Page 36 of Reckless Desire

“My place.”

“Brooklyn Heights?” As soon as I blurt the words out, I realize the mistake.

Hunter jerks his head back and studies me. “Upper East Side.”

“Oh.” I don’t say more, partially relieved he didn’t demand an explanation of why I assumed he lives in Brooklyn and partially because my brain is broken. And not only because of my fucked-up behavior last night.

I got drunk and blacked out. What is wrong with me? I’m a teacher. I can’t get drunk in the middle of the week and sleep at my student’s house. This is bad.

I grab the bag from him and run back to the bedroom.

“How do you take your coffee?” Hunter’s casual voice reaches me before I close the door.

I lean against it. Okay. I can get dressed and leave here without being seen. Hopefully Caroline is at her mother’s. Yeah, probably that’s the case. They must be divorced. He wouldn’t bring me over. And he wouldn’t be out at a bar if Caro was here. Unless he has a babysitter.

Opening the clothes bag, I curse London. But then I look inside a small plastic pouch that hangs on the hanger with my dress and I have to admit she did take care of me. There is clean underwear—I will never look her assistant in the eye again—and brand-new toiletries.

Yesterday’s dress is on a chair in the corner, and my handbag sits on the floor beside it. I find my phone. One missed message from Dan. Okay, that’s not that bad. I need to be at work in one hour. That’s manageable too.

I stuff my things into the clothes bag and hope I can smuggle it into my locker before running into anyone.

The sun is warming up the Manhattan skyline and I pause for a moment to admire the view of Central Park. Wow. Hunter has done well for himself. Then I remember where the money came from and I deflate.

In clean clothes and with my face washed, I feel reasonably normal. The only thing left is the walk of shame. It’s ironic. I slept with Hunter once before and nothing happened between us, and now I’ve slept at his place and again nothing happened. Yet I’m ashamed.

I should be. My brain serves me snapshots of last night and I groan. I don’t remember everything, but I was touchy. And hopefully not chatty as well.

As I leave the room, hoping I can just sneak out, my fortune turns even bleaker as I run into a woman who gasps and jumps, taken aback. She has gray hair cut into a stylish bob and Hunter’s eyes. She must be a relative. His mother, probably. So much worse than a random babysitter.

Wait? Does he live with his mother? Or was she here to watch Caroline? Before I manage to greet the woman, Caroline runs out of another doorway and stops in her tracks. She widens her eyes and gapes like a fish out of water.

“Mrs. Lowe?”

The woman steps back like my name physically attacked her. Hunter appears at the back of the long hallway. “Good morning, Caro. Mrs. Lowe came to walk you to school. It’s a special treat for new students.”

Okay, I can work with that. “Surprise. I hope you’ll accept a muffin for breakfast on the way to school.” Thank God I’ve rediscovered the powers of sentence formulation.

“Really?” Caroline looks at the woman and then at her dad, grinning. She even bounces, delighted as if it was a Christmas morning.

Something good is coming out of this awkward situation. I might turn this into a tradition for all new students. I bask in her joy, and for a moment I forget about my predicament here.

The woman clears her throat. “I’m Caroline’s grandma. Freda Stuart.”

“Sydney Lowe. Nice to meet you.”Please. Ground. Swallow. Me.

“Get ready, pumpkin, so you can get the treat from Mrs. Lowe and won’t be late for school.”

“Don’t call me pumpkin,” Caroline says to her father and turns to me. “Will you wait for me, Mrs. Lowe?”

“Of course.” I exhale a long breath as she returns to her room. Her grandma gives me a skeptical look, mumbles something about helping Caro and leaves.

Thank you, I mouth and Hunter winks. “Come and get your coffee.”

I follow him, walking as though the floors were wired with explosives. I don’t want to be alone with him. In his kitchen. And why is he so rich?

He’s acting friendly. What did I tell him last night? The internal groaning roars in my hungover mind.

The modern kitchen is large, with sleek, beige cabinets and a rectangle island with a range. A breakfast table by the window faces the same side as the guest bedroom.

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