Page 17

chapter ten

Graham

T here’s a lot a person can get away with when noticing things in their peripheral vision.

Like the way Jillian’s fingers traced the delicate fabric of her low neckline, or the deep crevice between her breasts that a man like me could get lost in.

We were lucky Olivia returned when she did, because that conversation was teetering toward something HR might have frowned upon. What surprised me the most was the way Jill was the one who took it there. I’d just been messing around, but her “yes, sir” elevated that conversation to something else.

Jillian Taylor was a lot of things. Sharp. Quick-witted. A goddamn force to be reckoned with when she wanted information. But in that moment, she’d let a sliver of something else slip through. In her willingness to play along and follow my lead, she’d revealed just a hint of submission.

Plenty of people in that building called me “sir”, but never like that .

And I’d spend the rest of that morning obsessing over it.

Hoping the Woodvale Times crew could distract me, I made my way upstairs to their newsroom, where I found Meghan and Xander sitting across from one another at the table near the front with their laptops open, typing away. “That’s a rare sight,” I said.

“What is?” Meghan asked without looking up.

“The two of you, hard at work.”

“Why don’t you give us a rundown of everything you’ve accomplished today, Graham,” Xander muttered, keeping his eyes on his screen, “and then we’ll talk.”

I chuckled, pulling up a chair at the head of the table, where I used to sit. Meghan was running those meetings now, in my absence. With a quick glance at the empty cubicles at the other end of the room, I asked, “Where are Devonte and Byron?”

“Devonte’s covering some golf things. “Meghan smacked her space bar. “And Byron’s covering the Chamber of Commerce luncheon.”

I blinked at her, stunned. Byron, our resident baby announcement and church news writer, wasn’t one to handle field assignments.

Especially reports with such importance.

Though I’d developed a fondness for Byron over the years, I couldn’t help but feel a little worried. “You’re trusting him with that?”

Meghan finally looked at me. “Turns out Byron knows how to get shit done when you light a fire under his ass.”

I shook my head, impressed–and maybe a little scared. “Wow.” I leaned on my elbows on the table, shifting gears. “Okay, talk to me. It’s an election year. How’s that going?”

Meghan sighed and leaned back in her chair, cracking her knuckles.

“It’s making me regret writing an expose on Noah Sherman’s little bestie, I can tell you that.

I’ll be talking to Noah face-to-face on Monday for the first time since all of that went down, and I’m not exactly anticipating a warm reception. ”

“First of all, never regret writing that article,” I said, tapping my fingers on the table.

Noah Sherman had a lot to lose when Silas was caught embezzling funds and controlling the local news. We were no longer forced to paint him in a positive light, and his campaign was undoubtedly suffering from it.

“And second,” I continued, “do not let that sad excuse for a man intimidate you for a second. You’re the one he needs to impress, not the other way around. Don’t forget you have the upper hand.”

Meghan responded with a slow nod, crossing her arms. She bowed her head, staring down at her lap. “I guess you’re right,” she said, a rare admission from her. “God, I hope that little weasel doesn’t beat Mayor Michaels.”

I inhaled, preparing to agree, when Isaiah, their intern, flew into the room with a cardboard drink carrier in his hands and a white paper sack held between his teeth. He leaned over the table, dropped the sack out of his mouth, and shakily lowered the drinks beside Meghan.

“Gross, man,” Xander whined, scrunching up his face. “Did you drool all over our muffins?”

“Uh…” The kid took a step back, sliding his hands into the back pockets of his khakis, which were about two inches too short. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. “I’m sorry.”

Xander sighed.

Meghan pulled an insulated cup from the drink carrier, studying its label with a frown. “Is this supposed to be mine?”

“Yes?” Isaiah tugged at the hem of his shirt.

I pressed my lips together tight, trying not to smile.

I already knew what the issue was. Meghan preferred iced coffee, especially when the weather was hot like this.

I braced myself for the reprimand, but Meghan just forced a fake smile and said, “Thanks, kiddo, but can you make sure it’s iced tomorrow? ”

“Shoot. I forgot,” Isaiah said, slapping himself on the forehead as Xander reached across the table for his drink.

“This better be right,” Xander warned, giving the kid a stern look as he took his first sip. We all held our breath as he swallowed, awaiting his reaction. After what seemed like an eternity, Xander smacked his lips and said, “Good news, Isaac. You get to live to see another day.”

Isaiah let out a sigh of relief.

I cleared my throat. “Isaiah,” I corrected. “His name is Isaiah.”

“It-it’s okay,” the kid said, turning to me with a shrug. “I told him he can call me Isaac if he wants. It’s better than the nicknames Meghan gives me.”

I scowled at Meghan before asking the kid, “What does she call you?”

“Uh. Lots of things,” he murmured. “But Temu Napoleon Dynamite seems to be the one sticking the most.”

Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. I pushed my chair back and stood up, biting my cheeks as I took a step toward Isaiah. I gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Word of advice? Don’t let these two assholes get to you. Xander just got dumped, and Meghan spends her free time blogging about ghosts.”

The corners of his mouth turned upward in a smile as I slapped him on the back. I didn’t have to look at the faces of the other two on my way out of the room to know they hated me for shattering the illusion that they were cool.

That was fun.

***

As an adjunct professor at WRC, I shared an office space with Marie Weston, another part time instructor who had some new baked treat to share with the rest of the faculty every week.

That day, there was a brownie with my name on it—literally—waiting on my desk for me when I arrived.

“Thank you, Marie,” I said out loud to nobody, removing the plastic wrap from the little paper plate.

There was a knock at the door, and Dr. Schwartz, the department chair, poked her head through the open door. “Mr. Harlowe, is this a good time?”

I spun my chair around with a mouth full of brownie. “Of corsh,” I said, holding my fingers to my lips so no crumbs would fall out.

Dr. Schwartz laughed, closing the door behind her before taking a seat in Marie’s chair.

Interlocking her fingers on one knee, she glanced around at Marie’s expansive collection of paintings and photographs of otters.

I didn’t really understand the obsession, but ever since I told her she could decorate my half of the office, too, I found myself staring at a photo of two otters holding hands every time I lost my train of thought while grading.

I didn’t completely hate it.

“I’m going to cut right to the chase,” Dr. Schwartz said.

The sterling silver typewriters dangling from her earlobes swung back and forth almost as much as the ponytail high on her head.

Her long, gray hair was usually worn down, but I suspected she wanted to make sure those earrings were noticed. “What are your plans for the fall?”

“Of democracy?” I joked.

She blinked with a reluctant smile. “That, too, but I’m inquiring about this August, specifically.”

I put my brownie down and rubbed my hands together. “Why, whatcha got for me?” I asked, though I had a feeling I already knew.

“How would you feel about expanding your course load? Enrollment is up, and we’re looking for someone to teach a couple of the two-hundred-level classes in the fall.”

“Ah,” I said, settling into the chair to get more comfortable. “I’m not sure I’d have the time to increase my workload right now.”

“I worried you might say that. This would move you up to full time. With benefits,” she said, dipping her chin and raising one eyebrow, like that detail might tempt me. “And your own office. No otters in sight.”

“That’s tempting, Dr. Schwartz, but this was only ever meant to be a part-time endeavor for me. I’m just here for the free brownies.”

She sighed in disappointment. “Do I need to pay one of your employees over there to write an exposé on you ?”

“Nothing to expose,” I said with a laugh. “I’m squeaky clean.”

Other than, you know, hitting on the sexy, blonde news anchor and using my position in power to secure my daughter the most sought-after intern slot.

“Perhaps we can fabricate something,” Dr. Schwartz teased. “Well, I knew you were going to tell me ‘no,’ but I had to at least try.”

“Sorry, Dr. Schwartz. My priorities are in Woodvale.”

“I understand,” she said, standing up before pushing the chair underneath the desk. “One of these days, I’ll persuade you. But not today, huh?”

“Not today.”

She made her way to the door, but before she left, she turned around to add, “By the way, Reese Meyer has been lurking around here this afternoon looking for you.”

I nodded, not feeling the least bit surprised. After all, one of their bigger assignments of the semester was due that afternoon, and I was expecting a full barrage of questions before class.

He’d probably be taking a lot of those 200-level courses next semester. Another reason not to take that job.

With fifteen minutes before class, my mind wandered to the evening plans: poker at the Gardners’.

And Jill.

Sweet, single, submissive Jill.

No, no, no. I swallowed, opening my laptop to review my notes for that day’s lesson. I skimmed through the outline, but my mind was caught in a loop.

“Yes, sir.”

I looked at my watch. Could this day possibly go any slower? I reached for my phone to send Owen a text.

Graham: What should I bring tonight? I don’t want to show up empty-handed.

Owen: Just your money, neighbor. The plan is for you to LEAVE empty-handed.

I sent him a laughing emoji, hoping that wasn’t too “cringy millennial” of me.

There was another knock at the office door. “Mr. H?” I looked up to see Reese standing in the doorway, his thumbs tucked under the straps of the backpack weighing him down. “I have a major problem.”

I sighed. “And I’d wager that in the next ten minutes, I’ll convince you that you don’t.”

“Huh?”

“Have a seat. Let’s do this.”