Page 2 of Tempting the Teacher

From then on, he either ignored me or guffawed when someone threw an asinine, cutting comment my way. Each one a tiny slash, and a reminder of our different worlds. The only time he paused, the only time his cruel facade cracked, was during computer science class. Here, in our sanctuary of code and logic, we had a fragile truce as programming partners. During those moments, when we were buried in lines of code, troubleshooting errors and building virtual worlds, he was almost human. Almost.

Sometimes I caught glimpses of something more in his eyes. A glimmer of curiosity, respect, or even understanding that lurked in his eyes. I was so young, dumb, and dammit, fucking stupid, that I ate up the molecule-sized crumbs he threw. Hoping, always hoping, that today would be the day he treated me outside of class the same way he did inside. But as soon as the bell rang, the mask would return, and he was Chad Carrington again: the unattainable elite, the boy who lived in a stratosphere where I didn’t belong. Those moments of almost-human connection haunted me more than the insults. Confusing my young mind with a swirl of possibility and rejection. A fleeting touch of what could have been, only to be snatched away again.

Even after all these years, the wound was still there, raw and aching. A part of me had never quite recovered from that first cruel joke in the hallway, that first look of disdain in his eyes. It had shaped me, driven me, and yet it had also left a void, an unanswered question that lingered in the shadows. Why did he have to be like that? Why did he choose to be that person? The memories were like a twisted puzzle, pieces that didn’t quite fit, a picture that never made sense.

And now, after fifteen years, I had to face him again. I brushed down the goosebumps on my arms. How much had he changed? How much had I?

Lost in thoughts, I jumped at my incoming email notification. Clicking it open, I freeze at the name leaping off the screen: Chad Carrington.

My heart hammers so hard my hands tremble. The email is brief, formal, and infuriatingly polite. I picture the Amazon warrior who guarded him from me with her appointment binder and silver pen as her shield and sword, typing the missive. Asking for a meeting at the reunion to discuss “an important matter.” The tone was all business, yet it transported me back to our before scene. The moment when he first took my heart and crushed it like limestone in a quarry.

“Important matter? Who does he think he is, the president?” I mutter, staring at the screen as though it will reveal some hidden agenda.

I glance over at the workstation Noel had occupied, feeling a surge of rebellion. Noel might have convinced me to attend, but she hadn’t said anything about playing nice with Chad.

With a huff, I fired off a response, choosing my words carefully, yet letting a touch of sarcasm seep through. It was my small act of defiance, a declaration that I wasn’t a timid sophomore anymore.

As I hit send, a grin spread across my face. Let the reunion games begin. Chad Carrington was about to find out that Raya Bradley had come a long way since high school. And if he planned to stomp on my heart again, he’d better be prepared to pull back a stump.

Chad

Positioned at eye level, my tri-fold monitors offer a panoramic view of Raya’s response on every screen. I lean back in my leather chair, letting my fingers drum on my sleek glass-topped desk. The words are crisp and clear on my Super Retina XDR panels. The expensive toy doesn’t soften the blow.

“Not interested,” she replied, in a painfully polite. Heavy sarcasm woven skillfully into her words as intricately as a spider’s gossamer web. Short, to the point, no greetings, no pleasantries. Just the cold, hard truth. She isn’t interested in meeting with me. Any other person would have at least added an apology. She doesn’t bother to say sorry, because we both know she isn’t.

A grin spreads across my face as I read the words once more. That’s the Raya I remember—defiant, determined, never one to be pushed around. Even in high school, when I shoveled a lot of shit her way. Shit, she didn’t deserve. If I was fighting her, she was lacing up her gloves. I spent days verbally kicking her while she was down, except she never fucking stayed down. I hated myself for what I did to her, but I never lie and said she was my victim. Hell, half the time, she gave as good as she got. Sending me home with insults that landed more than one snarky black eye. The thing that made her infuriating and fascinating was that in Comp Sci, she put the battlements away. How could she work with me, Monday through Friday, and not sucker punch me on the back of my head with our textbook? I never understood it. But I played by the rules, which said that the lab was our safe space. Like kids playing tag, we could hit, kick, run, and chase, do all that crap until we reached the base—until we touched the safe spot at home. If you made it home, no one could tag you.

The lab was our home. I worked on building the code that would one day become the Night Orchid Operating System, known to the world as NOOS. While Microsoft might have conquered the world with their OS. NOOS made a point of moving into less developed nations, offering a lighter-weighted version that is more accessible and requires less operating power while not sacrificing speed or efficiency and is completely compatible with the other two major OSs that dominate wealthier parts of the globe. We make our computers from weather-resistant bamboo and use chips made from inexpensive recycled materials. Does she know our conversations fueled this drive toward accessibility?

Does she remember telling me she stayed late at school because she didn’t own a home computer? Then, smiling at my shocked face, she added. “It’s okay. Not everyone does, you know?” Honestly, I hadn’t. It never even occurred to me. Everyone I knew had one. And, well, shit, my small world revolved around me. Circling in that orbit was a galaxy of faux friends as clueless as I was. She gave me her truth with a shy smile. She wanted to be fucking friends. Except that wasn’t going to happen. Couldn’t. Nope, she was too young. Three years is a fucking lifetime in high school. Too corny, from her clothes to her apple pie values. After years of being rejected by parents who never wanted me—something they told me every time I fucked up. Parents who bragged about getting vasectomies and tubal ligations. Yes, I knew about both procedures by third grade. I wasn’t about to be rejected by people I shouldn’t have given two fucks about. I’ve earned her cold shoulder with my foolish arrogance and juvenile attempts to fit in with the so-called cool crowd. If I could go back and kick my own ass over the way I treated her, I would. How could I have been so blind? So stupid? I need to make things right. I owe her that much.

My phone buzzes with an incoming call from Rick Spencer, my COO. A quick swipe declines his call. I’m not focusing on NOOS this week. Night Orchid has stolen my free time and energy for years. Even my parents complain that they never see me. Complaints, which really mean that their wealthy, influential friends never see me with them. I close the email and retract the monitors into the desk’s hidden pocket. It’s been a long time since Raya and I clashed, but she can’t possibly think I’d let an email stand between me and something I want.

When I answer the brisk knock on my door, Jules, my office assistant, strides into the room. The custom carpet bows beneath her black leather pumps. She’s carrying a file full of paperwork, her face lit, behind her designer glasses, with a blend of curiosity and bemusement. “Chad, I’ve confirmed all the arrangements for your trip. The cleaning crew took care of refreshing the house and stocking the refrigerator.” Nodding at her efficiency, I close my briefcase while she waits—watching me curiously. “I still can’t believe you’re taking an entire week off. Heck, you only took off three days when your grandmother died.”

“It’s time, Jules. I need to take care of some unfinished business.”

“Unfinished business, huh?” She arches an eyebrow. “Funny way to describe a high school reunion—most people go to reconnect with friends.”

“Can’t it be a bit of both?” I ask, taking the file from her hand, and reviewing it, before scrawling my name across the signature line and handing it back to her.

“Well, wrap up your business,” she gives me air quotes. “And get back here, asap. I’m not dealing with Rick the Dragon on my own.”

Since she’s slayed the Rick Dragon more than once, I merely shrug. I don’t know what’s going on with those two and I don’t need to know. As long as they keep NOOS going, I’m content to ignore the smoldering heat that simmers beneath the surface whenever they enter the same room. “Don’t worry. I’m leaving everything in both of your capable hands. Just don’t let the place burn down without me.”

“Never. But don’t check the office cameras while you’re away. You’re not invited to the wild office party I’m planning while you’re gone.”

I grin as she returns to her desk. I kind of wish she would. Jules is more of a workhorse than I am. It would be great for her to take a break. She tap-danced around it, but she recognizes that this trip is more than just a break from work. It’s a chance to set things right.

I head out of the building, my mind drifting back to that first glimpse of Raya. The way time stopped, and my heart skipped like a deejay scratching out a musical beat. I surfed around the corner of the hallway surrounded by the river of people who surged around me. And there she was—the living embodiment of sexy. The first thing I noticed were her curves. Damn, she couldn’t have been over sixteen, but her jeans looked like an infatuated artist had painted them on. At seventeen, my dick hadn’t yet learned the word control. Hell, when I saw her again at my grandmother’s funeral, it had the same reaction. Understandable since she had the same fucking curves, only they’d stretched and rounded until they slid around her adult frame. When I tore my teen eyes away from a body I wouldn’t have known what to do with any way to her face—I was done. A future software engineer and tech genius and nothing computed. She had the wide almond-shaped eyes of her Persian ancestry. A family history I would find out about later, as her mother was African American and her father was from Iran. But that day, her family could have been from the far side of the moon with the glow she carried. How the hell did a young woman carry a light so sweet and fucking pure that it shone from her nutmeg-colored skin and russet-colored eyes? Not red, not brown, but a color halfway in between. It may have been a trick of the sunlight streaming down the hallway from the school’s glass entrance, but a damn halo glowed behind the soft curls of her hair. An angel—one not meant for me, because no one was. Newsflash: If you tell a kid enough times that he’s not wanted—he’ll believe you. So simple. So true. How many lives wouldn’t have been ruined, how many jails could have been emptied, if people had just felt wanted? Valued?

I looked at Raya, so pretty and perfect, and hated her with every atom. Instantly. Everything about her screamed she was loved, protected… cherished. She didn’t have to scrounge around for crumbs of affection. Hoping her parents would notice her achievements or care about her failures. Nothing I’d done garnered their attention. Nothing. I’d fucked up as much as a kid could, and they’d only sent me further away. Stuck me in a pissant town so small, it barely needed streetlights. Seriously, who were they fooling? Bear Ridge had a traffic jam as often as I sat down in church.

I stared Raya down and swore I wouldn’t fall for some hick, farm girl. Wouldn’t my parents just love that? My friends back in boarding school would die laughing. I had a rep to protect, and she wouldn’t fit. No matter how adorable she looked with her skin peeking through the rips of her denim.

I did not do adorable.

No, fucking way.

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