Page 2 of The Omega Lesson

Screw that.

But I just nod and leave. I’m not petty enough to slam my way out, but when I realise Maureen isn’t at her desk, I can’t resist lingering. And my spine stiffens as I hear Drummond say, “Well, she’s clearly not a team player. But maybe she just needs a guiding hand.”

Hishand, no doubt, which is leathery thick from all the punishment he’s doled out over the years. My lip curls at the thought of him guiding me anywhere, but Headmaster Miller seems intrigued. “You want to mentor her, Drummond?”

“Best way to learn is to get amongst it, right?” Even through the door, the eagerness in his voice makes my hackles rise. “She could be my apprentice for a bit. See how we deal with the naughty boys up close.”

The headmaster makes a grunting sound – whether in scorn or amusement, I can’t tell. But maybe that’s because all the blood in my body is rushing to my ears.Drummond wants me to sign up as his sadistic side-kick?

I’m tempted to throw caution to the wind and storm back inside, but the headmaster’s secretary suddenly reappears with a coffee in hand. She gives me a suspicious look as she notices me lingering near the door. “Can I help you, Miss Novak?”

I shake my head, knowing that if I open my mouth, any number of inappropriate things might slip out.

So much for your iron control, I chide myself as I head back to my office. It’s a tiny space at the back of my classroom, made all the more claustrophobic by the crates of mismatched school supplies packed into every corner. Other than a dusty rubber plant and an old coat rack, there’s only enough room for a small wooden desk I share with Robyn, the other female English teacher on staff.

Robyn’s been a godsend while I’ve tried to navigate my way through Prendiville. She’s a tall, elegant blonde with catwalk grace from her years as a model in Europe, although she’s settled down with a pack now. She doesn’tneedto work, but she enjoys it. The students keep her young, she often tells me, and forcing literature down their throats keeps her alpha command on point.

She looks up from the antiquated computer we share, her slim brows pulling together as she takes in my strained face. “What the hell did the old barnacle say to you now?”

I grunt and flop into my chair. “It was an ambush. Drummond was there because Matthew went walkabout from my class today. And then Miller said his parents asked for a last-minute conference slot. They’re probably itching to give me a few whacks, too.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Robyn says as she nudges a water bottle across the desk at me. “They must be coming to discuss something else, because there’s no way Matthew dropped you in it. That boy adores you.”

I avoid her gaze as I take the bottle and press the cool plastic to my flushed cheeks. Pretty dresses might be expected for alumni events, but suits are required in the classroom, which means blazers, pantyhose, and high heels for Robyn and me. Goddamn archaic, given the scorching hot climate and lack of proper air-conditioning in most of the buildings. But I suppose you can hardly whine about your creature comforts when your students are being pummelled by the resident sadist.

“It gets worse,” I tell her. “Once they were done with me, I hung around outside and heard them talking. Drummond suggested I become his apprentice.So he can show me how to handle the naughty boys.Can you believe it? They must have missed the bit on my CV where I volunteered at Justice Action through uni.”

Robyn makes a choking sound. “They want you to be the school’s…Mistress of Discipline?”

Well, shit. I hadn’t thought about that, but now I’m picturing the field day the other staff will have with my new title. I get enough crap about my age and gender without being given a wooden paddle with my name etched on it.

Robyn shakes her head, clearly outraged on my behalf. “What complete tossbuckets. Do they have any idea what that will do to you? Not to mention how many new offenders we’ll be dealing with once they realise the hot young teacher is handing out the punishments?”

Ugh.

I’m not sure about the hot part, but with my mum’s dark hair, and my dad’s European skin tone, some people have called me striking. Which, when I think about it, is probably a key job requirement for a Mistress of Discipline.

Ugh!

“Well, I didn’t spend a summer training as a student advocate to end up in high heels and a whip.”

Robyn’s mouth quirks at that. “God, don’t give them any more ideas.” Her Louboutins hit the floor with a thud as she leans towards me across the desk. “Change of subject. How are you going to handle the meeting with Benjamin Cliff?”

I sigh as I grab a pen and fill in the last slot on my conference planner. “Is that his dad’s name?”

Robyn rolls her pretty blue eyes at me. “No, it’s his older brother and legal guardian. And the smoking hot CEO of the Cliff entertainment empire.” I keep my face deliberately blank and she sighs. “From what I’ve heard, Matthew was raised in Sydney, but he got into some trouble and was brought here for a fresh start. According to Maureen, his mum’s not the sort of person the Cliff pack wants associated with their name, so it’s all very hush-hush.”

I knew Matthew was a year older than the other boys, but I didn’t know the backstory. It makes me a little uncomfortable hearing it second-hand, but Robyn isn’t the sort to hold back. “I looked into her when I heard she was a model. Ava Jax was her booking name. We never worked together, but it’s open knowledge on the circuit she lost it all to drink and drugs. Since their dad passed, Matthew’s brother is his legal guardian. Or at least, that’s where Maureen said the bills go.”

“Doesn’t sound like it’s very hush-hush,” I mutter, my heart clenching for Matthew and his less-than-private personal life.

But Robyn just clicks her tongue at me. “Says the eavesdropper at the headmaster’s door.”

Touché.

I drag myself to my feet, trying to smooth out the wrinkles in my white blouse. “I’m going to nip home and change before the conference starts,” I tell Robyn. “I seriously feel like I just swam through a sweat puddle.”

Robyn, of course, could’ve just stepped off the catwalk at Milan Fashion Week, and looks me over with her expert eye. “A spritz of skin mist, a change of undies, and a shot of bourbon should do you.”

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