Page 70 of My Forbidden Billionaire

Suddenly, I feel as if I’m going to faint.

“Please ... take a seat, Miss Andrews. We need to talk about something,” he says, gesturing for me to sit down.

I take the leather chair next to Ms. Abadie and opposite Mr. Thornton’s desk. It makes a soft, squeaky sound—like high quality leather often does—which, in the silence of this grand office, seems amplified at least a hundred times over.

Next to me, Ms. Abadie has, what can only be described as, an evil grin plastered on her face, which makes my skin crawl.

My heart is almost in my throat now beating heavily and painfully.

“Miss Andrews, a few things have come to my attention this morning...” Mr Thornton begins.

The room is starting to spin, so I grab both armrests of the leather chair and hold tightly to them as if I’m on a plane that’s rapidly crashing toward earth.

“I brought them to your attention, Headmaster Thornton!” she says emphatically.

Oh, gosh, she’s not even trying to hide it.

“Ms. Abadie, please ... You’ll have your turn to speak, believe me. But, for now, I’d like to hear what Miss Andrews has to say,” Headmaster Thornton says to Ms. Abadie, holding up his hand.

It appears my worst fears are coming to fruition.

He looks back at me. “As I was saying. It’s been brought to my attention that you—Miss Andrews—might be in some type of ... entanglement with one of the fathers here at Jameson Juniper Hall.”

My ears start to ring.

I try to focus on what he’s saying but his face is now swimming in and out.

“Miss Andrews? Did you understand what I just said?”

“Mhm.”

“Could you, please, tell me if that is true or not?”

“Headmaster Thornton … I really don’t know what Ms. Abadie has told you...”

“It doesn’t matter what she told me. I’m asking you, Miss Andrews. Some serious accusations have been made against you and I need to know your position before we move forward.”

I cannot move. I cannot speak. I cannot even breathe anymore.

He reminds me of my father who used to belittle me for not doing my homework, or my mother chastising me for getting jam all over my summer dress when I was little. And while I’m aware that I’m an adult now, in a professional environment, my body cannot react—I’m simply frozen.

“Oh, come on! Look at her! Look how she’s just sitting there like a deer in the headlights trying to impress you with those big eyes! You’re not actually falling for this act, are you, Headmaster? For this farce, for this—”

“Ms. Abadie, please,” he interjects. “lower your voice.”

I can imagine the secretary outside the office listening with her ear pressed against the door. Oh, the things she’s going to say about me to everyone in the school.

Not that it matters, anyway. Ms. Abadie will take care of that herself.

Honestly everyone here as well as every single teacher in Boston and in the state of Massachusetts will find out about this soon enough. They’ll all know that I’m the literature instructor who…

My hands begin to shake even though I’m still holding tightly to the armrests of the leather chair.

“Miss Andrews? I’m afraid that I’m going to need an official statement from you on this so that I know how to proceed,” he says calmly.

Next to me, Ms. Abadie frets like a ferret in a bucket. “Come on! Out with it already!” she snaps.

“Ms. Abadie, I’m the one asking the questions,” Headmaster Thornton calmly intervenes.

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