Page 1 of Bad Teacher

1

“Please, have a seat.” Violet gestured at the empty chairs around the oval table. She’d asked Principal Clark to use the conference room for this very awkward conversation she was about to have with this very unsettling man. “Thanks again for coming, Mr. Brodeur.”

“Theo, s'il vous plaît,” he said, and the simple words sent a hum between her legs. Within the couple of months she’d worked at the French language private school, she’d only seen him a couple of times—in passing, when he’d picked up his daughter Marcelle early.

It’d been enough to never want it to happen again. She had a lot to deal with, and a man didn’t enter the equation. Especially a hot man with a strong accent that coated every word with sensuality, expressive chestnut eyes and a tall, broad frame that hinted of trouble.

Snap out of it, lady. She blinked and glanced at the folder sitting on the table. Of course, the principal hadn’t wanted the dirty job of telling Mr. Big Shot that his daughter was failing not only one, but two classes. He’d given this daunting task to Violet, who was still on a probationary period. Violet, who really needed this job to pay for her endless medical bills from the mental breakdown she had a year ago. She shuddered. He’d given it to her because no one else wanted to do it. Still, she couldn’t lose this job—she needed this meeting to go well. “Theo, I’ve learned that your daughter joined us last semester,” she started, with a professional voice.

Theo gave her the slightest nod, his eyes watching her intently. “That’s correct.”

She could have sworn someone had turned off the air-conditioning, because suddenly it felt oddly warm and stuffy in the room. “As you know, she’s been failing a couple of classes.” Unredeemable. Violet sucked in her breath. Ah, how she hated that word. She’d returned to Tulip, California, after almost a year away from family and friends. She’d thought herself unredeemable for a long time, which was why she’d received mental treatment on the East Coast.

“Yes, and I’ve talked to the principal about it. She’s under a lot of stress—”

“She hasn’t complied with mandatory homework and has refused to attend some classes. Her French Literature grades are the worst of them all. They are”—she cleared her throat—“helplessly low.”

“So what? Put her in the intervention program. Get her to do extra credit.”

She opened the folder and produced a couple of class worksheets with nothing but the child’s name filled in, and pushed it to him. “We have.”

He barely looked at the paper. “Who are you again? You’re not her teacher, or the principal, or the school’s counselor.”

“I’ve been acting as Principal Regent while the principal is out of town,” she said, thinking Clark had timed his one-week trip to San Francisco strategically close to this meeting. Most people in school feared Mr. Brodeur, not only because he was assertive and moved around with a cocky swagger, but because he’d made a substantial donation to the school to get his daughter enrolled. And now, six months later, they were about to let her go.

“Okay, cut to the chase,” he said with the pragmatism of a man in his early thirties. Thirty-three. She’d read it on the student’s file. “Do you need a bigger check to make her stay here more palatable to the staff?”

“Not at all,” she said. Warmth spread across her cheeks. “That’s not how we operate. As you know, L’École is a century old school with emphasis in the French culture and we would never—”

“French, yes. But Americans love money,” he cut her off.

Hell, she could use more money. After cutting ties with her family and being disowned financially from them, not to mention divorcing her surgeon husband, Violet was not only starting over at twenty-seven, but starting for the first time in her life—all on her own. Sure, Damian had been generous to buy her a home not too far from his so their kids, Amanda and Trevor, so they would have a safe environment to live in. He also paid her child support, but she spent the money on whatever the kids needed and put the rest in a savings account she’d opened for them. She didn’t use the money for her own personal troubles, and currently there were many. “Not a lie,” she said. “But that’s beside the point.”

“Then what’s your point? Must be bad news for them to get a newcomer to deliver it, non?”

She swallowed. Was it possible to look deep in his eyes and not get disoriented, despite the fact he was an ass? “We’re sorry, but at this point, we believe we can no longer accommodate Marcelle in our school.”

“Do you hear yourself? My daughter lost her mother less than two years ago. She’s still healing. And you want to kick her out?” He surged to his feet, restless.

Not me, personally.“I’m so sorry for your loss—”

“Stop saying you’re sorry, and do your job. What kind of teacher are you?”

“I teach French Literature to first and second grades.” At last, she’d made use of years of studying in a privileged private school in upstate New York and graduating top of her class. “We can’t teach her if she’s not willing to learn,” she said. “I’m about to say something above my pay grade, but from her file, I believe she needs therapy and not more classes.” Principal Clark would kill her when he found out she gave Theo a personal advice while acting on behalf of the school. But she had to be honest. “The few times she’s visited the counselor we have on staff weren’t enough to make a change.” And the way Marcelle behaved in class, always challenging teachers and making students uncomfortable, had the staff and parents complaining. At least that had been what Principal Clark had told her.

He paced the room, anger radiating from him. “I brought her here because I thought with all your century-old experience nonsense you’d be able to get through to her.”

She opened her mouth to apologize again, then hesitated. What good would it do? The man had his reasons, and he hated her right now. “Trust me, I’ve been through some rough patches and I know losing your wife then dealing with all these emotions can’t be easy,” she said, and immediately wondered if he noticed the tremble in her voice at the end. Dark ghosts from her past had haunted her when she’d had left Tulip to seek help, she remembered with a shudder. But she’d gotten help and learned how to be okay with herself.

“You don’t know anything,” he said, throwing his words at her like swords. “You accepted the role to give me the bad news, and expected me to just roll with it? How do you think my daughter will react knowing one more school has given up on her?”

Tension crackled in the air. The thumping of her heart managed to escape her body and fill the space. Damn it, she agreed with him, but she had a job to do. She couldn’t afford to lose her position—it’d been hard enough to land given the fact she had not worked for several years. She couldn’t go back to her mother and stepfather or ex-husband for money. “I hope your daughter will find the help she needs. She seems to be a brilliant child otherwise.” She retrieved a document from the stack of paper and showed it to him. “I need your signature. This is the proof we’ve had this conversation and your tuition payments will stop.”

He grabbed the document from her and shredded it in small pieces. “Go to hell,” he said, before storming out of the conference room.

* * *

Theo strode through the hallways,unable to remember the last time he’d told a teacher to go to hell. He’d thought it before several times, no doubt. Now, anger and frustration squeezed his heart so hard he felt the muscly organ floating up his throat, pulsing wildly. In the past two years, Marcelle had hopped from school to school, not fitting in any institution.

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