Page 9 of Before He Was Her Headmaster

“Do you know what classes you’ll be taking yet? I have a full course load this term. I’m taking Latin, Calculus, Creative Writing, and the two-credit Independent Thesis.”

A two-credit what? I like the sound of that. “Is that open to anyone?”

“You need to get permission from the headmaster.”

“Any tips for winning him over? I only need three credits to graduate. I’d love to do a thesis and take one other course—creative writing sounds good—and be done.”

“Mr. Craig is also the creative writing senior seminar instructor, actually. You don’t have to win him over. Just tell him what you need, and he’ll make it happen.” She stops in front of the office door. It’s a large, heavy oak slab surrounded by opaque glass sidelights and a soaring transom above it. The whole main hallway is like this—big, old, and impressive. It reminds me of my grandfather’s company’s headquarters.

The office my father has poisoned, made dangerous.

I hate it.

I’m definitely going to hate the headmaster on the other side of the door, no matter how much this bubbly sunshine girl seems to like him. I take a deep breath and thank Stacey for delivering me to the devil. Then I turn the handle and step inside.

Chapter 4

Sebastian

“Headmaster Craig, Delilah Murphy is here. The transfer student from New York.”

“Send her in.” I glance at the file on my desk. I’ve already familiarized myself with her records. An exceptional student with a real attitude problem is my general impression. I have concerns about the two private schools she previously attended, based on my knowledge of their administration. There’s also something not right about her father. He made a significant donation to our scholarship fund to encourage this last-minute enrollment. His approach rubbed me the wrong way, even though we haven’t met.

But that’s not the fault of his daughter. There was something about her file that spoke to me. She’s bounced around a lot but had good grades right until the moment they expelled her. Her transcript is missing credits she probably should have been granted, even if asked to leave a school.

It’s a mess. And at Edgewood Academy, we put students first. So, combined with the opportunity to expand our scholarship program, I was happy to grant a last-minute acceptance to her.

Maybe making a difference for this student will knock me out of the funk I’ve been in lately. I’m not sure what is wrong. Maybe I’m just getting tired of the same old, same old. I’ve been going out on my bike more often. Thinking about heading out West and starting over.

The six years I’ve spent here have been the longest I’ve stayed in one place my entire career. I was the youngest candidate for headmaster in Edgewood’s history, but the board took a chance on me, and I’ve thrown myself into proving it was the right call. I set aside my personal life and devoted myself to this institution.

Maybe it’s a midlife crisis. I tell the inner jackass in my head to shut the fuck up. But he’s not wrong. I’ll be forty-one next month. I thought I missed the clichéd meltdown because the big four-oh had been no big fucking deal to me.

Who the fuck knows what’s wrong with me? I have a date on Sunday, a new term to look forward to, and a job to do right now. I shake off my malaise and stand, ready for my newest student.

But nothing could prepare me for who I see when the door swings open—or the sad, sullen look on Lily’s face. She’s not looking at me. She’s staring at the carved wood desk I’m standing behind, so I have a second to deal with the “Holy Shit I Slept with a Student” klaxon sound in my head. It’s followed immediately by an equally loud internal alarm at the look on her face because the Lily I met last night is not this woman.

Girl.

Woman.

Last night she’d worn a miniskirt, and that sweet fucking mouth was painted with bright red lipstick. Now she’s wearing jeans and a plain T-shirt, and her face is bare of any makeup.

She looks like a girl. What the fuck was I thinking? I grab her file, hands shaking, and flip it open, relieved to see that she’s definitely eighteen.

Great, I’m just a pervert, not a criminal.

I thought she was in her early twenties.

Very early.

Okay, I thought she was maybe twenty.I’d hoped she was twenty-one, but the depraved dirty man inside me also kind of hoped she was just twenty.

My beautiful, innocent Lily.

Delilah Murphy.

Fuck me.

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