Page 18 of My Solemn Vow

It’s no secret that my security company has fortified the entire place, including the ridiculous sporting complex she donated, so I’m not surprised she knows who I am.

This’ll be good.I steeple my fingers, ready to listen.

Doctor Thatcher sighs and gives me a preemptive apologetic look.

“Well, as you know, my son is in Ms. Mancini’s class.” Peyton starts telling this story like I would tell Kerrianne a bedtime story. “It started off as a few emails about his behavior in class. Apparently, he had a tiny outburst.”

“Outburst?” Doctor Thatcher pulls out a notepad from herdesk drawer. She tilts it up and poises the pen over the paper, except the cap is still on the pen.

Outburst as in, he’s thrown something.I translate from my and Royal’s time in school.

“Yes.” Peyton Hopkins nods but doesn’t even notice the cap is on the pen.

This is peak comedy.

“Well, according to Ms. Mancini, my David has been having behavior issues, and she’s not teaching him the same thing as other students. Ms. Mancini told me my son is stupid.” Peyton starts to fake shake.

It’s too rigid and uniform to be real shaking with rage or any other emotion.

She’s terrible at lying.My wolf sighs and lies down.Could she at least pretend to care about her kid?

I clench my core to stop myself from laughing at his inner monologue and the fact that Peyton’s son is stupid.

“Ahhh.” Doctor Thatcher nods, pretending to write on the pad. “I do remember seeing that David’s scores were quite low compared to the rest of his class. And he may be missing assignments?”

“Yes, but I told her it’s because the school year is new, and he needs time to warm up. It’s like warming up for a ball game, it’s getting back into the swing of things,” Peyton huffs, the fuming anger still there. “But what’s worse is that she insulted my intelligence and business sense.”

“Your business sense?” I can’t help but cut in, leaning forward, trying to see if she’s joking. I’m confused about how this is ‘worse,’ and it feels like some sort of practical joke. “Her insulting your business sense... is worse than thinking your child needs help with school?”

“Exactly. You get it.” Peyton thinks I’m agreeing with her.

I look at Doctor Thatcher, who meets my eyes and shakes her head.

At least I’m not alone in experiencing this.

“She seems to think I don’t know what I’m doing with my business and that my child’s clearly not smart enough to attend this school despite the fact that I donated, very generously, mind you, to the new field house.” She sniffles despite not having any actual tears to generate mucus. It’s disgusting.

Oh, here we fuckin’ go.I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying not to get myself involved in what clearly does not belong anywhere near my business. But a field house for an elementary school seemed a little excessive, because it is.

“And we are very thankful for the field house and your donations for it.” Doctor Thatcher appeases Peyton’s need for praise. She goes on to add, “And it would be impossible to take care of the lawns, landscaping, and snow removal without your generous contributions.”

The pack has a lawn care company,my wolf thinks.This woman is not necessary.

I almost pull out my phone to file a note on the subject when Peyton turns the conversation again.

Her fake tears precede her words. “I just don’t know how an educator of such a high-caliber school could ever talk to someone who gives them so much. I mean, surely Mr. Clark’s child isn’t being treated with this much disrespect.”

“I —” Peyton doesn’t give me a chance to confirm or deny that assertion.

“I think, maybe, if my money and my son aren’t respected enough, I’ll pull David out and go back to Dalton-Davis Prep.” Peyton lets out a few fake tears that she wipes away with the knuckle of one of her talon-length fingernails.

“Well, surely we can give her a chance to apologize.” Doctor Thatcher looks like she might pass out with how ashen her face gets. “The school would like to make it right.”

“No. I don’t want my David in a place where he’s clearly not being taught.” Peyton shakes her head adamantly.

She means catered to.The smart-ass in my brain cracks another joke.

“Well, Ms. Mancini is in charge of the accelerated program that you wanted David to be a part of, despite my warning otherwise.” Doctor Thatcher looks to me.