Lola Cook and her new man were a perfect example. And Charlotte wanted real-world ideas. “So spill, woman. I want details. Everything. What should I do next?”
But she knew Lola. Her friend wouldn’t spill much. They’d been best friends forever, having attended the same high school, though long before Principal Hutton’s tenure. Despite their friendship, Lola was a much more private person. After a bad divorce in her twenties, this was her first real relationship. She was still feeling her way with Gray Barnett.
“That’s your problem, Charlotte.”
Charlotte put a hand to her chest. “Me? A problem?”
“Yes.” Lola pointed her finger, punctuating. “The best thing is not knowing what he’s going to do next. The surprise. The anticipation.” She leaned forward. “The fact that you’re not the one controlling everything.”
Charlotte liked to control. But she’d also loved the way Principal Hutton had taken over after she’d suggested she needed a spanking. She closed her eyes briefly, savoring the memory the way she’d savored her pastrami. God, it had been out of this world, over-the-top fabulous. She’d actually had an orgasm. She couldn’t define the physical sensation as pain. His hand made her tingle, his touch tantalized. The tingling had gone on all evening. Lola was right, part of the thrill had been the fact that she hadn’t known what to expect. She’d bent over the desk and put herself in Principal Hutton’s hands. Locked away in the portable classroom with him, she would have let him do anything to her. An-y-thing.
She focused on Lola’s face. She’d often worn her long black hair pulled into a ponytail, but since this thing with Gray began, she wore it down. Her brown eyes seemed deeper, the way she moved was sexier. Tall and willowy, she was Charlotte’s opposite, and somehow, in the last few months with Gray, Lola had begun to exude sensuality. Men looked, stopped, salivated. She’d become a sexual being. Charlotte didn’t believe that was a bad thing.
Lola smiled, her gaze sparkling with knowing. “You get what I mean, don’t you?”
Looking at her friend, Charlotte wanted to experience what Lola had. She wanted to be at her lover’s mercy. She wanted to be tied to a bed for a whole weekend, a man’s sex slave. Lola had revealed that much. Charlotte dreamed about it at night.
“You’re right,” she agreed. “I’ll let the principal figure it out. But I’ll have to give him some incentive, do something he has to punish me for.”
“Your principal,” Lola mused. “That’s hot. But what about your job?”
“This is an experiment,” Charlotte said. “I’m not going to get emotionally attached or anything. He’s way too old for me, almost fifty, and not my type at all.”
“Personally, I think you need a new type. You’ve been picking the wrong kind of men up to now. That’s why you always seem to get bored so easily.”
They were the right kind for Charlotte, young, malleable, and totally different from her former older fiancé, Martin. “I was never bored.” Though she did have a tendency to start finding things wrong with a man after about six months. “Anyway, it’s not like this is a relationship. It’s just a sexy fling. No one has to know.” Of course, that meant not locking themselves in any more portable classrooms. From now on, they’d need to meet off school property and outside of school hours. “Besides, he’s not actually my boss. I report to the assistant principal.” After polishing off the last of her pastrami, she munched on her pickle spear. “So how’s the counseling going for Gray and his son?” She realized Lola hadn’t revealed any new details about her deliciously kinky sex life, but that was fine. Lola had given her excellent food for thought.
“I don’t ask a lot of questions, not my business,” Lola said, “but Gray says things are better between them. He was disappointed at first that Rafe didn’t try out for the football team after camp this summer, but he finally accepted that football isn’t Rafe’s thing. And I have to admit Rafe tolerates me better than before. Last weekend we went for a hike out at Pinnacles National Monument.”
After his divorce, Gray had gone through some trying times with his teenage son, Rafe, and that had caused difficulties in Lola’s budding relationship with Gray. Charlotte had been glad to hear Gray decided on family counseling. And that Rafe agreed to it.
“Rafe even invited the twins along.” Lola opened her eyes wide to indicate her amazement. “I actually enjoyed spending the day with Harry and William. They weren’t obnoxious at all.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I think I’m starting to like them.” This wasn’t the first time she’d included her two nephews in outings with Gray and his son.
“Well, you do owe them big-time.” The twins, Harry and William, had spent a good part of the summer with Lola while their parents were in Europe. It was through the twins—and football camp—that Lola met Gray.
Lola pushed her fork through the small bowl of coleslaw on her plate.
It was a sure sign something else was on her mind. “What?” Charlotte prompted.
At the next table, a lady bit into a chocolate-covered marzipan cake. Charlotte salivated.
Lola let out a puff of air. “Gray wants me to move in with him.”
“And that’s a problem because . . . ?” When it wasn’t his weekend with his son, Lola was either at Gray’s house or he was at hers. “Ghost loves him.” Ghost was Lola’s cat, and she rarely came out from under the bed for anyone, but Lola said the cat had started sleeping on Gray’s chest when he was over. “And you love him,” Charlotte added softly.
“Yeah. I do.”
“But?” Charlotte urged.
Lola shrugged. “I work at home.” She was a freelance technical writer. “All of a sudden my office would be in his house, and we’d have to share the spare bedroom that he already uses as a home office.”
“But he goes to work every day.” Gray was CEO of a large corporation. He coached only during the summer, and that was part-time, mornings only, for six weeks.
“But he brings work home. And he uses the spare room.”
Charlotte had been to dinner at Gray’s. It wasn’t a small place, but with three bedrooms, one of them used by his son when he stayed with Gray every other weekend, that left only one for a home office.
“It’s just a workspace, Lola. The issue isn’t insurmountable. You could even keep your condo as your office.”
“I can’t afford that.”
“Why? Is he going to make you pay rent at his place?”
“Of course not.”
“Then maybe it’s possible you’re making an issue out of nothing because you’re afraid of the bigger commitment you’ll have by moving in.”
“I’m not afraid of commitment,” Lola denied.
“Then what’s really bothering you?”
Lola chewed her lip. “I don’t know.”
Charlotte pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.
“I really don’t know.” Lola slumped. “He’s the best. The sex is the best. Everything’s great. But . . .”
Charlotte sipped her water before saying, “He’s nothing like Mike.” Who was Lola’s good-for-nothing asshole of an ex. Charlotte remembered Lola saying something about men being nice when they didn’t live in your house and couldn’t tell you what to do. That sentiment had its roots in her marriage to Mike the ass, who constantly picked on everything from Lola’s clothes to her hair to how she treated his mother.
“I know Gray’s totally different from Mike,” Lola said softly.
“Is the kinky sex getting too much for you?” Charlotte queried. Lola wasn’t a prude, but her experience had been limited. Maybe Gray was pushing her too hard too fast.
But Lola smiled. “Hell, no.” She dropped her voice. “It’s better than that lady’s marzipan cake.”
Charlotte groaned. They’d always loved the same sinful treats. “Why did you have to remind me?” Then she raised an eyebrow, smiled a little. “Do you need a session in my comfy office? Free of charge.”
Lola waved a hand. “No. I’m
fine. I’ll probably move in. It’ll just be an adjustment.”
“If you’ve got to talk, I’m here.” Charlotte didn’t want Lola screwing this up for herself. Gray was perfect. Lola was happier than she’d been in ten years.
“Thanks, but I’m fine. When I finally make the decision, I’ll probably ask you to help me pack up, though.”
Charlotte was sure Lola wasn’t totally fine. She’d have to watch carefully, make sure Lola didn’t freak out, and hold her hand all the way to Gray’s house.
* * *
LUNCH YESTERDAY WITH LOLA HAD GIVEN CHARLOTTE IDEAS.
Her Thursday appointment with Melody Wright was set for eleven, so at ten o’clock, Charlotte stopped by Principal Hutton’s office. His secretary, Mrs. Rivers, was the lion guarding his door.
“Has the principal got a couple of minutes?”
Mrs. Rivers pushed her glasses down the bridge of her nose, perusing Charlotte over the top of the horn-rims. The woman was ancient, having been the principal’s secretary when Charlotte was a student, but she hadn’t changed one iota. Her gray hair was still piled on top of her head. If her optical prescription had altered in the ensuing twenty years, she’d had the new lenses put into the same frames—or ones exactly like them. She still wore the same second-Thursday blouse. Mrs. Rivers had a different outfit for every day of the month, the same wardrobe she’d worn twenty years ago. The fabric was only slightly faded after all those years of laundering.
“Let me check if he has time to see you.” Mrs. Rivers pushed a button on her intercom. “Can you see Miss Moore for a couple of minutes, sir?” Mrs. Rivers was extremely formal. While Charlotte used the title Principal Hutton because it gave her a little thrill, Mrs. Rivers had always called him sir.
“Send her in.” His deep voice echoed from the office and the intercom.
Permission granted, Mrs. Rivers flourished a hand.
Charlotte stopped just inside the door. His office was by no means ostentatious, simply a desk, credenza, filing cabinets, a conference table, and four chairs, two of which were positioned in front of the desk. The office was perhaps one and a half times the size of hers, but the desk was larger and made of wood, and his computer was an updated model. Framed certificates lined the walls. There were no personal photos. She knew he had no children, but if he had parents or siblings, he certainly didn’t display pictures of them.
“I wanted to discuss Melody Wright. She was one of the girls in detention on Tuesday.” Her voice sounded normal, but her insides were fluttering. Her eyes had certainly been opened. Principal Hutton was tasty in a dark blue suit, light blue shirt, and striped tie. She had visions of bending over his desk. A psychologist was allowed her fantasies just like anyone else.
“Sure, let’s talk. Close the door.”
Her breath quickened as if he’d told her to pull up her skirt, but Charlotte didn’t let her reaction show. She simply closed the door, took the seat he indicated on the opposite side of his desk, and crossed her legs. She’d dressed with him in mind, a green blouse to match her eyes and a pencil skirt that hugged her bottom. Was he remembering what they’d done after detention? Of course he was. It was in the flicker of his gaze down to the vee of her blouse.
“About Melody Wright?” he asked.
All right, so they weren’t going to talk about it. “I’m worried about her. The other students in detention were”—normal wasn’t the right word because it implied that Melody was abnormal—“ordinary. Their offenses were minor and pretty common. Everyone texts when they can get away with it. Or passes notes. Or uses an expletive once in a while. But she was different. Her demeanor was that of someone carrying the weight of the world.”
Principal Hutton rolled a pen between his thumbs and forefingers. “I have to admit I don’t know who she is.” No wonder. He was principal to fifteen hundred students.
“She’s a freshman.”
He tossed the pen onto the desk and tapped a few letters on his keyboard. “Let me look at her grades and transcripts.” The school had gone fully online three years ago. “W-R-I-G-H-T?” he asked for the spelling.
Charlotte nodded.
He read. Charlotte noticed he didn’t wear reading glasses. “Hmm,” he murmured.
“What’s that mean?”
“Her grades are poor this year. But she was an A student in middle school.”
“So something changed over the summer?”
“Could be.” He tapped a few more keys. “And that was her third detention this year.”
It was only the beginning of November, which meant three detentions in two months. “Why didn’t somebody send her to me?” Because her main task was career and college counseling, management might very well have bypassed her. “Is she seeing one of the other counselors?”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t appear so. Her two other offenses were relatively minor, one for spilling soda on another girl’s shoes.”
“Was that an accident?”
“No. Says here she admitted doing it on purpose.”
Just like she’d confessed to dumping the beaker of sugar water on her lab partner’s head. At least the girl didn’t dissemble. “Did she say why she did it?”
“Nothing written here.”
“What was the other detention for?”
“Inappropriate language.” He glanced at her, a slight curve to his lips. “She used your naughty word to another student, Miss Moore. But I wouldn’t give her the same punishment. That’s reserved for you alone.”
Her skin flushed at the reminder. “I’m so glad to hear that, Principal Hutton.”
The sexy half smile still lurking on his lips, he sat back. “So what are you thinking?”
She was thinking about what she could do to get her next spanking. But he was talking about Melody. “Something happened over the summer to impair her motivation and her attitude.” She wondered when Melody had developed the extreme case of acne.
“Are we talking possible abuse?”
Abuse could definitely make a student’s motivation and attitude take a nosedive. There was also Melody’s attire and the way she hunched in on herself, a defensive posture. But her detention-worthy behaviors were aggressive. Abuse was a possibility, but Charlotte would like to see Melody’s eighth-grade school picture. She’d be willing to bet she’d looked like a different girl.
“I can’t rule out abuse, but I don’t feel that’s the issue. She’s got quite a case of acne, and that can be devastating at her age.” She shrugged. “But who really knows at this point? I’ve got an appointment with her this morning. I’ll see what I can figure out.”
“You should talk to your assistant principal about this.”
“I will. But you were the one who sent me to detention, so I came to you first.”
He picked up the pen again, twirling it in his fingers. “You should always come to me first for your detention.”
He was giving her the opening she wanted. “Don’t I have to misbehave before I get sent to detention, Principal Hutton?”
“With your track record, Miss Moore, I have no doubt you will.”
Rising, she smoothed down her pencil skirt, calling attention to her thighs. She leaned both hands on his desk, and his eyes dropped to take in the view down her blouse. Charlotte licked her bottom lip, making her lipstick glisten.
Then she whispered, “Cocksucker.”
“Miss Moore, I am shocked.” His eyes glittered lecherously. “Are you referring to me? Or to yourself.”
“I would never believe that’s what you are, Principal Hutton.”
“But I’d venture to say you are.”
She batted her eyelashes. “And proud of it.”
The muscles of his face tensed in an effort not to laugh, but he played his part. “Totally inappropriate language, Miss Moore. This requires extensive after-school detention.”
“I definitely need to be punished, Principal Hutton.”
“It’s going to take more than our usual fort
y-five minutes. We’ll need to do it at my house.”
“Whatever you say, Principal. I know I’ve been very bad.”
“Tomorrow night.”
She almost sighed. She wanted it tonight. Then again, tomorrow was Friday, with no school and no work the next day. The possibilities were limitless.
5
FOR ALL THE SIGNS OF RELUCTANCE—SHUFFLING FEET, SLOW movements, failure to meet Charlotte’s eyes—Melody had at least been prompt. Wearing the brown hoodie wrapped tightly around her and the frayed hems of her baggy jeans dragging on the floor, she hunched in Charlotte’s guest chair and hid her face behind her hair.
Instead of sitting behind her desk after closing the door, Charlotte pulled a chair next to the girl. The position was less formal, and it also made the meeting feel less like a disciplinary action and more a friendly conversation.
But Charlotte did jump right into the issues. “I’m concerned about your grades, Melody. A’s in middle school and suddenly in high school, you’re barely passing.”
“Classes are harder,” Melody mumbled, but Charlotte could make out the words.
“Not that much harder. I went to high school, too.”
Melody shrugged. “Ancient history. Everything’s changed. Not enough teachers. They don’t have time for all of us. We need more computers.” She sounded like an ad for a bond measure to increase school funding.
“We have tutors and labs after school where you can get assistance,” Charlotte offered, but she already knew tutoring wasn’t going to help Melody.
“They’re just other students working for extra credit. They don’t know any more than me.”
So someone had sent her to the tutoring labs. “You know, these four walls”—Charlotte held her arms out in both directions—“are sacred territory. Whatever’s said inside them doesn’t go outside. You can tell me whatever you want. I”—she put a hand to her chest, leaning down to get a better glimpse of Melody’s face—“believe that the summer between middle school and freshman year is a very difficult transition period for a lot of people. And sometimes they need to talk about it.”
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