by Ava Claire
Missy let out an agitated sigh. “Look, I told you—” Her eyes darted to the door and locked on me. Fear cracked through her icy facade. “Mr. Wallace! I wasn’t expecting you.”
She cleared her throat pointedly, and her assistant ducked around me, closing the door behind her. I promptly reopened it.
“I don’t want anything to be misconstrued or misunderstood. And there’s nothing I have to say that’s confidential. In fact, I wouldn’t mind if the whole world knew that I screwed up.”
Her blood red lips twitched. “What?”
“I screwed up,” I repeated, advancing toward her desk. “I never should have flirted with you that night in the bar. And I should have come clean with Megan about the kiss. Told her that a sad, desperate woman had a moment of weakness—”
“Sad and desperate?” she raised her chin defiantly, her eyes darkening with a rage of her own. “Don’t flatter yourself, Cade. I saw the way you looked at me that night in the bar. The same way you looked at me in your hotel room. I know what desire looks like.” She folded her hands on top of her desk in a nearly seamless gesture of just how together she was, but I caught the tremble that rippled through her fingers. “You’re not that good of an actor.”
I gazed at the women in front of me. Confident—and totally missed her mark. Vulnerability peeked through her armor. I could have been cruel; that had been my intention coming here anyway. But the anger was dying down, and I was feeling something else entirely: pity.
I was that good of an actor. I knew just what tonality to use, the right angle to tilt my chin, the precise level at which to curve my lips into a smile. I knew just how to make a woman think that she was the one, and I was lucky to have finally found her. I’d turned it on for Missy, and she fell for it, just like every other woman I winked at and whispered sweet nothings to. The only woman that mattered saw right through it; she saw past the mask to the broken man underneath. She loved me, even when I’d done horrible things and left a trail of broken hearts in my wake. And despite the smug little smile on Missy’s face, she was no devil. She was the villain I’d created. Another broken heart.
“I’m sorry, Missy.”
She narrowed her eyes to slits of obsidian. “You said that already. And I told you that you have nothing to apologize for. You played me, then I reduced your little storybook romance to ash. I think we’re even. You can make me out to be the bad guy all you want, but you’re the one that didn’t tell your girlfriend about a kiss you claim meant nothing.”
I’d never tell her, but Missy had a point. I’d already wasted too much time here, too much time blaming her. If I wanted to own my role in this, and truly prove I was a better person now, I needed to walk away.
“I hope you have a good rest of the day.” Gritting my teeth, I pivoted to the door. Just a few steps and I’d be out of there before she said something that made me regret taking the high road.
“You’re leaving, so it’s already looking up,” she muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.
I ignored the final dig, headed back to the elevators. Another weird emotion was coursing through me. Empathy. What a bitter woman. What was her story? What made her so cold? I knew there was more to her, a fondness that was damn near close to kindness. I’d seen it at the bar, but she put it away when I noticed it. She was intent on keeping people out.
Maybe she just needed a friend. Not an assistant who kowtowed to her or subordinates who feared her. Someone who’d listen and call her on her bullshit, like a good friend should.
I shrugged, putting aside my analysis. I had more important things to think about, like how to get Megan back. Fresh ground coffee beans stormed my nostrils, earthy and vibrant. Coffee first.
I made a detour, following the scent and people armed with to-go cups. I smiled when I saw the neon glow of a sign reflected on the white walls. There was only one woman in front of me. She ordered what I was sure was the most complex drink ever created.
I stepped up next. “Just a house coffee with a shot.”
The bored looking barista punched in my order, his eyes locked on the screen. “So just a coffee with a shot of espresso?”
“Yep. Unless you’ve got something interesting stashed back there,” I joked.
He rolled his eyes, and when they landed on me, he paled immediately. “Holy crap—you’re Cade Wallace!” His eyes shot down with guilt. “I-I don’t have any alcohol.”
“It’s all right,” I laughed, pulling out a five and stuffing it in his tip jar. “It was just a joke.”
He shot to the espresso machine, moving with the frenzied pace of someone with something to prove. “I’m going to see Solider’s Creed this weekend. It looks fucking amazing.”
I flashed him a smile. “I appreciate that. Hope you enjoy it.”
The kid kept stealing peeks at me, like he expected me to walk on water at any moment. I turned my back to him, wandering around the shop. Heels clicked behind me as I studied a painting on the wall. I tried to seem introspective, but paintings were never my thing.
“You staying out of trouble, Marshall?”
My brow furrowed. The voice was familiar. Disarmingly friendly.
“I’m trying, Miss Montgomery.”
She laughed, and I winced. I knew that name. I knew that laugh. The last time we saw each other, it had been in a coffee shop...after I stalked her, trying to think of a way to apologize. This was the worst kind of coincidence.
“I told you, it’s Leila. Miss Montgomery is so stuffy.”
I could stand there and hope there was some other guy that worked at Whitmore and Creighton with a similar build and wait for her to leave and remain unnoticed. Or I could say hi.
Marshall the Barista made the decision for me. “Here’s your coffee, Mr. Wallace!”
I swiveled toward the counter. Slowly. She whirled to face me. Her curly hair was slicked back, her soft features hard as a rock.
I pulled on a smile. “Hi Leila.”
All the friendliness disappeared from her voice. “What are you doing here, Cade?”
I took my coffee and headed to the sugar station. “Don’t worry. I’m not stalking you.”
“I’ve heard that one before.”
I cracked a grin, but her face was hard as stone. Her brown eyes narrowed warily, like she was just waiting for the catch.
“I came in to see Missy,” I explained.
Red fluttered through her cheeks. “Oh, that’s right. Of course you are.” She cleared her throat. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said with a sad smile. It really was okay. I’d brought nothing but trouble for her. When I breezed into her life, I tried to break her and Jacob. I seemed pretty good at that. Breaking shit.
I froze mid sugar pour.
But they were still together.
Clearly, Leila knew something about making relationships work, despite the obstacles. Maybe she had some advice.
“Mind if I pick your brain?”
“Knock yourself out,” she said, the friendliness edging its way back into her voice.
“I have this friend who’s seeing this girl.” This friend? Real smooth. “He royally screwed up. He wasn’t completely honest. How should he fix things?”
A marked, uncomfortable silence stretched on after my question, and when I glanced over at her, her eyes were on the counter. She was gripping it so tight that her knuckles were bleached white.
I opened my mouth to ask her what was up and stopped. The paparazzi hadn’t picked up on me and Megan (yet), but Megan had probably talked about me. They were best friends.
She probably told her what an asshole I was.
“Leila, just let me start off by saying—”
“I’m sorry,” Leila interrupted, releasing the counter. Her voice was tight and odd, but the taut lines in her body were slowly relaxing. When her eyes finally met mine, they were almost identical to the kind ones I’d seen when we first met.
“I’m sorry works miracles, Cade.”
>
Chapter Eighteen
Megan
I walked through the door of PS 52—actually, I limped through the door. The heel to one of the stupid pumps I’d decided to wear this morning was stuck in a crater-like hole in the sidewalk a few blocks back.
I pulled off my blazer when I trudged toward the security check, not missing the widened gaze the guard past my way. I didn’t hold the gawking against him. The coffee I’d decided on at the last minute was splattered all over my ivory blouse. Combined with the limp, messy bun at the top of my head, and the snarl on my lips, it would be a bigger deal if he didn’t stare. I was wearing a blouse, a skirt, and a pump and a half. That kind of get-up on me was about as rare as a Bigfoot sighting.
My dressy attire was in honor of my class’s Career Day. All the kids were supposed to come in and talk about what their dream jobs were. I’d intended to ask parents to come and talk about their work, but I’d only had one parent that offered to come and speak. I’d decided to mix it up and do a mock group interview.
As soon as they saw my soiled shirt and skirt, that would take center stage instead of the importance of things like dreaming big, and anything was possible.
And it was all Cade Wallace’s fault.
No, he didn’t drill the hole that wrenched my heel from my shoe, and he wasn’t the one that bumped into me when I go of the subway and sent the coffee spewing. The only plus side was that I put so much creamer in it that it was lukewarm, and I didn’t add a nasty burn to the list.
A burn would have gone perfectly with the aching regret that I’d been carrying around like a bullet hole in my heart. The pain intensified every time Cade called, and I didn’t answer. It clenched my heart into a fist every time I deleted his texts without reading them. I knew that he was sorry, that I didn’t know the whole story, but I wasn’t ready to face him.
Liar. At night, with all the lights out, I pulled him up on Google. I scrolled through his pictures, tracing the line of his jaw. I missed his lips. His smile. Every time a knock echoed at my door my mouth went dry and when it wasn’t him, something inside of me wept.
I walked through the detector, then started putting myself back together. I didn’t even bother with putting the pumps back on. Thank God I always kept an extra pair of flats in my classroom. I only had ten minutes before my students filed in. Ten minutes to get my game face on and stop thinking about Cade.
I moved at lightning speed, pointlessly wetting the front of my shirt and dabbing it with spot remover. Giving up the ghost, I turned to my supply closet and bent over to reach the cubby near the front where I stashed my flats.
“I always loved you from that angle.”
The combination of Mark’s voice, his lewd comment and his mere existence made me throw up a little in my mouth. I snapped upright, like a dozing student being called on in class.
I faced him, ready to take a chair and hurl it at him since words and warnings were too subtle. “What the fuck, Mark?” It wasn’t enough that I had to tolerate him at meetings and functions. Or that I had to grin and bear it when he made excuses to be in my orbit, knowing full well I couldn’t knee him in front of my kids and co-workers. He had to dig the knife in deeper, strolling into my classroom like he owned the place.
A frown tugged his lips downward. “Still haven’t accepted my apology, huh?”
He strode forward, then glanced down at me gripping my desk chair and decided to keep a safe distance. He gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing. His eyes changed, reminding me of the nights we spent together. Nights when he told me about his childhood, growing up without a mother, and a father who blamed him for taking away his wife. His mother died when she was giving birth to Mark.
“I’m sorry, Megan. Really.”
I slackened my grip, studying him with intense distrust. I wasn’t sure why he wasn’t laying on the douche, but I would never let my guard down around him again. He wasn’t sorry. Not really. How many times had I asked him not to swing by, and he just ignored it? “How can I even begin to forgive you, to even stand the sight of you, when you can’t even respect a simple request?”
He pondered it for a moment, unblinking. When his eyes finally closed and reopened, the vulnerability was long gone. “I know I screwed up. I know you’re a good woman. I had you, and I lost you.” He paused dramatically. I couldn’t believe I had ever fallen for his act. “I know I’m not Cade Wallace—”
“Wait,” I interrupted, incredulity gripping my voice. “Is that why you’re here? You’re jealous?”
“Yeah right,” he scoffed, crossing his arms as he scrubbed his face of emotion. “I have no reason to be jealous.”
I evaluated him, scanning the features that used to make me swoon so hard. Cherubs used to circle his head whenever he walked into the room. I was so desperate to be loved that I overlooked every warning sign. I was far from the first teacher on staff to fall under his spell, and none of them looked upon him fondly. He had a tendency of openly checking out other women, then winking and tell me it was ‘no biggie’.
He should be jealous because fictional, chubby babies didn’t flap their wings when Cade walked in. The way my body responded when he looked at me was unlike anything before. The thump of my heart was real and powerful. And even after the Missy kiss, I believed that he loved me. When Mark said the words, I just repeated it back, like I was supposed to. With Cade, I felt it with every fiber of me.
Sneakers squeaked, the call of the kids being released and heading to their first class of the day. My previous threats fell on deaf ears, but I had a final card to play. Openly admitting we’d seen each other would get me written up, but me going to the principal and telling him that Mark was harassing me after we ended things, could very well get him fired.
I pulled out the papers, nearly stapled at the corner, and held it out to him. He looked down at it then back up at me, smiling.
Not for long.
“What’s this?”
“A detailed account of our relationship,” I said casually.
His smile dropped as he snatched it from me. Always smooth; easy and laid back. There was nothing smooth about his eyes frantically scanning the lines. His lips worked as he read over the document.
I picked up the smile he abandoned and plastered it on my face. “It’s all there. Your pursuit of me and my decision to break school policy and date you. There’s even a few lines about how we broke up.” His hands were shaking so hard that I was sure he’d lose his grip on my statement. “You remember, don’t you? I left you and my TA here alone while I walked one of my students home. I came back, and your face was buried between her thighs.” I flipped my hair nonchalantly. “I wrapped it up with the fact that I broke it off and told you I wanted nothing to do with you outside the school setting and you responded by harassing me.”
He finally found his voice. It was something tiny. Full of fear. “What the fuck is this, Megan?”
“It’s my statement,” I said coolly. “The statement I will give to Patterson if you ever come to my class again without good reason. Apparently, I need to explain things very clearly since ‘stay away’ didn’t work. You’ll find my definition of ‘good reason’ on the back.”
He flipped the papers, his lips curling into a snarl.
It was just four words: school related reasons only. He acted like I’d written Go to Hell, frothing at the mouth.
I frowned. I should have put that after.
He flung it away like it was poisonous, chest heaving and falling. “Do you know what something like this would do to my reputation? It could ruin me!”
“And that would be exactly what you deserve.” I felt no pity for Mark. None at all. “I know you think you’re some prize. That a woman should be honored for you to even look in her direction. But you’re nothing but a waste of space. I know you feel powerful every time you toss a woman aside, then pick up the next in line, but you’re weak. Real love takes work. It takes sacrifice. It’s opening up and letting someone take a look at
all the good and the ugly. You were too much of a coward to let me see the real you. Now that I’ve seen it, I’m glad. I deserve so much better.”
Jerry was the first student to file into the classroom. He waved at me and Mark. Mark was still too flabbergasted to return the wave, but it didn’t matter. Jerry was back to his old self, grinning and enthusiastic to learn.
I diverted my attention to Jerry. To something good. I didn’t waste the energy on looking back at Mark, but my words were for him, and him alone. “We’re done here.”
I don’t know what was different, but as Mark’s solid steps were engulfed by the symphony of tiny ones, I knew I wouldn’t have to worry about him stopping by to say hello again.
Jerry carefully pulled out his notebooks and counted out his pencils.
“Are you excited about today?” I asked with a smile.
He brought his brown eyes from his desk, giving me a pensive once over.
I tugged at my blouse, remembering the coffee stain. “I know I look a little crazy today.”
“Nu uh,” Jerry shook his head back and forth. “You look beautiful.”
I beamed down at him, my heart melting a little in my chest. “Thanks!” I nodded at a folder he was clutching like it was his most prized possession. “What’s that?”
He leaned in and dropped his voice to a confidential level. “I cut out pictures of what I want to be when I grow up.”
My interest was definitely piqued. “Mind if I take a look?” I accepted the folder carefully, holding it like one would cradle something precious. I flipped it open, and my heart leaped to my throat. My heart was a runaway train, dragging me along whether I was ready to face my feelings or not.
I swept my thumb across two perfectly cut pictures from a magazine.
Pictures of Cade.
Chapter Nineteen
Cade
I pulled Principal Patterson’s door shut behind me. He’d done an 180 from the bubbly, overly friendly guy I’d endured the last time I was in PS 52. He looked fierce and agitated, fingers flying across his keyboard.