Page 1 of Defending her Heart

CHAPTER ONE

KENDALL

“Paisley, honey. You need to share the pink markers with Hunter and Chloe.”

As adorable as she is, Paisley can be a handful, as most five year olds are. It’s only one week into the school year and she’s already threatened that anyone who touches the pink markers will have to sit in the naughty chair.

She’s been adamant to let her tablemates know who’s the boss of room twenty-eight. And it isn’t me. Well, it is, but they’re more afraid of Paisley’s attitude than mine. I’d be more annoyed at the little girl if she didn’t remind me so much of myself.

We both have a habit of running our mouths and speaking our mind. Although, when I’mMiss Wentworth, one of the three kindergarten teachers at Revere Academy, Boston’s finest private school, I keep ninety-nine percent of my snark and attitude to myself. After school hours, it’s no holds barred.

Little Miss Paisley with her black hair and stunning blue eyes has yet to learn that kind of self-control.

“Pink is my favorite color, and my daddy says I can have whatever I want.”

The perk of working at a prestigious school like Revere is the pay. The downfall is dealing with the elitist mentality of some of the parents and students. They’re not all snobs, but the few who are make up for the rest of them.

I squat so I’m eye-level with the little firecracker. “Your daddy is the boss when you’re at home, but when you’re in school, you need to follow the rules here. What is the number one rule at school, Paisley?”

Her cute little bottom lip sticks out in a pout. “Be kind.”

“And share,” Chloe whispers.

“And no running in the halls,” Hunter adds.

“Chloe’s favorite color is pink too. How would you feel if she took all the pink markers?”

“I wouldn’t let her. I’d get them first,” the little smartass replies, and I hold back my chuckle.

Seeing Chloe’s on the verge of tears, I squeeze her hand and address Paisley. “Can you see how not sharing is hurting Chloe’s feelings? We’re kind to our friends. There are plenty of pink markers. Why don’t you give your friends two each?”

Paisley scrunches her nose, lets out a dramatic sigh, and doles out the markers. “Fine. But I get to keep these four.”

Pick and choose your battles, I remind myself. I’ve requested a meeting with her father to nip this behavior in the bud. Chances are, the parents will send in a nanny, as many do, but I’m hoping her daddy, whom she seems to have wrapped around her little finger, will see the importance of the meeting. So far, I’ve only met her grandparents when they pick her up in the afternoon.

The day goes by quickly, as most do when there’s no second to rest between wiping noses, dealing with sandbox drama at recess, keeping fingers out of noses and off classmates, practicing writing skills, and enforcing good hygiene by washing hands after going to the bathroom. I’m exhausted.

I can’t wait to curl up on the couch with my mom and sister tonight and watch their favorite game shows. Mindless television is exactly what I need, and I’ll cap the weekend off with the Revolutions football game. Riley, Rowan, and I have tried to make most home football games ever since Riley and Walker Bankes got together. Football season has become my new favorite time of year.

The long days and late nights are exhausting though. I wish the NFL would move their games to Saturday nights. Still, it’s fun to hangout with my friends and cheer for Riley’s husband.

Of course, Paisley is the last to get picked up today. I keep her entertained with books and puzzles, and finally, at three-thirty, the headmaster, Ryan Chambers, knocks on my open classroom door.

“Miss Wentworth, Paisley’s grandparents are running late but will be here in a few minutes.”

She leaps from her desk and runs to the door.

“Hang on, Paisley. You need to clean up after yourself before leaving.”

“But you’re the one who took out the books and puzzles.” Oh, that fresh mouth of hers. I curl my lips in and slowly shake my head. “My daddy doesn’t make me pick up.”

Her daddy and I will be having a serious conversation. I’m sure everyone from her grandparents to her nannies dote on her like a fucking princess, but not on my watch. I have no animosity toward the students who come from wealthy households. I do, however, have animosity toward parents who teach their children they’re better than the rest of the world because they were born with a silver spoon in their mouth.

Those parents can shove that silver spoon up their asses.

“We’ve talked about school rules, Paisley. Come clean up, then you can go home with your grandparents.”

Ryan comes over to me while we watch her stomp around the classroom. “She this year’s handful?”

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