Page 1 of Even if You Fall

Instincts were a funny thing.

I’d heard the sayinglisten to your gutmore times than I could count, but I wondered if any of those people ever actually took their own advice. Or if, when their head and heart started getting involved, they let those drown out the warning bells.

I know I had.

“There you are,” a voice like velvet murmured behind me.

The unpleasant chill that had swept up my spine before he’d ever announced himself was identical to the one I’d experienced during our first meeting nearly three years ago...and every one after that. Unfortunately, it’d taken time to get control of the way my mind and my heart shorted out before overriding everything else whenever I so much as looked at him; listened to him speak. Anything, really.

There was just something about the way Owen Vance made you feel when he put his attention on you that was akin to being on top of the world. It made you want toearnhis attention so you couldcontinuefeeling like that.

Before I’d met Owen, I was sure only those who were extremely powerful or famous could harness the rawmagnetism he exuded. But there Owen was, making everyone he encountered either feel like a million bucks, or fall in love with him; all from his humble position as superintendent of the school district I worked for.

The second his arm curled around my waist and started tugging me against him, I maneuvered away. “Don’t,” slipped past my lips on a plea when I’d meant for it to come out as a harsh warning.

“Chlo, look at me.”

“Chloe,” I corrected as I did exactly that. It was hard not to do what Owen Vance asked when he’d somehow managed to perfect the line between compassionate plea and imposing demand.

And I hated that, for just a second, I faltered when I met his stare—sure and intent and like nothing else mattered in the world but me.

But that was a lie . . .

“What are you even doing here?” I asked as I put more distance between us, reaching for my desk like I needed it to stay standing. Then again, he had an uncanny ability to make my knees weak.

His head slanted and expression morphed like my question amused him. “Why else would I be here?”

My head was shaking before he finished speaking because I’d already known he would try to make me think this was about me. Just as I knew it wasn’t. “Don’t do that—don’t act like you’re here for me when we both know you aren’t. Why—” I waved a hand in front of me, my head shaking even harder as my throat betrayed me by tightening. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care why you’re here because I don’t care about you.”

“Chlo—”

“No,” I cried.

Crying . . . I was crying.

I furiously wiped at the few tears that managed to slip down my cheeks and stumbled into the desk when he stepped closer. “You need to leave,” I said before he could continue coming toward me. “My students are gonna start showing up any minute, and I told you that whatever was between us is over.”

“‘Whatever was between us,’” he echoed, sounding wounded when I knew he wasn’t. Even still, the part of me that had fallen for the mask twisted and reached out, wanting to comfort this man who was so good at playing his part.

And then he shifted.

His pain changed to confusion as he took two more confident steps toward me. “Miss Whitlock, you’re confused,” he said slowly, carefully. “I’d be lying if I said some part of me wasn’t flattered by your attention over the years, but there’s never beenanythingbetween us than a professional, working relationship.”

My lips parted to argue, to defend the year of rose-colored bliss and the devastating weeks of feeling like my world was caving in once I’d realized how I’d fallen for his secrets and lies. But they snapped shut when Owen pulled a tri-folded paper from his pocket and opened it in one fluid motion, letting me see the complaint I’d filed against him.

Dread washed over me, but I kept myself standing tall, all while my mind raced, trying to figure out how the complaint had ended up in his hands. Literally.

After a cursory glance at the paper, those penetrating eyes drifted back to me. “This hurt, Chlo,” he mumbled, the low tenor of his smooth voice rippling over me in a way that threatened to make me forget that chill still clinging to my spine.

But I refused to let myself forget that feeling ever again.

“How do you have that?” I asked shakily.

A slow, devilishly handsome smirk stole across his face as he refolded the letter and slipped it back into his pocket. Once there, he pulled on the cuffs of his button-down shirt in a movethat had always made him look that much more powerful to me before. But I knew better now.

It was his one tell . . . he was nervous.

“As I was saying,” he began as he continued toward me, “I’m here foryou.” He glanced around my classroom before those eyes were back on me, his smirk widening. “But ithasbeen a while since I’ve visited my campuses—what, with the holidays, and all. My staff and students need to see me, so what better campus to start with than this one? What better class to start with than yours?”

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