She’d cried quietly after, but then reminded herself she’d done this to herself—she’d chosen to leave her husband, family and friends behind to focus on the postpartum psychosis hallucinations testing her sanity. And she had to deal with the consequences, no matter how unpalatable.
“I had no choice,” Violet said. “I can’t lose my job.” Or get her insurance rate up, or get a bad rap for what had happened. Women outside the workforce for years and fresh from a mental wellness center didn’t necessarily have awesome job opportunities thrown at them.
“What’s his name again?” Nikki asked.
“Theo Brodeur.”
“What?” Nikki squealed. “I’ve heard that name before. Hold on.” She fished her cell phone out of her bag, and within a couple of seconds, squealed again. “Damn, girl.”
Nikki lifted the screen to her other friends, and catcalls and whistles followed.
“I wouldn’t mind giving this sex-on-a-stick a couple of lessons,” Lara said.
“Well done, Vi,” Brit said, fanning herself. “He’s really hot.”
Violet shook her head violently. “You are getting it all wrong. This evil man blackmailed me into tutoring his daughter. He’s not taking me on a date. He’s twisting my arm.” And putting me in an impossible position. Thank God Clark hadn’t called her yet, so she had more time before she faced him after he returned from his trip.
“I’d like to twist his—”
Violet waved Lara off. “Don’t you dare.”
“Fine.” Lara rolled her big, brown eyes. “I’m just saying…”
“What are you going to tell the principal?” Brit asked.
Violet touched her necklace, fiddling with the pendant. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying hard to ignore the chilly sensation spreading in her stomach. At last, she had some sense of normalcy in her life—and Theo threatened to take it all away. “I’m taking suggestions.”
“Try honesty,” Nikki suggested.
Lara snorted. “Honesty might get her fired. She agreed to tutor the girl for self-serving reasons.”
Violet chewed on her lower lip. “I’ll come up with something.” Maybe that would be her first big mistake. Make it second or third big mistake. Aaah, who’s counting? “Maybe I can buy some time.” Not time enough, though.
Theo had summoned Violet to start tutoring his daughter on Sunday. A smart, bold move on his part, probably to ensure she’d hold up her part of the bargain before the week rolled in.
“I have to pee again,” Nikki sighed. “Pregnancy blows. Excuse me, guys,” she said, scooting out of the booth.
“I’ll go too,” Lara said, following her.
Violet grabbed the menu and skimmed her options.
“Hey, Violet?” Brit said, getting her attention. “I’m glad I have you alone for a few minutes. I’ve been wanting to tell you something in person.”
“Yeah?” Violet made a mental note to try the shrimp salad.
“Damian asked me to marry him,” she said, a trace of nervousness in her voice.
Violet sat the menu to the side and swallowed. One of the few good things her narcissistic mother had taught her from a young age had been to keep her composure at all times. So, besides the fact her heart leaped from her chest to her throat, she forced a neutral smile to her friend and said in a gentle voice, “Wow. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, but I’m really asking for your blessing. Given you’re Amanda and Trevor’s mom, and—”
And you’re with my husband. Violet cleared her throat. Ex-husband. She had to come to terms with the fact that for the past several months she had created a hole in the boat of her marriage and watched it sink. A part of her had hoped Damian would take her back, even if she didn’t love him the way he had deserved. But after her treatment, she’d wondered if she had been a different person, more open and warm, he’d love her too, the way she deserved. Silly her, for a moment she thought they’d be able to find out together. A second chance.
She looked deep into Brit’s soulful brown eyes. “You have my blessing. You two are great for each other.” It wasn’t a lie. Brit had managed to make Damian happy, to make him a better person. She’d done what Violet herself hadn’t been able to, and perhaps that added a dash of salt to the wound. But letting her friend see it was out of question.
Brit was kind, straightforward, smart. She deserved happiness and, most importantly, was ready to embrace it. “Thank you. We haven’t told the kids or anyone. I wanted to check with you first.”
“When do I get to see the big rock?”
“I’ll start wearing it after we talk to the children. Didn’t think it was fair otherwise.”
Violet leaned in. “The fact you’re so worried about your daughter and my children’s reaction says everything I need to know about this union. Everything will be great, Brit.” Gosh, Amanda and Trevor loved Brit. I love Brit.
Bitter thoughts swirled around her, but she willed them away before they found a place to take root in her soul. She’d told Brit she was okay with her relationship with Damian from the beginning, and now she had to continue and move forward. Even if doing the right thing was a little bit tougher than she’d imagined.
“I’m going to invite Nikki and Lara to be my bridesmaids. You’re my best friend too, but I’m trying to navigate the weirdness of you being in your ex’s wedding versus me giving you the awesome praise you deserve for being a fabulous person,” Brit said.
Violet drew in a breath. She knew exactly what her friend meant. Expectation gleamed in Brit’s eyes, and she bobbed her head forward, probably hoping Violet would say yes. Brit had never been married, and Violet knew this was a big deal for her. An acidy sensation spread in her stomach, rising up her throat. She could continue the farce and say yes—but agreeing to being involved in every single detail about Brit’s big deal was a bit much. Her mother had raised a good enough actress, but she was no Meryl Streep.
“I’ll be happy to attend the wedding,” she said, her voice even. Hell, Amanda would question her if she didn’t. “But I’m in way over my head with this new job and everything, so I can’t give you my one hundred percent as a bridesmaid. Wouldn’t be fair to you. Is that okay?”
Brit smiled. “That’s totally fine. I just wanted to throw it out there, but I completely understand. It’s very generous of you to attend.”
“It’s my pleasure,” she lied.
“Marcelle, get off your iPad,” he said to his ten-year-old daughter. “Now.”
“Five more minutes, Dad? Please?” Marcelle asked, working her big hazel eyes like a champion. When she looked at him like that, she reminded him of her mother, and he found it hard to object.
But this time, he had to—if he wanted to do things differently.
He shook his head. “The teacher will be here at any moment,” he said. Was it Miss Manning or Mrs. Manning? Damn it, he didn’t remember her last name, or if she was single or married. A shiver zapped down his spine. The idea of that beautiful woman being committed or involved with another man brought a bad taste to his mouth. “Miss Violet.”
He had enough problems in his mind to obsess over a person who obviously only thought about herself. She hadn’t cared about his problems or his daughter’s delicate situation when he’d shared them with her. Yet when he’d proposed to call the cops or the principal, she agreed to help. What did that say about Violet?
Who cares? As long as she helps Marcelle, I don’t care about her. Not one tiny bit. He had to continue to salvage the chain of restaurants he and his wife had started together—and which had faced terrible neglect from both of them after she’d been diagnosed and throughout her treatments as they fought for a cure. Between that and being a decent father to his daughter, he’d barely had time to come up for air. Let alone date. And forget about having sex.
“Done,” his daughter said and put her iPad away. “But don’t expect me to be all friendly. Studying on a sunny Sunday isn’t really my speed.”
“Making sure you aren’t kicked out of another school is mine,” he said. “Give it a try, Marcelle.”
She crossed her arms on her chest and rolled her eyes. “Why are you so insistent on me staying in this school, Dad?”
“You didn’t last much at the others, either. I know losing your mother is painful and you’re still hurting like crazy, but you have to try harder,” he said, softening his voice. She would have loved to see you speak French. The argument burned at the tip of his tongue, but he held it back.
“You want me to study and grow up and get out of your hair,” she said.
Had he done such a bad job as a father she thought he saw her as a burden? He raked his fingers through his hair. “I want you to learn, to accept your mother is not here anymore. And to be happy.”
The doorbell ring interrupted the awkward exchange. Shit, he’d prefer solving any work-related problem than navigating emotions with his daughter. He’d loved Celine, and they had shared a wonderful marriage. A part of him felt guilty for even thinking of forgetting how great it had been so he’d be able to move on too. Maybe he didn’t deserve to move on.
Maybe his daughter subconsciously blamed him for Celine’s death. After all, breast cancer was very treatable these days. If he hadn’t been so obsessive about the restaurants and taken Celine down the same path, maybe she’d have gone for checkups more often. Maybe she would have discovered it early enough to beat it.
He strode to the foyer, for once grateful for the sight of one more tutor coming into his house. Granted, none of them ever looked as good as Violet. Also, none of them had ever been as motivated to help as Violet. This will work out. It has to.
He opened the door to let her in. She wore denim jeans and a dark blue, collared shirt. Casual and appropriate, without being too informal. He gave her a once over, appreciating the way the jeans hugged her delicate frame, then lifting his gaze to her face. The shirt brought out her clear blue eyes.
A part of him that was male and ripe nodded at her appearance. Smalls ripples of awareness coursed through him, slowly but surely reminding him his body still recognized a beautiful woman—even if he preferred not to. At least, not this woman.
“Hi. How’s it going?” she asked.
“Well. Please come in,” he said, gesturing for her to enter his home.
She did as told, and he followed her. His gaze strayed to the sensual sway of her hips. Images of him slamming her against the wall and kissing her neck, nipping her ear or cupping her ass invaded his mind.
A powerful stir traveled through him, continuing to awaken parts of him that should be dormant—at least when it came to his daughter’s tutor. He squared his shoulders and stretched to his full height.
He took her to the living area. “Marcelle,” he said. “Come on.”
He skimmed around the area, gesturing for Violet to stay put. Sighing, he made quick work of checking his home office, the guest rooms and kitchen. No sign of his daughter, anywhere. Of course she’d hide somewhere.
He returned to the living area, and looked up at the stairs. “Marcelle, if you don’t come down in five seconds, you’ll lose iPad privileges for a month,” he said in a voice that left no doubt.
Within three seconds, Marcelle came down the stairs, frowning. God, what would the teenage years be like? He needed to get her under control. “Fine,” she said under her breath.
“Meet… I’m sorry, how would you like to be addressed? Mrs…?”
“Miss Violet will do,” she said.
Single. The realization shot a rush of adrenaline through his system.
“I’ll leave you two to it.” He showed her the formal dining area. He’d played with the idea of giving them more privacy, but he’d be better off knowing his daughter would be more likely to pretend to care if she were in full view.
Watching them certainly had nothing to do with the blonde, petite woman in his view. Nothing at all.
3
“Done?” Violet asked, taking a look at the worksheets she’d handed Marcelle a half an hour prior. She needed an idea of how bad the situation was, and to discover her strengths and weaknesses.
Marcelle sucked in a breath of air, then let it out, visibly bored. “There.”
Violet took the paper from her hand and glanced at it. Marcelle did well in math and other subjects. Her main areas needing improvement were writing, reading and literature. In fact, she’d asked her a few open questions in French that Marcelle hadn’t bother to reply. “Did you understand these questions?” She pointed at the ones with blank response.
Marcelle nodded.
“Did you need more time? I could have given you—”
“No. I don’t want to do this.”
Neither do I. Violet ran her fingers through her hair. They were in their third session within a week, and Marcelle hadn’t made much progress. At times, it was like she self-sabotaged herself, choosing not to answer questions or anything remotely personal. Did she even know what she was doing? Violet’s heart squeezed. The girl was tall for her age, and her long dark-blonde hair made her look older and more secure, but in reality, Marcelle was only ten years old. “You know, hmmm, what else do you want to do?”
“Play Minecraft.”
Minecraft. Her daughter was a fan of the game, so she quickly understood the reference. “Then let’s do it. Let’s have a break and play Minecraft.”
The girl’s green eyes widened, and a twinge of surprise flickered on them. “Are you for real?”
“Yes.” She’d seen her put her iPad away when she arrived, so she reached for it. “My daughter likes playing even though she’s younger than you.”
For the first time since she’d seen her, Marcelle smiled.
Violet’s shoulders dropped a notch and her chest expanded. Also for the first time, she felt like she was doing something right. Realization dawned on her. Maybe if she found a way to become close to Marcelle, she’d trust her enough to learn from her. Or do her lessons.
She had to. After all, soon the principal would return from his one-week vacation, and she’d have to tell him face-to-face that she hadn’t expelled the bad apple. Not only that, she was now personally tutoring the girl for money—maybe that last bit she’d keep to herself.
“Do you have any fun avatars?” she asked, recollecting a conversation Amanda had with Libby, her soon-to-be stepsister, about how to earn and buy skins and avatars. Never did Violet think that knowledge would come handy.
“This is my latest one,” Marcelle said, her voice softening. Violet leaned closer, and during the next ten minutes, watched her walk her avatar through a world made of blocks. A world Marcelle had built from the ground up, and where she could control her destiny.
Wouldn’t we all love to live in that world? Violet encouraged her, using her knowledge to show Marcelle she wanted to do anything with her, even if that meant playing. “Nice. I like it.”
“Let me show you my weapons,” she said, swiping her finger on the screen and opening another window where different kinds of armory and guns came to view.
For the next several moments, Marcelle played, showing Violet her progress.
“Good job, Marcelle,” she said when Marcelle took down another player from the enemy trenches.
“Not sure I can say the same about you,” said an accented French voice not too far from her.
A bucket of glacial water spilled into her bloodstream. The surprise shook her, not because she’d been doing anything wrong, but as she turned to face Theo, the look of disappointment in his eyes twisted a knife into her gut. She’d seen that look one too many times from her mother, whenever she tried to bring up her fucked-up childhood. Or her biological father, may he burn in hell.
“I need to have a word with you, Violet,” he said, his voice demanding. “In my office.”
“Sure.” She swallowed, and glanced at Marcelle. “Keep on playing.”
Maybe he was pissed at her because he didn’t want her to use electronics while she
was with his daughter—she understood that. Why did he give her a long once over, his eyes darkening, and making every fiber of her sizzle with awareness?
None of this made sense.
She followed him into his office and closed the door behind her. The air thickened, like an invisible balloon inflated the otherwise airy space, making it hard to breathe. She struggled between shame for being caught playing and a flare of anger. Anger at herself for having a hard time dragging her gaze away from his.
“Well?” she asked, smoothing her hand over her shirt. “Is this when you fire me?” She stepped forward.
He looked at her quietly, casually leaning against his desk, arms crossed. “My daughter is failing at school. Is that why you’re playing videogames with her? You want to show me I was wrong into asking you—”
Did he really believe the world revolved around him? And that she’d go out of his way to prove a point? She shook her head, seeing red. “Blackmailing me—”
“Persuading you into helping out. So, your plan is to take my money and have her fail.”
“I’d never do such thing,” she said, frustrated.
His jaw clenched. “Then why did you give up already?”
“You don’t need to be so uptight.”
“You’re telling me about uptight? That’s rich,” he said, each word sharp like a blade.
“Listen, your daughter is hurting. I gave her some iPad time to gain her trust and have her like me, so maybe she’ll be more engaged in the lessons. You’re acting like you saw me give her a bag of cocaine.” She stood, too restless to sit. Damn, she didn’t need his condescending attitude about the work she’d been doing. She already had enough to deal with her own insecurities to worry about someone else’s. “Maybe this was all a bad idea. To believe I could help you. Maybe you’re hurting too, and the idea of another woman spending time with your daughter, even if not on a personal capacity, makes you act this overbearing and controlling.”
Bad Teacher (Bad Girls Club Book 3) Page 2