Teacher's Pet - A Standalone Novel (A Teacher Student Romance)

by Claire Adams

  "The whole thing was a lie. We were never engaged. It was just a one-night stand that turned into a weekend getaway that turned into the biggest mess I've ever made."

  Phillip clinked his glass against mine. "You love her. Of course things got messy. They always do when one person has nothing and the other person has, what should we call it? Your father's touch?"

  I scowled at him and knocked my drink back in one go. It burned like hell, but I liked it. The whiskey felt like the only thing that would melt the glacier covering my chest.

  "I wouldn't have been the one with the problem," I grumbled. "I'd give away all my money if that's what she wanted."

  Phillip nodded, not at all surprised. "Then, what the hell are you doing? Go after her."

  "Don't people say if you love someone you should let them go?" I asked.

  My friend took my glass with an impish grin. "I think that depends on if they know you love them or not."

  I cursed all the way down the sandy, shifting path. At the bottom, I expected to see Corsica huddled against the rocks, trying to escape the chill Pacific breeze. She was nowhere to be seen, though. Panic gripped me, and I stumbled through the seaweed and driftwood.

  "Corsica? Corsica!"

  A shadow detached from a sand dune far down the beach. Corsica appeared, a willowy outline against the moonlit sand. Her long gown whipped around her, and for a moment, she looked like a sea goddess swept up in the waves of her dress. Then she gathered up the long skirt, turned from me, and began to run.

  I sprinted along the beach, only stopping when I got tangled up in her abandoned high heels. I scooped them up, muttering horrible things about princesses and their silly shoes. Even barefoot, Corsica was faster than me.

  I'd told her it was over, and now she was too far gone.

  My lungs ached from the run, but I felt a burst of hope when dark, jagged rocks loomed up ahead. Past the country club boundaries, the beach grew wild. The waves crashed against the outcropping and sprayed mist far into the air. New waves pounded up behind, and the high tide was beginning to swallow the beach. Corsica would have to turn around or risk getting caught between the hurling surf and the rising rock walls.

  "Corsica, stop! You made your point!"

  I heard her smothered sobs as the wind changed and blew hard against me. She was crying and running away so I wouldn't see. I broke into a grin. She did care! She wanted to hear that I loved her. She needed to hear it now. I tried shouting it, but the wind threw the words back in my face.

  Then everything stopped. Corsica had come to an outcrop of rocks. The beach continued on the other side, but the waves slammed into the sheer wall right in front of her. She looked back at me and then out after the receding black water. I could tell by the way she shifted back and forth that she was timing the waves. The wet sand reappeared, a silver glint under the moon, and Corsica took her chance.

  A terrified yell ripped from my throat as I saw the five-foot wall rear up. It broke into a white froth and bore down just as she slipped out to run around the cliff. She dropped her hem as she caught her balance, and the dark dress seemed to merge with the midnight ocean. The wave hit, and she disappeared.

  I splashed into the water just as the wave drew back. I felt the powerful undertow sucking at my ankles, and I had to fight hard to keep going. By the time I slogged around the outcrop to the next stretch of beach, I couldn't see Corsica anywhere.

  Panicked, I turned around and peered into the roiling waters, calling her name. Had she been pulled out into those clashing waves? She was strong; I would see her struggling. I searched and searched, but didn't see a hint of her in the black waters. Then, I spun around and sprinted down the beach. I checked every sand dune and inlet, every pile of driftwood. Too many times to count, I looked over my shoulder and had to double back and assure myself the knots of seaweed were not her tangled in her wet dress.

  Corsica was gone.

  Staving off the panic that was consuming me, I ran to my beach house. Every muscle ached by the time I pulled myself up the steps to the deck. There were wet footprints on the wooden planks and sandy smudges on the door. I fought the dizzying urge to drop to my knees in thanks. Instead, I hauled open the sliding door and marched inside.

  The door to her guest suite was shut tight and I hammered on it until I thought the wood might split. "Corsica? I just want to know you're okay."

  There was no answer and I gripped the doorframe as I listened for any hint of her. "Please tell me you're here. You could have been killed out there on the beach."

  I caught my breath and listened, hoping she was on the other side of the door doing the same. Then, the words finally formed. "Corsica, please, I don't want to be done. It's true that I tried to get you out of my system, but it didn't work. It backfired. I need you.

  “Corsica, I love you."

  There was no reply. I rattled the door handle and realized it was unlocked. The guest suite door swung open, and I froze to the carpet. It looked like nothing had been touched. There was no sign that Corsica had made it back at all. The cold fingers of fear closed around me again and I tore into the room, praying for some sign.

  "Please, please, please," I panted as I tore open her closet.

  All her clothes were there in a row. I swung around and raced into the bathroom. There my frozen heart started to pump again. Her hair brush, her make-up bag, the running shoes that she'd kept in the corner, they were all gone. I ran back into the room and dove to look under the bed. Her suitcase was gone.

  Corsica was alive, but she'd already left. I knelt there until the pressing waves of relief let up.

  Then, I sat back on my heels and frowned at the closet. Why had she left so many things behind?

  I stood up and looked at the sundresses and blouses again. Corsica had left behind the few designer label items she owned.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Corsica

  Ginny burst through the front door of her apartment and was not surprised to find me still sprawled out across the couch. "You know this is still your place, too," she said over a full bag of groceries.

  "How can it be when I just took off and left you with my half of the rent?"

  "You've already paid me back." She rolled her eyes. "Though, you could give me a hand with these things."

  I jumped up and followed her to our tiny galley kitchen. It felt suffocating compared to the open expanses of Penn's beach house kitchen, but I refused to think about it. I stuffed myself in the back and started to unpack the brown bag.

  "Tortillas, avocados, what is all this?" I asked. I probably owed Ginny for groceries, too, I thought.

  "We're having taco night." My friend grinned and opened a cupboard with a flourish. "Tacos and lots of tequila. Doctor's orders."

  Tears welled up in my eyes. "Am I that bad?"

  Ginny propped her hands on her hips. "Not you. The whole breaking up and almost killing yourself on the beach thing was bad, but you have been good. Too good. You need to let it out."

  "Let what out?" I wailed.

  Ginny took the salsa from me before I broke it. "You know it's okay that you fell for him, right? I mean, it's kind of amazing, seeing as you two look like polar opposites, but you had a real connection. Everyone could see it."

  "Except Penn." I crumpled up the brown paper grocery bag into a tight wad and threw it over our narrow pass-through window into the living room.

  "And that is why we're having taco night." Ginny shooed me to the other side of the pass-through. I slumped on a narrow bar stool and moped while she mixed up two margaritas. She cracked open beer chasers and then rolled up her sleeves to make dinner.

  "I'm just sad that I failed," I said.

  Ginny slapped ground beef into a skillet. "You were an angel. Seriously. He was just trying to get some, and you were trying to comfort him through his mother's sickness. A sickness, I have to say, you had every right to never go near again. All the memories were no good for you, yet you were kind to him. I don'
t call that failing."

  "No," I said, sipping my margarita. "I failed at spontaneity."

  Ginny laughed and left the ground beef to brown. She leaned on the pass-through counter across from me.

  "Getting whisked away in a helicopter to Monterey and then heading off into Pinnacles to go camping, of all things, isn't spontaneous? And, I mean, you're you! I'd say you passed your spontaneity course with flying colors."

  "But I'm still me," I whined. "Except now I don't have a job or any idea where next month's rent is going to come from. What was I thinking?"

  "Please," Ginny said, clinking our glasses together, "we both know you have a way healthier savings account than any other recent college grad in the history of the world. I'm still glad you gave up that interview. It's like you escaped and now you have the chance to do what you really love."

  "Too bad I can't love singing and not be poor," I said. "And now, I can't even bear to think about all the ideas I had for a glamorous camping business on the side. God. I actually thought Penn and I could do that together."

  Ginny shoved the tortilla shells in the oven. "That sounds like a great idea. And you know someone who has an in around Pinnacles."

  "I can't talk to Penn's mother anymore." My eyes blurred, but I swiped the tears away. "I should have just stuck to my plan. Maybe it's not too late. I should talk to Joshua."

  "Oh, God, please don't-" Ginny was cut off by the sound of our doorbell. "No. It can't be him."

  Penn? I shot to my feet as if I had been electrified. My hand was already on the door handle when Ginny called out. "I forgot to tell you I ran into Joshua today."

  He was there, holding out a bunch of hothouse flowers as soon as I opened the door. My stomach sank so fast that I wanted to bend over double. Instead, I gripped the door and forced my face into a smile.

  "Joshua. You shouldn't have." I knew he was waiting for an apology, but I couldn't clear my throat. My whole body cried out that he was the wrong man and I was afraid of what I would say.

  "I heard you were back, and I thought you might be scrambling for job ideas. Want some help?" He stepped inside our tiny apartment, though I knew he loathed the place. "Do I smell, ah, what do I smell?"

  "Oh, God, the tacos!" Ginny rushed back to the kitchen and left us standing there awkwardly.

  "I'm… I'm… I just don't know what I'm going to do yet," I said.

  Joshua smiled as if I were a nervous little kid. "Don't worry. I have a few ideas that can get you back on track. It might not be the Ritz-Carlton–you'll have to work and wait to get back there–but I have a few other contacts in the hospitality world."

  I knew Joshua thought he was the white knight, but I felt like he was the one locking the dungeon door. I couldn't go back to my comfortable, practical rut. Just the thought of it made me want to bolt past him out the door and keep running.

  "Thanks for the flowers," I said.

  "Corsica, please. I don't care what silly detour you took this summer. I'm offering to help you get your life back."

  "That's just it, Joshua." I opened the front door. "It's my life. This is something I need to figure out on my own."

  Ginny appeared the second I shut the door behind a highly insulted Joshua. "That's it. We're going out to celebrate."

  "You burned the tacos, didn't you?"

  "Yes. But there's a great taco truck next to your favorite karaoke bar." Ginny grabbed our purses and looped her arm through mine.

  The singing helped, and we stayed out much later than we intended. I think Ginny knew what would happen to me once we got back and our tiny apartment settled into silence. She went to bed with a worried look over her shoulder at me.

  "I'm sure there's a ridiculously outdated movie on some channel," she offered.

  "Goodnight. Thanks for the tacos." I shut my bedroom door and paced around before I forced myself to get ready for bed.

  It was worse when the lights were off. I tried a hundred times to picture the karaoke club and the fun that we had. For every twenty attempts, memories of Penn popped in and ruined everything. How could I have been so stupid? How did I not realize that he was a well-known billionaire? The berating thought had me jumping out of bed. I turned the light back on with an angry flick.

  More than that, one thought had haunted me since I left Penn's beach house still in my sodden ball gown: Why had he chased me down the beach?

  Penn had been so quick to assume that I was going to run away after being exposed. I had to stay as much for my pride as for the wild hope that he would say he was sorry. In fact, I had worked my way up to believing he would, and all I needed to do was give him the opportunity.

  That's when I caught him with Alicia. Had he planned the whole thing just to land her? Was I supposed to be the grand joke that finally brought them together?

  The way Alicia had looked at me, like I was some simple creature slithering all over the floor. How could I have not realized that Penn was the CEO of a company so explosive it had just broken onto the Forbes list?

  Her haughty expression and the way her arm snaked around Penn burned away any last thoughts I had for a good night's sleep. I cracked open my laptop and typed Penn's name into the search engine.

  I scrolled past the numerous websitesd and articles about his meteoric rise to the top. Far down, the articles morphed into news of the uber-famous Xavier Templeton.

  "So famous, even I knew who he was," I muttered.

  Then, I was caught by one reporter's coverage of the Templeton estate. That Xavier was the benefactor of a mind-boggling family fortune was no joke. It was the stuff of legends.

  So, naturally, it was big news when a journalist dug up his will and discovered that Penn was not named his heir. When pressed, Xavier had admitted to the press that his son wanted to get out from under his shadow and make his own way.

  I felt a stir of pride in Penn that turned to a cringe. So, there was at least one thing he hadn't lied about.

  The rest of the headlines extolled Penn as an amazing entrepreneur. He was called innovative and adventurous. He was the new breed of business and well on his way to making billions. And there were way too many hits that speculated at the extent of his worth.

  No wonder Penn thought I was just a subtle gold-digger. How could I have missed all of that press?

  "Because he's not my type," I admitted bitterly to my quiet room.

  Penn looked nothing like the kind of billionaires I had wanted to meet. His hair was shaggy, his beard overgrown, and his tattoos almost as famous as his outdoor equipment company. I had judged him right away and on looks alone. After that, nothing swayed me until the truth was ripped open at the charity ball.

  The charity ball. My stomach fizzled as I remembered all the photographers at the event. Was there a picture of me with Penn? I knew it was silly, the kind of sentimental thing that would torture me for days to come, but I wanted to see what we had looked like as a couple.

  Ginny had said everyone could see how perfect we were for each other, and I wanted to see if that was true. No, I needed to see if it was true.

  I sat back and let my hands fall into my lap. I needed it because I really loved him. The admission reverberated in my chest like a heavy bell. I loved Penn, no matter who he was.

  I scrambled for my phone and finally punched the number I had been itching to dial for weeks. It started ringing, and my nerves jumped. As I waited and wondered if he would pick up, I sat back down and scrolled through the charity ball photographs.

  There was Xavier and Alice arm-in-arm. I couldn't resist and took a detour to read about their reconciliation. There were great stories about Alice's brave fight against cancer and Xavier's loving support. Then there were speculations about their upcoming wedding. And every picture showed the two of them smiling.

  "Hello?"

  My breath fled my body, and then I realized that Penn probably did not recognize the number I was calling from. I struggled to say anything, to tell him who I was, but he seemed to guess.


  "Corsica?"

  My hand fluttered over the cursor, and suddenly, a whole new crop of photographs appeared. Penn with his arm wrapped around Alicia, posing for the cameras. It must have been taken just minutes after I had left to mingle on my own. Those minutes had been excruciating for me, and here he was with a bright smile and a beautiful, rich woman on his arm.

  His equal, I thought and hung up the phone. How could I ever be with someone who didn't view me as an equal?

  The problem, I thought as I dragged myself to bed, was that I didn't even know where I belonged.

  #

  I had never used the word “smarmy” before, but it was the only way I could describe the bartender. His smile never quite reached both sides while his eyes swept far too low every time he looked at me. Still, I thought, if I was going to find out where I belonged, maybe I needed to start at the bottom.

  I shifted my weight and heard the gummy suction sound of my shoe pulling off the black-painted concrete floor. The little basement jazz club was dark with sticky floors and questionable clientele. But the music was good.

  The next set started up and brought a wave of relief. When the music was playing, the attention was off me and my particularly out-of-place dress. The simple dress was straight off the rack at some big box store, but it fit so perfectly that it could have been couture. I regretted every clinging curve of it as the bartender's eyes swept back to me.

  "Another drink for the lady?" he oozed over to stand in front of me.

  "Make it two." Ginny popped up next to me, and I wrapped her in a long hug. "Well," she giggled, "either you've gone to the next extreme or you really want him to think you play for the other team."

  "I don't care. I'm just glad you came." I snapped up our drinks and headed for a little, round table in the corner. "I needed someone else's take on this place."

  Ginny eyed her chair, shrugged, and sat down. "A little out of the way, a little dark, and a little, ah, sticky," she shifted in her seat, "but the music sounds good."

  "Right?" I sat down and concentrated on the jazz trio. They had a loose and funky interpretation of the classic songbook, but I liked their style. If my drink slid down my throat too fast, it was just because I was wrapped up in the music. It had nothing to do with erasing that photograph of Penn from my mind.