Page 9 of Spying Under the Mistletoe
Tell me about it. I don’t know the first thing about dealing with that age. I’m hardly admitting that to her, though.
But really, how hard can it be?
“Because you’ll be substituting for Zoe Bryant’s class while she’s on maternity leave, your classroom is right next to Chloe’s. I can arrange it so the adjoining door between the two rooms is left open, should you need help. Plus, then you’ll have easy access to Chloe.”
She doesn’t state what all three of us know to be true. Zoe isn’t officially on maternity leave. But since she’s Ava’s best friend and Liam’s team knows her, we were able to convince her to start her maternity leave a month sooner than planned—at the FBI’s expense.
“Sounds good,” I tell Principal Woodnut.
“You’re really not going to tell her what’s going on?”
“It’s best she doesn’t know.”
The reality is, Principal Woodnut doesn’t know the full truth either. She only knows that I’m there to protect Chloe. That much we could tell her. She doesn’t know about Chloe’s connection to the mafia crime family that’s continuously been on the news over the past five months.
Principal Woodnut nods, deferring to the arrangement.
“I guess there’s nothing left to say. Welcome to Dalhousie Elementary School; if you need anything, be sure to let Ava, Chloe, or me know.” The corner of her mouth twitches for a brief moment, and I try not to wonder what the hell that’s about. “Ava will escort you to your classroom.” Some more twitching of her mouth and she stands up. “Good luck, Mr. Reed.”
I’ve been doing this job long enough to interpret body language and speech patterns. It comes with the territory. Which is why I catch the you’re-royally-screwed, barely suppressed laughter in her tone.
Not exactly reassuring, but a bunch of kindergarteners is hardly a big deal. I’ve served overseas, been shot at, taken down the enemy.
There’s nothing these kids can dish out that I can’t handle.
“Okay, soldier, let me show you around,” Ava says.
We step out of the office.
“Ava, there’s a call for you on line two,” the secretary tells her. “You can take it in Mr. Hauge’s office. He’s not in until later this morning, so he won’t care if you take the call there.”
“Thanks, Jeanine. I’ll be right back,” she tells me and disappears into the room.
The main door to the office swings opens, and a woman enters. Her wavy, shoulder-length hair is the color of a new penny, and she’s wearing a cream knit top with tiny blue flowers and black slacks. Her makeup is on the minimal side, natural.
Christ, she’s fucking gorgeous.
A thick stack of books sits perched in her arms, and her purse dangles from one shoulder.
She takes a step forward as her bag slides down and hooks on the door handle. She continues her forward momentum, but the bag has other plans. Half her body jerks back, and the books tilt precariously in her arms, threatening to crash to the floor.
I spring forward, grabbing for the books as they begin their descent.
Realizing she’s about to lose her precious load, she attempts to hug it to herself and stumbles into me. Forgetting about the books, I instinctively grab her around the waist, bringing her hard against me.
The books hit the floor with a series of loud bangs.
A shocked gasp releases from her soft pink lips, and I loosen my hold on her—much to my body’s annoyance.
“Sorry.” I step back and start collecting the books from the floor.
She crouches to do the same. “You have nothing to apologize for. It’s my bag and the door handle who owe us an apology.” A strand of hair falls in her face.
She shoves it behind her ear as I chuckle at her comment. We both stand up, our arms full of books.
“Where do you need these?” I ask.
“My classroom, but I need to talk to Principal Woodnut first.”
