” was all I could say.

  I grabbed my coat off the hook and didn’t bother throwing it on. She trailed me into the garage but waited until the door shut behind her, blocking us from the couple inside, before she spoke.

  “Chris.”

  I was halfway to the side door. Stopping, I dug my keys out and hit the autostart. I was miserable, but I didn’t have to freeze. Facing her, I was staggered by the regret in her eyes. Her parents’ judgment was that important to her? So be it.

  “Natalia. I’ve been through this before.” I gestured toward the main house. “It doesn’t end well for me, and I’m not going to live as your dirty little plebeian secret.”

  She sighed and pushed her messy hair off her face. It must’ve killed her to let her mother see her like that. It would’ve destroyed Cierra. “It’s not like that.”

  I drifted toward her. “Really? So, what—we go back in. I can tell them all about Arcadia and the daughter I had out of wedlock that was so scandalous I thought I’d been teleported to the 1950s. I can give them Nana and Papa’s last name and see if it gets me any street cred, though we’ll skip the part where I wasn’t good enough to become their son-in-law. Then we can go to brunch, where you’ll be as mortified as your mother that I’m wearing jeans and a shirt that cost less than fifty dollars. What if the other patrons mistake me for the kitchen staff?” Who would probably be dressed fancier than I was anyway.

  “Chris.”

  I cut my head to the side and held a hand up. “No. I’m not being limited to only one of the dimensions you live in. Goodbye, Ms. Shaw.”

  Chapter 12

  Natalia

  I slumped in my chair. Another month, another board meeting. Only this was the meeting I was supposed to bring up the proposal for the fine-arts track. Acid churned in my stomach. The new semester had been going for two weeks and I’d worked twelve-hour days. Mostly to avoid going home.

  My phone remained silent. Chris’s goodbye had been final. My parents had flown back to Seattle, and my mother had been relieved that the “Chris phase” was over.

  He’s not son-in-law material. You need a man who can keep up with you.

  So ironic. As if Mother hadn’t been following Father’s coattails all over the country. I had heard my mother admit to barely graduating college because of the travel demands of Father’s job. But for status reasons, Mother had needed the Princeton credentials.

  My gaze landed on the same diploma hanging on my wall. My mind drifted back to that devastating morning Chris had walked out on me. Could I blame him? I’d tried talking him up to Father, but the attempt had only been an insult. Two different decades, yet Chris had gotten the same treatment. Both of those times in the twenty-first century.

  No wonder Valaria was from the future.

  A knock at the door saved me from the instant replay that haunted me hourly. Ms. Branson poked her head in. I straightened and wiped the dejected expression from my face. “Come in.”

  “Douglas Johnson just arrived. All the board members are here.”

  “Thanks.” I grabbed my portfolio. It included stacks of handouts that I’d later email. Not for the first time I wished we had upgraded with the times and had projectors that weren’t from my parents’ days in school.

  I took a moment to check my appearance in the mirror, wishing I were into makeup for more reasons than just cosplay. Dark circles rimmed my eyes, and my pallid skin could use some foundation. My customary bun was fraying after a long day and a billion attempts to run my hands through my hair before remembering how tightly bound I kept it all day.

  At least I had my dark-rimmed glasses. The contrast of the frames against my face was enough to prevent me from looking sickly.

  “Let’s do this,” I muttered.

  My heels clicked on the polished hardwood all the way to the conference room. The halls were empty, and when I passed the trophy case I slowed. Were one of these from Chris? Most likely. How had I never stopped to find him in the team photos?

  Because what if someone asked why I was perusing the sports display? It wasn’t like I ever lingered here.

  Or was it because I’d realized that scholarships ultimately helped the kids? Physical activities helped students, and I’d been remiss in equalizing the opportunities available to each gender in the school. Or had I been trying to create a divide in my own mind?

  Shaking my head, I continued to the room.

  Entering the meeting, I kept my chin high, my shoulders back, and my expression cool. Adopting a pleasant smile, I met each board member’s eye. They were in charge. The occupants of the room as an entity were my bosses. They supposedly had my back. But with each meeting since I’d started, it became clearer that I didn’t have their listening ears, almost like someone else had whispered in them first.

  “Ms. Shaw,” greeted Henry Tanaka, the president. “How was your holiday?”

  Long, boring, ending in heartbreak. “It was well. The same for all of you, I hope.”

  Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room as I sat at the opposite end of the long mahogany table from Henry. The meeting ran smoothly. I’d been in sessions that had grown passionate and heated. Emotions could run high in the business of education. We weren’t acquiring artifacts or shuffling money in accounts; we were educating our future.

  Finally, we reached my agenda items.

  I passed the worksheets down and refrained from pushing up my glasses. Nerves of steel. “I’ve noted that previous Preston Academies, and this one in particular, lack a basic fine-art track in the curriculum. A student who’s interested in seeing Preston offer more in that area offered to gather data, and I ran the numbers.”

  “Art?” Claudia Ortega and derision were never far apart. I never knew if the woman was friend or foe. Claudia probably said the same thing about me. Of the board of five, Claudia was the only female. I had initially suspected she’d been a huge proponent of my hiring. But now I doubted it. I’d read the notes, and Henry had been the swing vote for the divided board.

  “Yes.” I could quote the benefits of an art program, but the notes were attached to the spreadsheet. I’d send an email afterward. Hammering the point home any more would reek of desperation and this was a group that’d feed off of it.

  “How does this fit into our mission?” Claudia asked, her dark head tipped as she paged through the document.

  Murdock, a burly man who towere
d over all of them even seated, spoke. “We don’t want to graduate students who are fleeing to Hollywood to hit it big, or gallivanting through New York art galleries. We’re educating leaders of the world, not the next big thing.” He said the last word like that would be the most horrible outcome for any student. Murdock had been a star fullback, running back, something-back in his day.

  But are we educating leaders of the world? My notes also compared the expense of all the sports programs combined, and it far exceeded all other program tracks.

  I gave in to the urge to adjust my glasses. “A well-rounded student can make a great leader.” Lately, I had been thinking we should adjust our mission statement to paving the way for parents to live vicariously through their children.

  “A focused student can do greater things.” This was from Charles, the oldest of the team, and the most steadfastly adherent to old ideals and traditions. He’d been the other “no” vote for hiring me.

  “Whose focus? The kids or their parents?” I managed to keep my voice calm and not snap at Charles.

  Claudia’s head tilted, her gaze assessing.

  Charles harrumphed. “If kids could focus themselves, they wouldn’t be kids. They wouldn’t be raised by their parents for the first eighteen years of their life and dependent on them for the next four. Preston Academy is here for the families. If we start giving in to children’s wants and desires, then we might as well close our doors and shuffle them to public schools.”

  Murdock shook his head. Henry had stayed quiet, along with the fifth member, Guy.

  This wasn’t an argument I was going to make any progress in. That was two members of the board who were immediately against my proposal. Guy, Claudia, and Henry weren’t likely to agree to big curriculum changes until Charles and Murdock could stew on the information awhile. Or resign.

  Guy said my thoughts out loud, though in a more socially correct way. “I certainly think it’s something we can look into at a later time.” He flipped to a specific page in the report and I knew exactly which one. It was filled with charts and graphs I’d made sure to color code. “What I think needs to garner our attention is the unbalanced and unchecked spending in the extracurricular activities. Is this correct? Our students don’t have access to updated technology in the classroom?”