Rogue Angel (The Rourkes, Book 10)

by Kylie Gilmore

  Becca squeezes my hand, her eyes lit up with excitement. I almost forgot, she’s into the royal thing.

  “No reaction?” Dad asks. “I thought you’d be more excited. It’s no cost to us. The royal jet will take us there, and we can all stay at the palace.”

  Becca fidgets by my side, fighting a smile. The women in the room are all smiling, looking very pleased about everything. It occurs to me Becca would really like to go, and I’d like that too, spending Christmas together.

  Dad goes on. “There will be a themed Christmas ball a few days before Christmas.”

  My brothers and I groan. A ball? What is this, the eighteen hundreds?

  Mom shoots us all a quelling look that says knock it off. We get quiet.

  Dad huffs. “The theme is Regency England because your cousin’s wife writes stories set in that time frame. It’s all in the email. I’ll forward it to you. There’s some recommended reading, Jane Austen especially…” He trails off at the collective groan of the men in the family.

  “Jane Austen is da bomb,” Josie quips. Everyone laughs.

  “Yes,” Dad says. “Thank you, Josie.” He takes in us guys. “Your mother and I are going, and I’d like you all to be there too.” He cracks a smile, his eyes going soft. “Mila’s been asking for Pop-Pop.” Mila is the king’s two-year-old daughter, and my dad is her Pop-Pop. He stepped into the grandfather role since both of Mila’s grandfathers passed away. (He’s technically her great-uncle.) It was how the ruling king and queen brought my dad back into the kingdom, and he took to it with his whole heart. He loves that little girl.

  Dad goes on in a voice choked with emotion. “This is the first Christmas she has an inkling what’s going on. I want to be part of it.”

  My brothers and I glance at each other. Dad and Mila together for Christmas. We know we can’t say no. We all want to see him happy, to have his original family and still have us too.

  “I’ll be there,” I say.

  Becca’s head snaps up, meeting my eyes for a brief moment of obvious excitement before looking away. She’s definitely hoping to go with me. Pure joy lights me up inside at the thought.

  “Thank you, Connor,” Dad says. “Anyone else?”

  “We’re out,” Dylan says. “It’s two weeks from Ariana’s due date, and she can’t fly then.”

  Brendan coughs out, “Lucky.”

  Dylan grins.

  “Really sorry we have to miss,” Ariana says, rubbing her stomach. She must be about seven months along. “Another year.”

  “We’ll have you two at our place for Christmas!” Mrs. Bianchi exclaims. That’s Ariana’s mom. She’s a bit overbearing though well-meaning.

  Dylan’s smile falters before he says smoothly, “We’d love to. Thank you, Mrs. Bianchi.”

  She beams at him and nods at Mrs. Rourke. They approve of his manners. What a kiss-up.

  “There’s a spa, ladies,” Mom says in a coaxing voice. “We could have a girls’ day.”

  “I’m there, Mrs. Rourke,” Josie says.

  “Me too,” Riley says.

  Sean and Jack grumble their agreement now that their women roped them into it.

  Beast lifts a hand and nods. He’s in.

  Dad turns to Brendan, the holdout.

  Brendan gives him a pained look. “Do I really have to go to a Regency whatever ball and read Jane Austen?”

  “Yes,” we all yell back at him.

  He throws his hands up. “Fine. I’m not spending Christmas alone. You forced my hand. But no Jane Austen. I’ve seen those movies advertised on TV with their bonnets and the guys are wearing weird short pants and tights.”

  Ariana pipes up. “Read some of Alice’s Regency romance, Bren.” Alice is my cousin’s wife. “Might open your eyes to a little bit more than history.” She lifts her brows, grinning. I’ve heard Alice’s stories don’t leave out the good parts. Not that I’m going to read a girly love story.

  “Ha! Romance,” Brendan says, the tips of his ears red. “Don’t need a book for that.”

  We all rib him mercilessly because he’s basically a Neanderthal when it comes to women. He thinks he’s got game, but he’s got nothing to back it up. No substance, all surface, all about the meaningless hookup. Jack used to be the same way, but he’s changed since Riley barreled into his life.

  “The Rourkes are going back to Villroy!” my uncle yells.

  “Huzzah!” my dad cheers, outing himself as the non-New Yorker he is. I don’t care how long he’s lived in Brooklyn, he’s still a Villroy king at heart.

  Josie and Riley talk excitedly with my mom about the trip. My brothers talk amongst themselves, looking a lot less excited.

  I turn to Becca and whisper in her ear, “Do you want to go to Villroy for Christmas?”

  She smiles, and I kiss that smiling cheek. “Yes.”

  She gazes into my eyes and in that moment I know. I can finally relax. It’s smooth sailing from here on out.

  She leans on my shoulder with one hand and says softly by my ear, “By then, I’ll know if they’re going to keep me on as a professor, and you and I should be out of questionable territory. It’ll be so nice to be in the clear.”

  “That’s the plan.” A dark thought slowly dawns. If they don’t keep her on as professor, will she blame me? No, she wouldn’t do that. I think. It’s hard to tell because she gets really worked up about the ethics of the situation we’re in.

  I can’t let myself dwell on that. We’re keeping everything quiet, and Becca is great at her job. We’ll keep on doing what we’re doing, and everything will be fine. It has to be.

  16

  Becca

  I walk with a bounce in my step to my meeting with Dean Sears. Class ends in two weeks, and I think this is my performance review where I find out if they’re going to give me that full-time position. I’m feeling pretty good about it. Last week, just before Thanksgiving break, they sent out surveys for the students to rate their teachers. I’m sure they’ll be good. Class has been going exceptionally well. There’s lots of great discussion going on, and I’ve reached a comfort level and trust in Con that means I can really enjoy his participation. We’ve gone into his family business’s case study in great depth, and it’s made for a fantastic learning experience for everyone. And things with Con couldn’t be better. He spent Thanksgiving with my family, and I’m joining him in Villroy for Christmas. To think I was so worried about being involved with him when it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Just thinking about him makes me smile.

  My meeting is an hour before my Thursday night office hours, which are rarely attended. I really tried, but after I turned Mike down for dinner, he stopped showing up, and I only occasionally see someone with a question about a paper. I’ll have to confer with other professors to see if there’s anything further I can do to improve that for my next class. I’d like to teach this one again in the spring, and hopefully I’ll have a full-time load of classes too.

  I step into the meeting room, a large space with a wall of windows, one long conference table, and chairs. Two people sit on one side of the table—Dean Sears and the human resources director, Cheryl Boggs. My stomach drops like a rock. Cheryl is probably in her forties with thin blond hair and a round face that usually looks cheerful, but today she looks serious. So does Dean Sears.

  Don’t panic. Maybe they bring in HR for hiring decisions. You did interview with her before. Maybe she’s here to go over the paperwork.

  My gut churns, unconvinced. Something is very wrong. I take a seat. “Hi, how’re you?”

  “Just fine, Rebecca,” Cheryl says gently.

  Dean Sears shuffles some papers in front of him. “How’re things going with class, Ms. Edwards?” He lifts his head, his expression hard to read.

  I try for a confident tone. “It’s going really well. We’ve had a lot of great class discussion around our case studies, good participation, too. I feel like we’re all learning a lot from each other.”

  “
Uh-huh,” Dean Sears says.

  “Anything else you’d like to tell us?” Cheryl asks.

  My mind whirls. Do they know I’m involved with Con? I can’t out myself. Maybe it’s something else.

  I lift my shoulders in a small shrug. “I’m still bringing home-made cookies to office hours, though I admit attendance has dwindled. It’s one of the things I was going to work on for next semester. Right now everyone’s very focused on the final paper, and they seem to have a handle on it.”

  They exchange a look. Dean Sears gestures for Cheryl to speak.

  I turn to her, heart in my throat.

  “Rebecca, a student has filed a complaint against you. They say it was obvious you were involved with a student in your class.”

  I immediately think of Mike ratting me out. I told him I was seeing someone and maybe he realized it was Con. “Well, a student did ask me out, Mike Ahern, and I declined his invitation. It’s possible he’s lashing out.” It’s a stretch because I knew all along the optics looked very bad on the Connor front.

  “This complaint was filed by a woman in your class,” Dean Sears says, putting his glasses on and referring to a paper in front of him. I lean forward, but I can’t read it from across the table. “She says—” he clears his throat “—the steamy looks between you and this male student made her uncomfortable. She felt triggered because as an undergrad she had a professor take an interest in her.”

  My gut knots. I never wanted to make anyone feel bad because of my actions. “No one said anything to me,” I force out over the lump in my throat.

  “She didn’t feel comfortable telling you directly,” Cheryl says. “She hoped we would deal with it.”

  Oh God. My face is hot with shame, nausea rising in my throat. “I never meant for this to happen, but you have to believe me, this isn’t a predatory situation. It’s consensual. I met him before class began.”

  Dean Sears gives me a skeptical look. “The student you were involved with is named here, Ms. Edwards. I saw you with him in close conversation at the beginning of the semester. You told me you’d just met.”

  Crap. I did say that, and I insisted I was single, which can only mean I started seeing Con after that, while he was a student in my class. This looks so damning. “I, uh…”

  Dean Sears lowers his glasses down his nose to meet my eyes directly. “I saw you together again a few weeks later, looking very comfortable together. What am I supposed to think?”

  “I know it looks bad.” My voice cracks. “The first time you saw us, I panicked and lied. We actually had met before and we were together. I—”

  “And how do I know you’re not lying to me now?” he demands.

  I open my mouth and shut it again. The seeds of doubt have been planted by my own doing. Bile rises in my throat.

  Cheryl chimes in. “Rebecca, do you admit to being involved with a student?”

  “Yes, but we were involved before class began, I swear. I didn’t know he was going to be my student.”

  Cheryl writes something in her notes. Dean Sears shakes his head, regarding me with a disappointed look. He thinks I’m backpedaling to cover it all up. The evidence is right in front of him from the complaint against me.

  Cheryl cocks her head. “Did you ever discuss with him ahead of time about signing up for your class?”

  She’s trying to give me the benefit of the doubt. Assuming what I said is true—that we were already in a relationship—we would’ve talked about my class.

  My shoulders droop, a dull ache in my chest. “No.” How can I explain that we had a wild one-night stand the day before class and never really talked?

  Dean Sears looks resigned. Cheryl wears an almost angelically gentle expression. She’s probably trained for this kind of sensitive situation.

  “He’s auditing the class,” I say desperately. “Technically, not even a real student.”

  “But he’s been attending with the other students, correct?” Cheryl asks.

  I nod. Obviously they know Con’s been in class or we wouldn’t be having this discussion.

  “Could I just talk to her?” I ask. “The student who filed a complaint? I’ll apologize and explain the situation. I’m sure if we could just talk, this would clear right up.”

  “I can’t share her identifying information,” Cheryl says. “We put students first here. They need to feel safe and supported.”

  “They were,” I say. “They are. This is all just a misunderstanding.”

  Cheryl nods, her tone soothing. “Be that as it may, it still made for an uncomfortable environment for the other students. We always send out a survey for feedback before the final exam or project, and your reviews were overwhelmingly poor. Some were downright scathing.”

  I go cold, staring at her in shock. “They were?”

  “Yes.”

  My voice comes out in a whisper. “I really thought things were going well.” I can’t believe everyone hated me as a teacher. “We had some good discussions. It seemed they were learning from the questions they asked.”

  Dean Sears pushes his glasses in place, scanning a paper in front of him. “They said almost universally that you were inattentive, distracted, and spent too much time on your favorite student.”

  “I didn’t have a favorite.” Did I? I really did think Connor’s case study was a good learning tool.

  Dean Sears runs his finger down the paper. “Says here you spent three weeks discussing a development project in detail as though you were a consultant to your boyfriend’s company.”

  “I’m not. I just thought it was an interesting case study and we could all learn from it.” I look from Dean Sears to Cheryl, pleading with them to understand.

  Dean Sears exhales sharply. “Perhaps your involvement led to your inattention to other students in class and caused you to fixate on him.”

  I break out in a cold sweat. Crap. I never should’ve let this thing happen with Con. I had my doubts from the beginning. Yes, he made me happy, but at what price?

  “I swear I wasn’t inattentive to the other students,” I say in a last-ditch effort to save my job.

  Dean Sears takes off his glasses and folds his hands in front of him on the table. “I’m sorry, Rebecca, but it’s not going to work out. You won’t be staying on here at the university.”

  My eyes are hot. I’m so filled with shame and regret I can only stare blankly at him, out of words, out of ways to defend myself.

  “Can I at least finish out the semester?” I ask. “There’s only three more classes and I’ve prepared material.”

  Dean Sears stares at me for a long moment. “If you feel you can do so within the proper bounds of the rules of this university.”

  I nod, my throat too tight to speak.

  “Rebecca,” Cheryl says gently.

  I blink and turn to her, tears blurring my vision.

  Her eyes are full of gentle understanding. “Unfortunately, we do have to disclose that there was a complaint lodged against you if a reference calls us in the future.”

  My gut churns as the full impact of this horrendous mistake hits me—I’ll never work in academia again. My entire career finished after one class. I’d thought Con and I handled it so well, but it’s just as I feared. All the risk was on me all along.

  “Do you understand everything we’ve discussed here today?” Cheryl asks with a note of finality. There’s nothing more to say. I’m finished.

  I stand on wobbly legs. “Yes, I understand. Dean Sears, please don’t share this with my father. I want him to hear it from me.”

  Dean Sears gives me a long look. “If he asks me why I let you go, I’m not going to lie.”

  I swallow hard, nod, and walk on stiff legs out the door.

  I make it all the way to my office upstairs before I burst into tears. I feel horrible that I caused another student pain by my actions. If I’d known, I would’ve explained. I never, ever wanted to cause anyone pain. And now I have to deal with the consequences of my ac
tions. My parents would be so ashamed if they knew. They were so proud I wanted to be teachers after their example. I can’t tell them yet. I just can’t.

  I rest my forehead on my desk. All my plans blew up in my face. I knew seeing Con was a bad idea, but I caved. Now I’m lost without a path.

  I’m through.

  It’s Friday night, and Connor is on his way over. I’ve been too depressed to get off the sofa. I’m not looking forward to this conversation. I haven’t told him about the meeting yesterday, too upset to talk about it. I don’t think he’ll understand the terrible pain and humiliation losing my job is. And I still have to show my face in class tomorrow. It’ll be difficult, but I want to see it through and, if possible, move forward in the most positive teaching environment possible. It kills me that a student is hurting because of something I did. I want a chance to make it better. My eyes sting with tears again, and I scrub them away. I’m so tired of crying. I had to skip my office hours after that horrible meeting, and I now realize the reason they were so poorly attended was because no student wanted to work with me. I’m officially a failure as a teacher. It’s especially shameful in light of how seriously my parents take the teaching profession. My dad is the freaking New York Teacher of the Year.

  The intercom buzzes, and I drag myself over to the door to answer it.

  His familiar deep voice comes through. “Hey, babe, it’s me.”

  I slap a hand over my mouth to cover my sob. He’ll take my side, but my side is wrong because he’s in it. I have to be strong and finally do the right thing. I hit the buzzer to let him into the building.