Page 6 of Dark Notes

I’ve allowed her the upper hand since the moment she contacted me. It’s time to see how she navigates through a little humiliation.

Angling forward, I grip the armrests of her chair and cage her in. “You’re lying, Beverly. I think you want to hear all the dirty details of my indiscretions. Shall I describe the positions that were used, the sounds she made, the size of my cock—?”

“Stop!” She sucks in a breath, a hand trembling against her chest before clenching her fist and plastering on the dignified expression she shows the world. “You’re disgusting.”

I chuckle and rest back in the chair.

She jumps to her feet, glaring down at me. “Stay away from my faculty, specifically the women in my employ.”

“I checked out the offerings in this morning’s meeting. You should really update the scenery.”

There were a few tight-bodied teachers, plenty of interested glances my way, but I’m not here for that. I have dozens of women ready to bend over at my call, and my mistake at Shreveport… My jaw stiffens. It’s one I won’t make again.

“You, on the other hand…” I let my gaze travel over her rigid posture. “You look like you could use a good hard fuck.”

“You’re out of line.” Her warning tone loses its effect with the wobble of her heels as she backs away.

She turns and flees toward the head of the table. The farther she moves away from me, the stronger her gait becomes. A few more steps and she glances over her shoulder as if expecting to catch my eyes on her flat ass. I shudder. The arrogant bitch actually thinks I’m interested.

I stand, slide a hand in the pocket of my slacks, and stroll toward her. “Is Mr. Rivard not meeting your demands in the bedroom?”

She reaches the end of the table and gathers her papers, refusing to meet my eyes. “Continue this behavior, and I’ll make sure you never see the inside of a classroom again.”

Her illusion of control makes it damn hard to keep my proverbial teeth sheathed.

I step into her space, crowding her. “Threaten me again, and you’ll regret the outcome.”

“Move back.”

Leaning in, I let my breath brush her ear. “Everyone has secrets.”

“I don’t—”

“Is Mr. Rivard warming another bed?”

It’s just a guess, but the slight tremor in her hand tells me I’m onto something.

Her nostrils flare. “Outrageous.”

“What about your perfect son? What has he done to put you in this precarious position?”

“He’s done nothing wrong!”

I wouldn’t be here if that were true. “You’re trembling, Beverly.”

“This conversation is over.” She steps around me, eyes on the door, and trips.

Her balance teeters, papers tumble from her hands, and she falls to her knees at my feet. Perfect.

She casts me a startled look, and as she realizes I made no move to catch her, her upturned face deepens into a self-effacing shade of red.

Snapping her eyes to the floor, she collects her things with angry movements. “Hiring you was a mistake.”

I step onto the page she’s reaching for and glare down at the top of her head. “Then fire me.”

“I…” She stares at the snakeskin-embossed leather on my Doc Martens, her voice hushed, dejected. “Just use your connections.”

To get her undeserving son into Leopold, the highest ranked music college in the country. That was the deal.

She gave me a teaching job when no one else would, and I’ll hold up my end of the bargain. But I will not bend or cower like her subordinates. She has no idea who she’s dealing with. But she’ll learn.

I toe the paper toward her fingers and hold it down with my shoe. “I think we’re clear on the terms”—I lift my foot, allowing her to snatch it—”as well as our positions in this arrangement.”

She stiffens, her head hanging lower.

Humiliation complete.

I turn and amble out of the library.

“I heard she stuffs her bra.”

“What a slut.”

“Didn’t she wear those shoes last year?”

The murmurs ripple through the crowded hall, spoken behind manicured hands yet intended to reach my ears. After three years, how have these girls not come up with new material?

As I pass their whispering cluster of brand names, limited edition iPhones, and black American Express cards, I reinforce my smile with the reminder that, despite our differences, I deserve to be here.

“I wonder whose bed she crawled out of this morning.”

“Seriously, I can smell her from here.”

The comments don’t bother me. They’re just words. Unimaginative, immature, hollow words.

Who am I kidding? Some of those jabs are true enough, and hearing them voiced so hatefully sucks the wind from my lungs. But I’ve learned that tearful reactions only encourage them.

“Prescott said he had to take three showers after slumming with her.”

I stop in the center of the corridor. The flow of traffic parts around me as I pull in a deep breath and walk back toward their huddle.