Chapter 7

Lanie

I took a deep breath and stared in the mirror, turning one way and then the other. Was the black eyeliner too much?

Yes. Too loud. I was going to work at a high school, not to a nightclub.

Grabbing a makeup wipe, I went to rub it off, then remembered it was liquid and would smear all over the place.

“Shit,” I murmured, dropping the wipe in the bathroom trash.

Heart racing, I adjusted the little strands of hair around my ears and frowned. The look would just have to do. At least I was dressed somewhat conservatively in a button-up and wool sweater.

Checking the time, I grabbed my purse and keys from the hook by the front door and locked my ground-floor apartment behind me. There was still plenty of time to get to work, but with my nerves making me shake, I knew I’d be more comfortable once I got into my office.

This was the day. In less than an hour, I had my first parent-teacher conference.

Hopefully, I’d make it through the meeting without vomiting.

I’d had plenty of parent-teacher conferences in kindergarten. But this was different. Five-year-olds didn’t threaten to punch each other in the face. Not usually.

Just as I slid behind the wheel, Erica’s name lit up my phone’s screen.

“Hey.” I put her on speaker and buckled up.

“Hey. I forgot. Did you say you’re making pesto tonight?”

“Oh. Yeah. I’ll probably bring over the ingredients and make it there if that’s okay.”

With the morning’s meeting taking up all my brain power, our traditional Thursday night dinner had completely slipped my mind.

“Okay. Cool.” A car honked near her, and the phone crackled from a gust of air. Best guess was she was walking into her office building.

“I have my first parent-teacher conference this morning.” Just talking about it made me tense up.

“Awesome! Are you excited?”

“Yeah?” I checked for traffic and pulled out of the apartment complex.

“Wow,” she dryly responded. “Don’t pee yourself from joy.”

“I’m just nervous.”

“I know,” she said soothingly. “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Hey, before I forget, do you remember Joanna Gunter?”

“Mm, maybe? Was she at that party on your rooftop the other month?”

“Yeah. Exactly. She has a new exhibit opening Saturday. You should come. It’s at the Monty. The cheese and cracker selection is supposed to be out of this world.”

“What about the art?” I laughed.

“Oh. Yeah. That’s going to be good too.”

“Will you be there?”

“Uh-huh. But, Lanie, one thing.”

My stomach sank. “What?”

“Bring a date.”

I sighed as I rolled to a stop at a red light. “That’s a joke, right?”

“No. It’s me looking out for you. I want to hang out with you all night long, but come on. Bring a date. He doesn’t have to be the one. I want to see you let loose and have a little fun. Please. For me.”

“And where am I supposed to find this date?”

“How about at school?”

“That’s illegal.”

“Gross! Stop. You know what I’m talking about. Don’t tell me no men work at that high school.”

“Now that you mention it, it does seem to be mostly women.”

“There’s not one hot teacher you can ask out?”

“Not that I know of.”

“What about the PE teacher? They’re usually at least semi-attractive.”

“Haven’t met him yet.”

“Okay. What about the creepy, grizzled janitor who’s worked there for forty years and is always casting weird, strangely spot-on predictions? Or telling you that the kid you’ve been hanging out with all semester died decades ago.”

“That stereotype doesn’t exist.” I laugh.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

“The parent coming in today does happen to be a man,” I said, turning onto the street South Seattle was on. Hands down, the best perk of my new job was it was only a few minutes’ drive away.

“Ooh, la la. All right. Now we’re talking.”

“Remember that student I told you about? Raven Marx? I think her dad is that guy you thought he was, the, ah, techie guy?”

“Investing,” she immediately said.

“Right.”

“Nice. I like how this sounds. At least he’s well-off.”

“I don’t care about money.” Pulling into my spot in the teachers’ parking lot, I killed the engine and took in a long breath. “I’m here. I should go.”

“Okay. See you tonight.”

“Bye.”

The time had come. Dropping my phone in my purse, I hauled my butt out of the car and into the school.

The bad thing about getting to work early was there wasn’t enough to do. Over and over, I flitted around the room, rearranging the few objects I’d brought in. There were only so many places you could move an aloe plant and a glass jar of mints, though.

At five till, with my heart ready to jump out of my mouth, I sat in my chair, hands and ankles crossed.

I can do this. Just present the issues, remember to list the positives. I am a strong, assertive adult.

A knock on the door interrupted the mental pep talk. Springing to my feet, I bounded across the room in a few steps to open the door.

And almost fell over.

“Miss Jacobs?” the towering, hunky, dark-haired man with a chiseled jaw and thick brows asked.

“Um.”

Good god, help me.

“Y-yes,” I sputtered. “Come right in. Mr. Marx, I assume?”

“That’s right.”

“Have a seat.”

He walked over to the chairs opposite my desk, tight shoulders and sculpted rear-end moving with controlled precision. Realizing I was staring, I quickly took my own seat.

If I’d hoped meeting Mr. Marx face-to-face would help ease my anxiety, I was sorely wrong. The man sitting across from me was perfection, in possession of the kind of face that could give any professional male model a run for their money.

Now, not only was I worried about how well I would perform during the meeting, I was once again worrying about how I looked. Was my makeup still holding up? How was my hair doing? I resisted the urge to touch it and see.

Remember the steps. One at a time.

Placing my palms on the desk, I smiled. “Thank you for coming to meet with me. I know you’re well aware of Raven’s recent, um, acts.”

I checked a cringe. This wasn’t the speech I’d prepared at all.

Mr. Marx’s face darkened, and a long moment passed. “Yes,” he finally said in a clipped tone. “And I am very sorry for her behavior. I expect a lot more out of my daughter.”

“Please don’t feel you have to apologize. I called you here hoping we could get down to the root of Raven’s behavior.”

I kept my focus on his face while surreptitiously checking the rest of him out. Tailored suit. Silk tie with a clip that shone like real gold. Thick, silver watch.

I knew next to nothing about men’s fashion, but even an amateur like me could tell Mr. Marx’s wardrobe probably cost more than a month of my pay.

But it didn’t matter how much he was worth. Money had no tie to how Raven was acting, especially not if her father was down to earth enough to put her in a public school.

“The root?” he asked, jerking me back to the issue at hand.

“Yes. Um.” I cleared my throat, searching desperately for the next thing to say. What the heck was wrong with me?

I smiled weakly, noticing the slight cleft in Mr. Marx’s chin for the first time. The muscles between my thighs tightened, and I shifted my weight, attempting to ease the ache there.

His lips twitched, but whether it was a frown or a smile hiding there, it wasn’t clear. The only thing I knew was that I was making a fool of myself.

Months without sex, telling myself I’m doing fine, and then a hot man walks into my office, and I nearly explode.

How old was he? Forty? I’d dated a couple of older men, but no one more than four years my senior. What kind of experience came with that age?

“Miss Jacobs?”

“Yes.” I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt. “So, I saw in the files that you met with the former counselor here.”

He didn’t skip a beat. “She said Raven was spoiled.”

“Ah.”

Mr. Marx ran a thumb along his lower lip, his dark eyes asking if I dared challenge him.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why did the last counselor assume Raven was just spoiled?”

“She’s an only child. She has a nice house. I have a good job.” Mr. Marx spread his palms. “Is that enough for a teenager to turn rebellious?”

“No,” I carefully said.

“I didn’t think so either, but maybe,” He blinked, and his face relaxed, “maybe it is.”

“No,” I fiercely said.

His eyes snapped back to mine, and fire immediately ignited in my core. I swallowed hard, my mind spinning again. How could I be expected to focus with him looking at me like that?

“Then what makes a child spoiled, Miss Jacobs?” he slowly asked.

The way he said my name, it dripped with intention. Intention for what, I didn’t know, but there was a focus in Mr. Marx’s words that most people didn’t have.

What I wouldn’t have given to have him call me by my first name.

I swallowed the tightness in my throat, but it just joined the tightness in my nether regions, making me more uncomfortable.

“Getting everything they want,” I weakly explained. “Or almost everything. So far, I don’t get the impression that it’s Raven’s experience.”

He rolled his head back and looked out the window. “She started a fight the other day?”

“Yes. And according to her file, she’s threatened students before with violence.”

His lips pursed, accentuating the dimple in his chin.

“I’d like to ask you some questions about home life, Mr. Marx. They’re very standard ones, just to make sure Raven’s needs are being met.”

He barked out a short laugh. “You think I’m not feeding her?”

“There are more needs than the basic physical ones.”

I let that hang there, and he seemed to soak it in. The defensive attitude had been expected. Both grade school and kindergarten had taught me that some parents could be guarded to the point of near insanity.

Or, like is often the case, sometimes people’s buttons get pushed in meetings, and they lash out. Wherever Mr. Marx’s Achilles’ heel was, I was close.

His eyes came to my face, and he studied me in an almost gentle way, gaze raking down my cheeks and across my eyes. Under the desk, I gripped the edge of my seat. The burning down below had only gotten worse, and now a pounding heart and sweaty palms could be added to the list.

I tried to inhale but found it difficult. Those eyes, the way they searched me, made it a challenge to concentrate.

With that, what was supposed to be a normal parent-teacher conference became anything but.