Page 35 of Manhattan Secret
I want to smack the smugness off his face then crush my lips to his and taste all that ego.
My syllabus is pretty strenuous, but these kids are supposed to surpass their normal grades and be able to handle it no problem,. Lachlan is the smartest of the bunch. This shit should have been easy for him, but he’s laughing with his desk partner, and fucking around on his phone, sending me looks hot enough to burn down to the marrow of me.
Enough is enough. I can’t allow him to disturb my class as well as my life.
The rest of the class ping eyes between us, a silent war … waiting for their leader to rip me a new asshole. A baying crowd waiting for a slaughter. They’ve heeded to his law to leave me alone—only now, I’m the one singling out the prince, and they’re waiting with bated breath to see what he’ll do.
I hold my spine and stare firm.
His laughing halts, his curled lip is challenging, and I know I’m about to fold to the school wolf.
It’s only the principal coming through the door that breaks our gazes and puts air back into my lungs.
“Mister Kingston, hello,” I greet with a smile, “what can I do for you?”
“Call me Greg, please. I was passing and wanted to see how you’re settling in with us.”
Oh. Is that a good thing? Margo pre-warned me that the principal runs a tight ship, but I assume any assessment of me will be in a meeting, not him wandering into my classroom.
“Everything is fine, thank you.”
“Good. Good. My door is always open should you have any problems.”
“That’s kind of you, Greg, thank you, I’ll remember.”
He isn’t a bad looking man. I figure he’s in his late forties with only a slight dusting of salt and pepper around his dark temples. He keeps himself in shape because his Tom Ford shirt and suit fit him impeccably. Good teeth, good hair, nice subtle tan. If he isn’t married—by the bare hand, I guess not, then I’m betting he’s a pussy magnet. He carries an air of authority about him that goes deeper than just him being head of the school.
I’m not attracted in the slightest, thank god.
But this is the fourth time this week I happen to bump into him for a ‘chat’ and I’m starting to wonder if those were not coincidences at all.
Once he leaves, I take my gaze automatically to the back of the room, my eyes stray there more often than I like.
Lachlan is glaring black thunder at me, not caring who sees and every muscle in my belly—to which there are not many because working out is not my favorite thing to do unless it involves sitting on the couch—all clench at once.
What the hell is his problem now?
“Is there an issue with your work, Lachlan?”
He stares for a few seconds, slouching as usual, looking like a bum. “Nah. I’ve finished.” Surprised, I blink.
“Right then, sit quietly and let others finish theirs.”
I take my seat, seeing that no one else needs assistance with their paper when I hear the silent vibration of my cell phone.
And nearly die at the unknown number.
Unknown:If he looks at you again like he wants to eat your pussy on the desk, I’m going to end him.
And more.
Unknown:That pussy is going to be mine.
And then a second after.
Unknown:No one tongues you but me. Got it, little mouse?
I lie to myself and don’t admit I knew before the ‘mouse’ comment that the highly inappropriate texts are from Lachlan. I can hardly breathe as my eyes scan them again.
