by Olivia Dade
“I can’t wait,” Rose said.
The couple reunited and disappeared into the crowd. But before she could locate the punch bowl, Candy Albright had appeared on one side of her, Bianca on the other.
Jesus. She was going to die at prom, wasn’t she?
“I’ve decided not to put hits on you and Mr. Krause.” Candy looked pleased with herself, which was always terrifying. “As long as you’re willing to help with my George Eliot Was Not a Man Initiative next year.”
No one in Candy’s orbit had ever actually been murdered, as far as Rose knew, but better safe than corpse-y. “Fine, fine, fine.”
Candy marched away in triumph, no doubt headed toward her next victim.
Rose turned to Bianca. “Those boots look amazing with your dress.”
“Yeah.” Bianca scuffed the toe of one of her heeled boots against the polished wood floor. “Listen, tell Mr. Krause the vendetta is off.”
Rose blinked. “Okay. May I ask why?”
Two years. Two years, Bianca had harbored a vendetta against Rose. And Martin got a mere six months? Pfffft.
“Mom says no more vendettas, or else she’s putting bleach in my laundry the day before I leave for college.” Bianca scowled. “I have to inform everyone by the end of the school year.”
“Life is difficult sometimes.” Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. “Thank you again for helping with my promposal, Bianca. Even though I specifically told you to throw those arrow balls underhand. Gently.”
“He insulted Tim Burton.”
Apparently, that was all the justification Bianca felt necessary.
“I hope you have a lovely summer.” Rose helped the girl straighten the filmy black sleeve of her dress. “And give ’em heck at Virginia Tech next year.”
“Yeah.” Bianca swallowed. “I, uh, wanted to thank you. You made school fun.”
Every year, a few kids who’d seemed to loathe every moment in Rose’s class came up to her and said something similar. And every year, surprise and unexpected emotion left her fumbling for words.
One hard blink. Another.
There. She was under control again.
“Same goes.” After a silent moment, Rose couldn’t help herself. “So are we going to hug it out, or what?”
“You wish.” But Bianca was smiling as she stomped away.
Moments later, a warm arm slid around Rose’s waist, and her body recognized the gentle affection in that touch before she even looked. Martin. Always, always Martin.
“Coward.” She leaned into him. “Don’t think I didn’t see you hiding from Candy and Bianca.”
He grinned. “Discretion, valor, etc. Besides, I know you can handle those two with one elegant hand tied behind your back. Especially since they both obviously adore you.”
She dipped down to whisper in his ear. “You want to try restraints, huh?”
Amazing. Against her lips, she could actually feel the flare of heat under his skin.
Then he muttered a quiet fuck, and she looked up to see Dale making his way across the room in their direction.
Perfect timing.
“No need for coarse language, Mr. Krause.” She straightened, but let his arm remain around her waist. “Only yesterday, you said you wanted to see this.”
It took him a moment to remember. But once he did, his stiffness slowly relaxed, and that Expensive Cologne Model grin returned as Dale drew within a few feet of them.
Oh, this was going to feel gooooooood.
“Brandi,” Dale greeted her loudly. “I saw your numbers were low for AP U.S. History next year.”
She drew herself up straight and looked down her nose at him. “Good evening to you too, Mr. Locke.”
His step stuttered, but he recovered himself and came closer. “Don’t know yet what’s going to happen with your funding, but it depends on enrollment. Be a shame if you lost money for training or supplies.”
Her smile, she knew, would gleam under the dance floor lights, and its absolute chill should freeze him in place.
Sure enough, he stopped dead.
“If our AP program lost funding, that would certainly be a shame.” She cast a sidelong look at Martin. “Dearest, have you heard? I’m sure Dale already knows, since all the important people in administration do.”
Dale’s mouth worked, as he attempted to conjure a suitably crushing response.
Currently, only the superintendent—who’d answered Annette and Alfred’s call Wednesday morning—was aware of the news, because the details were still being determined. But Dale couldn’t know that.
She let her smile spread. Become terrifying.
“Anonymous benefactors have offered to fully fund our school system’s AP programs for the indefinite future.” She paused. “Under one condition.”
Martin’s arm spasmed around her waist, and she heard his indrawn breath. He didn’t say a word, though. Instead, he let her have this moment, since he knew exactly how difficult arranging it had been for her.
She wasn’t accustomed to asking for help. But she’d learn.
The seconds ticked by, and she waited.
Anticipation only sharpened the pleasure.
Finally, Dale gave in. “What condition?”
“From now on, social studies department chairs will determine which preps their teachers receive and which classrooms they’re assigned. The head of secondary-level social studies no longer has a voice in those decisions.” She tilted her head in feigned confusion. “For some reason, the AP program’s benefactors were very insistent on that point.”
“I see.” His face had turned ruddy, and his lip lifted in an unconvincing sneer. “Apparently your ex-husband’s rich friends didn’t leave you when he did.”
The comment might have hurt a month ago. Not now.
Nevertheless, Martin had become stone beside her, his rage at Dale’s cruelty hardening his lean frame.
She found his hand. Squeezed it. Paused to let him regain control of himself.
As if spurred by the movement, Dale swung on him. “I can’t believe she finally wore you down. Have some pride, man. What are you doing with someone like her?”
She almost laughed. As if Martin would take advice from Dale—Dale—because they both had dicks. That misogynistic buddy-buddy shit didn’t fly with her man.
“Someone like her?” Martin enunciated each word with the care of a drunken man in front of a cop, his voice gravel. “I don’t understand. I’ll need you to explain precisely what you mean by that.”
But Dale couldn’t say much more, or else—as he was now realizing—he might be writing his own dismissal letter. So he seethed in silence, his watery eyes bugged out in anger.
“Oh, Martin.” She turned to her back to Dale, a deliberate insult. “I forgot to mention one other development. It also involves Mr. Locke.”
“Please tell me.” Martin’s voice was calm, his eyes aflame with rage on her behalf. “I’d like to hear all about it. In detail.”
Annette and Alfred hadn’t approved of the next bit. They’d wanted to descend on the school system and fix everything in one fell swoop, but Rose needed to do this her way. A way that felt fair for everyone involved, including other teachers who lacked her connections.
A way that required some trust on her part, a willingness to make her private concerns public, and the ability to request assistance from strangers and colleagues.
God help her.
One. Two. Three.
She let Dale hang for a full thirty seconds before speaking again, a move Martin rewarded with a caress at her waist.
“Come Monday, I’m registering a formal complaint with Superintendent Jones and human resources about Dale’s use of derogatory terms for our students, his abuse of supervisory authority, and several instances of unwelcome physical contact with a coworker and subordinate. Namely, me. Next week, I plan to visit other secondary social studies teachers and discover whether they have similar complaints to make.” She stroked the corner of Mart
in’s mouth, which had dropped open in shock. “I’ve discussed the matter with the teachers’ union, and I’ve consulted with a lawyer, in case any retaliatory measures result from my actions.”
Annette and Alfred’s attorney was prepared to represent additional complainants too. And given what the woman charged per hour, law was yet another line of work Rose and Martin should have considered. Not that she or the other teachers would be allowed to pay for any necessary legal services.
When that subject had arisen, Annette had swooned onto a settee in a very unconvincing faint, while Alfred clutched at his chest and called out for heart medication. Rose had told them they were both ridiculous, and then agreed to let them cover all legal fees, because a teacher’s salary couldn’t pay for a lawyer as sharp-eyed as theirs.
As Dale sputtered, Rose kept speaking to Martin.
“I suspect that during the investigation, Dale will no longer have any supervisory authority over me whatsoever. Tess and Keisha will have to ensure I’m acting in accordance with all reasonable rules and regulations promulgated by the school system.” She paused to let Dale steep in his fear and rage, his hands balled into shaking fists. Then she cast him a desultory, dismissive glance. “Fair warning, Mr. Locke. Prepare for stricter oversight at best, unemployment at worst.”
Someone had come up alongside her. When Rose turned her head, Tess was eyeing Dale as if he were a cockroach they’d found in Wednesday’s chili special. Her tennis coach boyfriend loomed next to her, mouth tight as he regarded Dale with equal disfavor.
“I’m delighted to hear all this, Ms. Owens,” the principal said. “I’ve had concerns about Mr. Locke’s conduct for years, especially in reference to you. I’d already planned a long conversation with our superintendent this summer. It appears that conversation will occur sooner rather than later.”
Tess smiled then. It wasn’t pleasant.
“We’ve interrupted Mr. Krause and Ms. Owens enough for one night, I believe. They’re here to chaperone our students, not chat with administrators.” She tilted her head to the side. “Besides, Mr. Locke, you should meet one of my teachers. She’s not in the social studies department, but I’m sure she’d appreciate talking with you.”
Then Tess and her boyfriend herded a fuming, red-faced Dale toward—
Oh, Rose loved their principal.
Candy Albright. Tess had brought Dale to Candy Albright.
Rose turned away and exhaled slowly. The first confrontation—the most satisfying—was done, but she had more confrontations to come. Many of them would also play out in public.
There would be gossip. Judgment. Snide comments.
A different woman wouldn’t give a fuck. Rose did.
But she had the unwavering support of people who loved her. Their affection would cushion the forthcoming blows and help heal her inevitable bruises. And both Margie and Annette had taught her well. Rose could quash the pretensions of the cruel through sheer, stony pride or with a single, icy stare.
She’d survive.
No, more than that. She’d thrive.
“You didn’t need me at your back, but I was glad to be there. And that’s where I’m staying during the whole complaint process, no matter what happens.” Martin tugged her into his arms and surrounded her with his body, a protective gesture of the sort he’d had to stifle in front of Dale. “Rose, I can’t imagine how hard all this has been for you. You’re incredible.”
“It’s only going to get harder, once the news becomes fodder for school gossip.” She ducked her chin to rest it on his shoulder, and he rubbed slow circles on her back. “But you’ll be there to help. So will Keisha and Tess. Annette and Alfred too, of course.”
“I will be there. Always.” Martin’s chest vibrated against her with each quiet, firm word. “Annette and Alfred must have been delighted to assist you with the AP program. Beside themselves, actually.”
Delighted undersold their reaction. In their glee, they’d even let Rose pay for dinner that night without any argument, as a thanks for requesting their help.
It was a landmark moment in her relationship with them, really.
“Pretty much.” Beneath Martin’s tender touch, her muscles released their tension, and she let him bear some of her weight. “Frustrated too, though. Annette wanted to march into the superintendent’s office and get Dale fired on the spot, to spare me hassle and preserve my privacy. But I managed to convince her I should go through the system instead.”
She grinned and pressed a kiss on Martin’s jaw. “If Dale’s getting fired, I want to play a larger role in the process.”
“I love it when you go Absolute Zero on that asshole.” Martin’s breath tickled her ear. “You in that silky dress and those heels, gorgeous and in complete control. A queen freezing out the pretender to her throne. It made me want to drop to my knees, push up that skirt, and—”
She couldn’t get turned on in the middle of prom. She couldn’t.
“Work function,” she reminded him breathlessly, tiptoeing her fingers up the placket of his tux. “But when we get home, please share your insights, Mr. Krause. In depth.”
He dipped his head and kissed her knuckles. “I should warn you: I spent a lot of time at the tailor this morning without much to occupy my attention. I started a mental list of dirty-sounding pedagogical terms. Rigor and high-impact are at the top.”
No, she couldn’t get turned on at prom. But did the prom really require their presence?
A quick glance around the dance floor revealed plenty of chaperones.
“I think there’s just enough time for a rigorous, high-impact assignment at home before dinner.” She eyed him under her eyelashes. “Interested?”
His fingers laced through hers. Without a word, he gently but insistently tugged her toward the exit.
“You’re an eager pupil,” she teased.
He grinned, his stride loose and confident. “From now on, I plan to live every week like it’s Teacher Appreciation Week.”
When she snorted, he slowed his pace and glanced her way.
His blue eyes had turned solemn. “I love you, you know.”
“I do know. You’ve never hidden it, so I’ve never doubted it.” She lifted their entwined fingers to her cheek. “I love you too.”
“Good,” he said. “Good.”
She pushed open the door to the outside, releasing them into the muggy June night. “Now let’s go home and experiment with homebound teaching. And maybe conduct some oral presentations.”
He laughed and broke into a near-run. “Best. Prom. Ever.”
THE END
Thank you for reading Teach Me. ♥ I hope you enjoyed Rose and Martin's story! Please consider leaving a brief review where you got this book. Reviews help new readers figure out if a book is worth reading!
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LOVE UNSCRIPTED
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Preview of Desire and the Deep Blue Sea
Chapter One
Callie stared down at her dumbphone with even more loathing than usual.
It couldn’t connect to the internet, of course, but that wasn’t why she hated it. God knew, she didn’t need constant reminders via e-mail and social media notifications of everything she should worry about, not when some days she was already worried from the m
oment she woke up in the morning to the moment she made herself quit reading and turn off her bedside light. The cell’s limited functionality was a feature, not a bug.
No, she hated her phone because she hated making calls and sending texts. Period.
And above all else, she hated it because she didn’t want to make this particular call.
Just last month, she’d been given the numbers for Irene and Cowan, her intern contacts at Home and Away Television. Irene was kind of scary, to be honest. Cowan, though, had always seemed kind and reasonable, a model representative of America’s most popular cable channel devoted to all matters home- and travel-related.
He’d also proven much less likely than Irene to sigh loudly whenever Callie took too long to respond to questions.
She needed patience and understanding right now, so she was calling Cowan. Maybe he could figure a way out of this mess for her, a path that would allow her to film her episode of HATV’s Island Match without a boyfriend.
Even though that would violate the entire premise of the show.
Dammit. She didn’t want to tap his name on her contacts list. But the breakroom door was closed, she was alone, and she couldn’t delay any longer.
When he answered his cell, she used her Professional Librarian Voice. Tried to exude calm and competence and confidence in every syllable, despite her anxiety.
“Cowan? This is Callie Adesso. I think we may have a slight problem.” She put the phone on speaker and laid it on the table in front of her, so she didn’t have to hold it up with her trembling hand. “I wanted to let you know ASAP.”
“Okay.” His deep voice sounded cautious. “What’s wrong?”
Before Callie could answer, she heard a distinctive and aggrieved female voice over the line. “Oh, Jesus, what now?”
Irene. Lord help them all.
“For God’s sake, woman, you can’t just snatch my—” Cowan made a sort of growly noise, and Callie could decipher the faint sounds of a scuffle. “My apologies, Callie. Hold on just a moment, please.”