“She’s dodging the question. Maybe that’s a yes,” Tiffany, a stereotypical mean girl, chimes in.
“Maybe that is a mind-your-own-business, if you all don’t want to fail this assignment,” I say with a fake smile and a chuckle. I have to throw in the chuckle because this is a private school. Their parents have paid top dollar for their educations. I’m supposed to be on my best behavior or else the dollars will stop flowing to our institution, which would result in me being fired.
“I wonder what he looks like?” Tiffany asks, twirling her bleach blonde hair around her too tan finger. “Mr. Roman probably has glasses and suspenders. He’s like an accountant or something boring.” She laughs so hard that she’s holding her stomach as she doubles over at her desk.
A few of the other mean girls in her clique copy their leader—hair twirling, fake loud giggles and their uniform skirts hiked up too far. I’m not going to be the one who calls them out though—their parents are the highest donors.
“There’s no Mr. Roman. Calm down everyone.”
We continue with our lesson as I dodge more questions about my personal life from my students.
When the bell rings and everyone stampedes out, I wonder why I even took the time to explain myself to them. I’ve been doing that a lot lately—giving unnecessary details to people who aren’t worthy of my time.
And why does it piss me off that Tiffany thinks my husband would be a dork? Is it the same reason Clark thought I was a virgin?
Maybe it’s my look. I could pull back on the cardigans.
Or the way I speak. Should I throw in a few more swear words or crude jokes?
How I carry myself. Am I a frigid bitch? Meek and timid?
Basically everything about my personality could use some work, I guess.
Wait a minute. No. I shouldn’t worry about people that don’t even matter. Clark is long gone. And Tiffany will be in eleventh grade soon enough. Then she’ll probably end up in prison or as the country club wife everyone hates.
6
Dipping my fingers into the holy water, I do the sign of the cross, say a quick prayer, and sit at the back of the church.
Churches make me nervous.
I had a bad experience with a nun when I was in the fourth grade. The Sister told my catechism class that we were being sent straight to hell because we were children of Satan. Since then I attend Church on a need-to-go basis, and today is one of those days.
The funeral music begins to play. The late Dr. Norman Prince’s family walks down the aisle dressed all in black and sobbing uncontrollably.
Dr. Prince was a family friend for many years—basically a second father to me. A better father than my own. He and his wife, Marjorie, live across the street from my family home.
I would sneak over with my older sister, Samantha, to play in their yard. My parents never allowed us to run across our own grass or have any fun, ever. We couldn’t play bocci, run through the sprinklers, or lay out in the sun—all things we were allowed to do at the Prince’s.
I opened my first lemonade stand in their front yard. My mom watched from across the street in disgust that I was trying to earn a few bucks—“like the help” is what she said.
As I grew up, the Princes always encouraged us in our studies and helped in any way they could. Norman was the reference that landed me a scholarship to Columbia University.
They are a well-connected family and a staple in our community—the large turnout at his funeral today speaks volumes of the impact he had on many lives.
The funeral goes on and on, and at the end of the service everyone stands up full of tears and follows the family out the doors. I hang back, looking for my parents while drying my eyes. Since I snuck in late, I didn’t get to sit with them, but I know they’re here.
“Juliette, it’s nice to see you made it,” Mom says, walking up behind me. Dad stands right beside her with a blank stare on his face. Mom is clearly upset that I was late. She would agree with Clark that tardiness is a cardinal sin.
“Hi Mom.” I lean in to double-kiss her cheeks. “Dad.”
“It was a nice service,” Dad says in his usual dry tone. “Why were you late? And shouldn’t you be leaving to get back to school?”
That’s how it is with them—a game of twenty questions. And one question contradicts the next.
“I was late because I was getting ready for school, and yes, I should be leaving now.”
Mom looks me up and down with distaste. Without saying a word, I know she hates my outfit. I’m wearing a black pencil skirt paired with a black blouse and gray cardigan. This isn’t my funeral look; it’s my general everyday look.
Mom is extremely posh; she always has been. She wouldn’t be caught dead in a cardigan, especially one from Target for that matter. She probably doesn’t even know what Target is.
“Have you seen your sister lately?” Mom asks while studying her red painted fingernails. “I’ve called her six times and nothing.” She looks up at me.
What’s sad is Mom never calls me. Maybe she’s called me six times in the last year. She calls Samantha regularly because she’s married to a doctor, has a child, and lives on Park Avenue. Everything she hoped for her daughters. At least one of us lived up to her fairy tale dream.
“I saw her last week when I picked up Charlotte.” I hang out with my niece once a week, and I adore her.
“Well, isn’t that nice that she talks to you,” Mom says, pursing her lips. “Let’s be on our way.” She loops her arm through mine and drags me out of the church.
Marjorie is blocking the exit door. She’s crying as a gentleman pulls her close for a hug. She cries on his shoulder as he holds her tight. I hold back my own tears because once they start they’re like a waterfall.
“Marjorie, dear, we’d like to give you our condolences,” Mom says, patting her back as if she were a child. Yes, mom is condescending to everyone, not just me.
The man lets go of Marjorie and turns to face us.
“Juliette,” Clark says, eyes lighting up in surprise. Mine must match his.
“You two know each other?” Mom asks. She smiles a flirtatious grin at Clark yet looks at me with pity.
Mom and Dad make their introductions—all smiles that someone like Clark knows their desperate daughter. Just by his appearance alone, anyone can tell Clark is a man of power: designer suits, watches, and shoes. Even without all of that, his body language screams alpha male: full eye contact, strong posture, and sureness in each step.
Meanwhile, Marjorie looks sadder and sadder while mother dotes on Clark.
Pulling her to the side, I give my condolences.
“Ms. Marjorie, I’m very sorry for your loss. I truly appreciate everything Dr. Prince has done for me. What you’ve both done. I’m heartbroken that he’s gone.” I shed a tear as she sheds a tear. And then she takes me into an embrace.
He was older, but it was sudden—Dr. Prince suffered a heart attack while at the gym.
“Dear, you should really be going to work. Those kids aren’t going to teach themselves. And you need the paycheck, what little it is,” Mom nags.
Everyone stares at me.
It’s not even worth it to say something smartass back. It bounces right off of her if I do—as if she’s wearing a shield against anything I could say.
Giving Marjorie a knowing look, I hug her one more time before pulling away and saying goodbye to everyone.
Clark follows behind me and stands at my car.
“I didn’t know you knew Dr. Prince,” I say, breaking the ice. We didn’t really say much to each other in the church. Mom was hogging all his attention.
“Your mother is something else,” Clark says, looking back at the doors where my parents are now talking to another pretentious looking couple. “Why do you let her talk to you like that?”
“Like I’m a child?” I shrug my shoulders as if it’s no big deal. “I’ve been putting up with this my entire life. That’s why I moved out when I
went to college and never looked back. I’ve never had the comforting thought that I could crawl back to mommy and daddy if I needed help. Because … I can’t. I’d rather live under a bridge then with them.” I laugh.
He nods his head. “How do you know Norman?”
Taking a moment to think about the dear man who just passed away, I hold back more tears. I really need to pull myself together.
“Norman and Marjorie are friends of my parents—they go way back. They were there to listen or guide me when I needed help.” They couldn’t have biological children of their own, which makes me sad. They would have been amazing parents. “How did you know him?”
“He was my uncle.”
My jaw drops. The man I accidentally sat down with turns out to have close ties to me. I was never supposed to run into Clark after I made that first date mistake, but we keep bumping into each other.
“On your mom’s side or your dad’s?” I don’t know why I ask him any more questions, possibly out of curiosity for Norman.
“My dad’s. They owned the firm together after my grandfather passed, but my dad is a bulldozer and forced Uncle Norman out,” he says, looking down at the ground. This is the first time I’ve seen Clark not look extremely confident. Clark’s dad sounds nothing like his kind brother. “Once I took over, I offered uncle Norman a role as part owner, but he didn’t want it. He was doing very well on his own. He did always offer me words of encouragement though.”
“That sounds like him.” I smile, thinking about my memories of him. Looking down at my watch, I realize I’m late getting back to school. “I really should be going.”
Clark gently grabs my arm as I open my car door.
“You give any more thought to my proposal?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” I ask in shock, pulling my arm out of his grasp. “We are standing at a funeral and you want to talk about … about …” I stutter.
“Sex,” Clark says. He nods in the direction of the church. “This might be a fun place to make that happen.”
“You are a pig!” I swat his chest before getting into my car, but Clark holds the door open.
“How about you give me one night?” He stares down at me from outside of the car. “I bet I can make you change your mind. And if you hate it, then you can tell me to fuck off.”
“Like a money back guarantee?” I cock my eyebrow as he smirks.
I stare ahead at my parents who are still chatting outside the church doors. My mom is going on and on about who knows what, but her lips don’t stop moving. Dad stands there letting her run the show, like usual.
A one night stand.
A fling with the bad boy.
It would kill her to find out that her proper daughter would do such a slutty thing.
“Fine. One night,” I point at him like I mean business. “You better make it good.” I reach out to grab my door with a little force, causing Clark to move to the side. “See you later. You’ll find me in the phone book.”
I don’t want to make this any easier for him. Are phonebooks still a thing? My students surely wouldn’t know what one was.
I speed off in the direction of Riverside. He’ll need to do a little work if he plans to cash in on this agreement.
Clark
Give me one night? I bet I can make you change your mind.
What the fuck did I say that for? I’ve never in my life begged a woman for anything—especially sex.
You better make it good.
I’ll show her. And the weird thing is, I want to show her. The script will be flipped soon enough, Juliette.
She’ll be begging for more while down on her knees.
Just where I want her.
7
Juliette
Thursday night means happy hour, and I couldn’t be happier to attend. This week has been all over the place—from the awkward night with Clark and then Norman’s funeral. Plus Mercury must be in Retrograde because my students have been acting zanier than normal.
“So any more dates you want to tell us about?” Lauren asks, nudging my arm.
“I thought there was a rule you ladies weren’t going to bother me about my dating life?”
I look around the table at each of their smiling faces—my usual crew: Lauren, Grace, and Maggie. Also joining us tonight is Beatrice, another English teacher, and Eve. These two rarely come out with us. I guess they handle their stress in more appropriate ways than by drinking.
“We didn’t all agree to that,” Beatrice says laughing. It’s more of an evil chuckle that she passes off as a sweet giggle. I can see right through her facade. We get along just fine; however, she randomly throws me curveballs when she wants to question everything on my syllabus to the administration. I’ve had hours of extra work because of Beatrice.
“I have nothing new to report,” I say matter-of-factly.
“And what about you?” Beatrice dismisses me and turns toward Eve. All eyes turn from me to her, and I instantly feel sorry that she’s now in the hot seat.
“What about me?” Eve raises her eyebrows but keeps a smile on her face.
She knows exactly what they are asking her, but she’s going to make them come right out and beg for the juicy gossip they desperately want to hear. I’m surprised they are pulling this with her, when we don’t even know her that well. When they tease me, I expect it. Actually, if they left me alone I would wonder if they were sick. But why scare away a newcomer?
“Well … are you dating anyone?” Grace finally asks, leaning into the table.
“No,” Eve says sweetly.
Everyone eyes her intently, waiting for her to follow up her statement with a reason as to why she’s not dating, but she doesn’t. I wish I had her confidence.
I drink my martini and hope they take the hint to drop the subject. For me, outside of Clark, I haven’t gone on any more dates, so I told the truth. I feel like Eve has something up her sleeve, but that’s her business to bring up.
I can only imagine the kind of dates she must go on. I bet they involve whirlwind trips to exotic beaches and private plane rides. Guys must crumble at her feet.
“Did you hear about Martin and his wife?” Beatrice asks.
Before I can interrupt and tell her we don’t gossip about coworkers, especially our beloved Martin, Beatrice continues. “His wife is cheating on him. And he found out when the man she was cheating with sent him videos of them together. Having sex. Can you imagine? The horror.” Beatrice puts her hand over her heart. What a faker.
“We shouldn’t be talking about this. We don’t even know if it’s true,” I say, extremely irritated. I’d hate for Martin to find out we were talking shit about him, and I really hope this piece of gossip is not true.
Beatrice looks at me over the brim of her glasses. “Of course it’s true. I wouldn’t spread a lie. I’m not that kind of person.” She rolls her eyes.
Well, that’s a lie right there.
The rest of the women look around the table or sip their drinks awkwardly, trying to avoid getting into this debacle. It bothers me that I’m the only one to stand up for Martin, but I do understand not causing drama where you work.
An eruption of laughs from the table behind us lightens the mood. We turn to look at the lady laughing and that’s when my heart stops.
It’s Clark and another woman.
A woman laughing her ass off as if he’s the funniest guy she’s ever gone on a date with.
He said he doesn’t date.
And he’s certainly not that funny. She’s clearly faking her laugh.
The woman’s burgundy wrap dress shows just enough cleavage to draw you in, but not enough to be considered a slut. Her shoulder-length brown hair falls in polished wavy locks. She’s perfect.
They look extremely comfortable with one another. Relaxed even.
“They must be in the honeymoon stage still,” Grace says, smiling from ear-to-ear while looking at the couple. She’s a romantic down to her core. It makes me si
ck with envy.
“He’s pretty hot. Good for her,” Eve remarks. Please don’t tell me that Clark is her type of guy too. I don’t want to know that she’s single and also interested in the same men as me.
“They don’t look that happy,” I say under my breath. “And he’s not that hot. He looks like he’d have a small dick.”
All of my coworkers turn from staring at the “happy couple” to staring at me.
“Why the sour face?” Beatrice asks, eyeing me in curiosity. “Who peed in your Lucky Charms?”
“Real classy, Beatrice.” I grab my drink and take a bigger swig than I intended to, but it hits the spot.
It’s as if Clark feels six women gawking at his table, and he looks in our direction. That’s when his eyes lock on mine. He tilts his head in surprise while I glare in red hot anger.
“Excuse me,” I say as I put my napkin on top of the table. “I need to use the restroom.”
Flying from the table, I speed walk toward the ladies room. I rejoice when I notice it’s empty. Standing at the sink, I face my own eyes in the mirror. They look full of rage.
Why does Clark being out there with another woman make me so upset? I didn’t even want to go out with Clark. I didn’t want anything to do with him. He kept pushing me, over and over.
Why did I think his “I want to fuck you” proposal was just for me? How naive.
The door pushes open before I have a chance to duck into one of the stalls.
Clark is now standing in the bathroom. He broke into my private hiding place.
“What are you doing in the ladies bathroom?” I hiss when I’d much rather shout, but I don’t want to draw any attention to us in here.
He looks me up and down, as if to size up his prey. “I was standing outside waiting for you, but you were taking too long. I didn’t want anyone to think I’m a creep lurking outside.”
I shove his chest hard, but the impact doesn’t move his strong body. “You are a creep. And a jerk, an asshole, and a womanizer. All of the above.”
Fortunate Encounters (The Sign Series Book 1) Page 4