Page 83 of Prickly Romance

The elevator doors slide apart.

I storm off first and Dejonae is right behind me. Her heels click against the tiles.

Why did she dress up today? After our conversation, I am certain it was not for me.

Was it for her ex?

I shove the door of the conference room. It bangs open a bit harder than necessary. Dejonae slips in behind me. The door crashes shut, leaving a shot of silence in its wake.

Seven people occupy the seats around the table. The blue-eyed Caucasian at the helm is the one that sets my teeth on edge. His eyes flick around me and settle on Dejonae. He drinks her in like a dying man crawling toward a desert oasis.

It seems I am not alone in my admiration of Miss Williams’ outfit today.

I stalk forward and arch an eyebrow at the interpreter. “You are in my seat.”

“Am I?” Eyes still on Dejonae, he clumsily rises and clamors to where she is standing.

“Aren’t you going to sit?” I bark.

The room goes still.

I feel Dejonae’s eyes boring into me.

Time seems to slow as they both walk to the table. Dejonae takes the chair beside her ex-boyfriend. She sits with her back rigid, chin up, glaring at me through eyes that are ringed with thick lashes and mascara.

I lose my train of thought when I look at her.

Even though she is clearly angry with me, even when I’m inexplicably frustrated with her, the connection between us is not losing steam.

“Each of you were chosen,” I rip my eyes away from Dejonae, “because of your background in music and ASL. But this does not mean that you are equipped to teach deaf students. It only means you have the potential to do so.”

Dejonae folds her arms over her chest and glances away.

“Working with local schools and private academies, we have gathered a group of fifteen young children to be our first students. Think of the next few weeks as a beta program. Not only to test if students respond well to this environment but to test whether you have what it takes to teach.”

People shift around in discomfort.

Dejonae is the only one who doesn’t.

We lock eyes. She narrows hers in return.

I can feel the anger rolling off her body. It is there in the tension of her brow and the pursed lips that draw in like a flower when touched.

Did I call her a kitten this morning? I was wrong. She is out for blood. And I have a strong suspicion that I will be feeling her sharp claws the moment we are alone.

Why am I anticipating that?

Returning my focus to the very important task, I lace my fingers together. “I know many of you are accustomed to teaching your way, but your methods might not be best suited for your students. Which is why,” I gesture to Dejonae, “you will each be training with her.”

Dejonae’s eyes pop open and she sucks in a breath.

“Miss Williams will be responsible for analyzing your ability to convey the lessons of rhythm and tempo, which are, for a deaf student, more challenging to grasp than simply playing the right notes.”

“Mr. Sazuki.”

I lift a hand to stop her. “Any questions?”

“I have one,” Dejonae insists.

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