Page 14 of If The Shoe Fits

“Go on to class now, Cyndi. I’ll take care of this,” he tells his daughter.

“Are you sure, Pop?” she asks, her impossibly big, blue eyes swimming in tears.

He nods sagely, kisses her temple, and pats her shoulder—the epitome of a good father.

“Thank you, Pop. I-I’m sorry if I c-caused any t-trouble,” she says, lips trembling.

Wow. This girl is good.

“There, there, it will all be fine,” he tells her.

“You’re so good to me. Oh, don’t forget your tea, Pop.”

“I won’t forget. You spoil me so, my sweet Cyndi,” he tells her, and his eyes are brimming with fatherly pride.

“Anything for you, Pop.”

I stand there, arms crossed, watching this saccharine sweet display of father-daughter affection, and honestly, it’s enough to give me a toothache.

Principal Tremayne is laying it on thick. Another peck on her head, a murmured reassurance. And Cyndi is eating it up like it’s her favorite dessert.

Cyndi catches sight of me, her crocodile tears vanishing in a heartbeat as she slants her eyes my way, lips curling into a grin so smug it should be illegal.

Her father pats her shoulder one last time, oblivious to the fact that his precious little angel is more like a pocket-sized devil in Prada.

And then she’s strutting past me, head high, confidence radiating off her like some unearned badge of honor. As she gets close, she leans in just enough for me to hear her hissed words.

“Told you I’d tell my father. Now you’re in for it.”

Her tone is pure menace, but her smirk?

Oh, that smirk is lethal.

I could practically see the invisiblecheckmatesign glowing above her head.

As she glides by, I catch a faint whiff of magic in the air.

The unmistakable tang of it prickles against my senses.

She’s cast a spell—probably something subtle to keep her Werewolf dad from picking up on her nasty remark. Of course. Because that would show her true nature.

Classic mean-girl Cyndi behavior.

But unfortunately for me, I hear every word loud and clear.

I narrow my eyes, fighting the urge to stick my foot out and trip her. Not that I would.

Probably.

The door clicks shut behind her, sealing me in the office with Principal Tremayne. The sudden silence is deafening, save for the faint sound of his fingers drumming against the desk.

I turn my head slowly, and that’s when I hear it—a low, threatening growl rumbling from his direction.

It’s not full Werewolf-mode yet, but it’s enough to make my stomach tighten.

Great. Just great.

And why was it sexy?

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