27. Leah
Chapter twenty-seven
Leah
“Welcome, Mr. Waverly,” Principal Morgan gestures towards the seat beside me.
What kind of twisted universe is this? I’m sitting in a Principal’s Office with a scandalized pair of judgmental parents, and the most pressing thought on my mind is how much Silas needs sleep?
The man looks wrecked. I can see the strain under his eyes, a weariness settling into the lines of his handsome face that wasn’t there a week ago. It’s my father’s doing. He’s determined to grind Silas down until he’s nothing but a broken shell.
It doesn’t help that the tabloids are running wild, painting Silas as some sort of predator, which makes my stomach turn every time I think about it.
I watch him as he enters the room, his broad shoulders stiff under the strain of whatever sleep-deprived nightmare he’s just lived through. Still, he carries himself with that same quiet authority, scanning the room with a sharpness that makes everyone else seem to be moving in slow motion.
Including me.
The tension in the room thickens as he sits beside me. My heart hammers as I try to figure out how to act around him, especially with all these eyes on us. I know they’re all judging—hell, half of them probably read that trash headline this morning about me being groomed.
I feel their gaze like a hot, searing weight on my skin, but I lift my chin. I’ve been around Hollywood sharks long enough to know when to play the part. Screw them.
Wait, do I smell alcohol?
Silas doesn’t even glance at me when he speaks, his voice low and tired but still carrying that unmistakable edge. “Why wasn’t I called directly about this? I’m Caleb’s father.” He turns his attention to Principal Morgan, whose nervousness is palpable.
The principal fumbles with her papers, her stiff blazer making her look even more rigid than usual. “We, uh, we couldn’t get through to you, Mr. Waverly. Caleb gave us Leah’s number instead.”
Silas exhales sharply and rubs a hand over his face, sitting back heavily in the chair. I feel like I’m witnessing a man trying not to drown. For a brief second, his hand rests on the arm of the chair between us, close enough to mine that I can feel the warmth radiating from him. I resist the urge to reach out. Barely.
“I’m here now,” he says. “What’s this incident Leah called me about?”
Before I can answer, one of the other parents, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and an attitude that says he thinks he’s better than everyone in the room, jumps in. “The incident is that your son punched my son in the face. Look at his eye!” He gestures to the kid beside him, slouching in his chair with a bruised eye that’s already turning a nasty shade of purple.
Is it just me, or does this kid look like a troublemaker?
I shoot Silas a quick glance, trying to gauge his reaction. He’s been drinking—I can tell. His jaw tightens, and I can almost see the gears turning in his head, trying to make sense of the accusation.
“Caleb isn’t violent,” Silas says, his voice calm but with a bite that makes the other parent flinch. “There has to be more to the story. Hey kid, why did Caleb hit you?”
“Uh, I—I was, uh," the kid stutters.
“More to the story?” the mother chimes in, her voice shrill enough to pierce the window’s glass. “The more to the story is that your son needs to be suspended for this. Billy looks like he got hit by a truck!”
Okay, easy with the hyperbole.
“Their final exams are in a couple of weeks,” Silas says.
“Final exams or not.” She rolls her eyes.
I can’t help but flinch at the mention of final exams. Caleb’s been working so hard to get into Livingston High, and a suspension now could ruin everything. I glance at Silas again, wondering if he’s thinking the same thing.
Principal Morgan clears her throat and shifts uncomfortably in her chair. “Mr. Waverly, we’re considering a probationary suspension.”
The words hang in the air like a death sentence.
“What did you just say?” Silas sits up, his eyes sharper. “Repeat those words.”
“Mr. Waverly, we have a no-violence policy, and the last thing—”
“What did the kid say that triggered Caleb?” Silas beats the large desk. “It’s a simple enough question.”
Something clicks in my brain then—something that smells rotten. Is this my father? The situation stinks like it has his fingerprints all over it. He’s not above using his connections to manipulate the situation, and if he can tank Caleb’s future to get at Silas, he absolutely would.
I feel a surge of anger boiling in my chest.
I turn sharply toward the principal, the question spilling from my lips before I can think it through. “How much is my father paying you to ruin things for Caleb?”
Silas’s head snaps toward me, surprise flickering in his eyes. I don’t look at him. I’m too busy watching the principal, who goes from pale to blotchy red in seconds. She delicately touches her glasses, balancing them on her nose, but I can tell she’s trying to buy time.
“The lady asked you a question, Morgan.” Silas doesn’t stop looking at me.
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Principal Morgan sputters, her voice rising in pitch.
Liar.
I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms, trying to steady my breathing while I decide how to play this. A bluff? Hell yes.
I glance at Silas, trying to look as calm as I can. “Do you still have that private investigator?” I ask, knowing full well it’s a complete shot in the dark. “The one who can dig into people’s finances?”
Silas doesn’t miss a beat. “Of course,” he says, playing along smoothly. “He’s thorough. Won’t take long.”
Billy’s mom couldn’t look more confused if she tried. “What are they talking about?”
“How much do you think a principal makes?” I ask Silas, touching my chin. “Twenty-thousand a year?”
“Maybe less.” He shrugs.
“I’m curious to see how much our dear Principal Morgan,” I steeple my fingers on her desk and smile sweetly, “has in her account and who from.”
Principal Morgan’s face drains of all color, and I know we’ve hit a nerve.
“You can’t prove anything!” she stammers. “Your father—I mean, Mr. Grayson made a donation to the school. That’s all. That’s not a crime!”
I smirk. “A donation. Sure.”
Silas narrows his eyes, leaning slightly forward, his voice dropping an octave. “Linda,” Silas calls her by her first name, and the principal goes impossibly paler. “If I find out you’ve been bought off, I promise you, I’ll sue this school into the ground.”
She shifts in her seat. “Now, Mr. Waverly, wait a—"
“My son will be back in class tomorrow, and he’ll write his exams like nothing happened.”
I can almost feel the power shift in the room. Silas, calm and unshaken now, is fully in control, and the principal knows it. The parents beside us shift uncomfortably in their chairs.
“Are you on Harvey’s payroll too?” Silas asks the parents, his voice casual but cutting.
The father looks at Silas like he’s insane. “We just want justice for our son,” he says, gesturing to Billy with the black eye again. “We’re not part of your—whatever this is.”
Silas stands, offering his hand to me, which I take without hesitation. The warmth of his touch sends a rush through me, grounding me in a way I didn’t expect.
“I’ll get to the bottom of this,” Silas says, his gaze cutting between the principal and the parents. “But let me be clear: Caleb isn’t violent. And if anyone tries to ruin his future over this, they’ll regret it.” He looks at the kid. “I’m sorry about Billy, but how about we make it so you don’t have to pay a dime for the rest of his education?”
Billy’s eyes go wide. “Like, uh, you would—”
“I’ll take care of it.” Silas stretches a hand to the bald man, who has jumped to his feet. “Are we good, Mr . . . ?”
“Pratchett.” He takes Silas’s hand. “Mr. Rodney Pratchett.”
There’s a fire in Silas’s eyes I’ve never seen before. It’s raw, protective, and undeniably sexy, I can’t lie.
As we leave the office, his hand still firmly around mine, something clicks in my chest. This tired, overworked, ridiculously powerful man—is fighting for his son and me. He’s not backing down, no matter how hard my father pushes or how relentless the press is.
And I realize something as we step out into the hallway, the tension slowly easing from my shoulders.
I never want to be apart from him.