29. Mary
Twenty-Nine
Mary
It’s been a whole week.
Seven days since I’ve spent the night with Kai.
One hundred and sixty-eight hours.
Not that I'm counting.
Okay.
I'm absolutely counting.
Because while Kai and I talk every night, sometimes for hours, and he calls me every morning on his drive into whatever mysterious bodyguard thing he's currently doing, I still miss him.
Which is ridiculous.
We've only been together—together?
Dating?
Fake dating?
Whatever this is.
We've only been doing it for a few weeks.
Yet somehow I miss him.
His laugh.
His terrible jokes.
His constant texts.
The way he calls me Firecracker.
Like it's my real name.
The way he says goodnight every evening.
Like it's a promise.
And because life apparently enjoys irony, this week of all weeks has been insane.
The St. Patrick's Day Gala is Saturday—tomorrow.
Meaning everyone at Our Lady of Grace Academy is running around like their hair is on fire.
Sister Agnes has transformed into some sort of tiny Irish general.
Father Peter is pretending not to notice.
Former class mom, Aella Ramirez is handling decorations.
And her cousin, also a former class mom, Clementine Callahan, has somehow convinced half the town to donate auction baskets.
Sabrina has spent three days making centerpieces with her kindergarten class.
Which means every surface in the faculty room currently sparkles.
The final prep meeting tonight has gone on forever.
It's already after six.
And I'm gathering papers when Sister Agnes claps her hands.
“Well done, ladies. Go home before I assign more work.”
Everyone laughs.
I smile.
Because in another thirty minutes, Kai is picking me up.
Dinner.
A real date.
Just us.
I practically float back to my classroom to collect my purse.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Kai /Tough Guy
Baby, running ten minutes behind. Don't leave without me.
My cheeks heat.
Me
Wouldn't dream of it.
Kai
Damn right.
I smile like an idiot.
Then I hear slow clapping.
The sound freezes me.
Because I know that voice.
“Well, well. No bodyguard tonight, Miss Donahue?”
Joel Jonas.
My smile dies instantly.
He's standing in my doorway.
And for the first time since that awful night at the dance, I truly understand why Kai hated him on sight.
The expensive suit is still there.
The polished shoes.
The perfect hair.
But something about him looks wrong tonight.
Unhinged.
His eyes are too bright.
His pupils are too large.
His smile is too wide.
Almost manic.
Like a man running on too much adrenaline and too much belief in his own importance.
He's handsome in the way magazine covers are handsome.
Artificial.
Manufactured.
But his face is flushed, his movements jerky, and underneath the expensive cologne I catch something sour.
Sweat.
Panic.
Desperation.
A man high on his own power.
A man so used to getting whatever he wants that the word no has become a personal insult.
And somehow, that makes him even scarier.
Because crazy men are unpredictable.
“Mr. Jonas?” I ask carefully. “What are you doing here?”
“Please call me Joel.”
“No.”
His smile widens.
Too wide.
“Still contrary as ever, Mary, Mary.” He chuckles to himself. “But that's okay. Makes the chase more exciting.”
Every instinct inside me screams.
I move toward my desk instead of toward the door.
Closer to my phone.
Closer to the panic button Sigma International Security installed after Sabrina's attack.
“School hours are over, Mr. Jonas,” I say evenly.
“Indeed, they are.” He smooths his tie. “I thought I'd speak with Father Peter about the permits and offer my regrets over the unfortunate delays.”
His eyes travel slowly over me.
“But it seems the evening won't be a total waste after all.”
Then he closes the door.
My pulse spikes.
“Open that door.”
“Oh, Mary.” He laughs softly. “Relax.”
I hate the way he says my name.
Like we're intimate.
Like we're friends.
Like he owns some part of me.
“So,” he says conversationally. “Did you enjoy the newspaper article, Red?”
My blood turns to ice.
He smiles.
Actually smiles.
“You did that.”
“Me?” He places a hand over his heart dramatically. “I'm a councilman, not a journalist.”
His grin returns.
“But I know people.”
My stomach churns.
“If you're interested in a retraction, I bet I could pull a few strings.”
He shrugs.
“It won't cost you anything.”
His gaze drops to my mouth.
“Just dinner.”
He takes another step.
“Or we could skip dinner and go right to dessert.”
Revulsion rolls through me.
“Are you serious?”
He looks offended.
“Perfectly.”
“You publicly humiliated me, and now you think I'm going to go out with you?”
“Oh, don't be dramatic.”
He waves a dismissive hand.
“Consider it a little lovers' quarrel.”
The room suddenly feels too small.
Too quiet.
Too empty.
He isn't touching me.
But he doesn't have to.
Men like Joel Jonas don't need fists.
They weaponize pressure.
Money.
Fear.
Power.
And despite the rage boiling inside me, I'm not stupid.
If he lunged at me right now, he outweighs me by at least sixty pounds.
He could hurt me.
Maybe not badly.
But enough.
Enough to frighten.
Enough to remind me he can.
Still—I refuse to let him see that fear.
He walks closer.
Not touching me.
Yet.
“We are not lovers, Mr. Jonas.”
“Joel. And it’s only a matter of time, really.”
“Not happening. Not now. Not ever.”
Something ugly flashes across his face.
Gone in an instant.
Replaced by that manic smile again.
“Listen to me, you little shrew. I gave you every opportunity to avoid all this unpleasantness.”
His voice sharpens.
“How many offers does a woman like you even get?”
Horror washes through me.
“You total asshole.”
His eyes narrow.
“You think you rejected me, you fat bitch?”
Of course, insult the woman you covet when she says no.
Typical bully bullshit.
He actually laughs.
A strange, brittle sound.
“No, sweetheart. What you and that Neanderthal boyfriend of yours did was publicly embarrass me.”
His face reddens.
“And now you owe me.”
There it is.
The truth.
Male ego.
Fragile.
Ugly.
Dangerous.
“I don't owe you anything!”
“You led me on!”
“I absolutely did not! You cornered me!”
“Oh, please.”
His voice rises.
“You were practically gushing over all the donors I brought to that fundraiser for these stupid brats.”
The nerve.
The absolute nerve.
“Admit it, Red.”
“Do not call me Red.”
“You got all hot and bothered and then overreacted when I tried to get some of what you'd been flashing all night in that tight dress.”
I feel sick.
Not ashamed.
Angry.
Violently angry.
“My dress has nothing to do with anything!”
His smile turns cruel.
“You were begging for attention.”
“No.”
“You wanted me.”
“No.”
“You wanted—”
“No, Mr. Jonas, you are grossly mistaken! And you don't get to touch people without consent!”
For one second, his expression turns frightening.
Cold.
Flat.
Almost empty.
Then the smile comes back.
“Really? Tell that to your roided-out thug boyfriend who attacked me for no reason!”
My hands are shaking now.
Not from fear.
From fury.
“Get out.”
He doesn't move.
“Those permits?”
My breath catches.
“The gym?”
He smirks.
“Terrible shame.”
Realization dawns.
“You son of a bitch.”
“Things could change. It’s in your power, Red.”
My blood runs cold.
“Don't.”
“Spend one evening with me and I guarantee every permit gets approved.”
I stare at him.
Disgusted.
Furious.
Somehow this man actually believes I can be bought.
He really doesn't know me at all.
“Those children deserve that gym,” I tell him quietly.
“Exactly.”
“But no one deserves anything enough for me to sell myself to you.”
His face darkens.
“You'll regret that.”
“Maybe.”
I point toward the door.
“But you'll regret staying.”
“Mary—”
“GET OUT!”
Instead of leaving, this sleazeball starts wandering around my classroom.
Looking at student artwork.
At the tiny chairs.
At the paper shamrocks hanging from the ceiling.
Like he belongs here.
Like he has some right to any of this.
“Knock it off,” he says with a strange laugh. “Nobody can hear you anyway. Besides, we both know what you really want.”
I freeze.
Because beneath the arrogance and the expensive suit, there's something wrong with him tonight.
Something unstable.
And suddenly I realize this isn't just an obnoxious man.
This is a dangerous one.
“Mr. Jonas, my boyfriend is on his way here. You need to leave.”
He turns and grins.
My stomach drops.
“And you really need those permits reinstated.”
“Stop talking and go.”
“All those delays, Red. Donors pulling out.”
“Leave.”
He takes another step.
I can smell alcohol on his breath now.
And something chemical underneath it.
“But I can bring it all back,” he snarls. “You just have to play ball.”
Then his hand shoots out.
His fingers wrap around my wrist.
Hard.
“Let go of me!”
His eyes glitter.
He enjoys this.
Enjoys having power over people.
Enjoys watching me struggle.
“Things can still change, Mary Donahue.”
“Excuse me? Let. Go.”
His grip tightens.
“Permits can reappear.”
“Let go!”
“Donors can come back.”
“You are hurting me!”
“The gym can be built.”
My blood runs cold.
“What are you really saying?” I whisper. “You want me to sleep with you and you'll give everything back?”
His smile turns oily.
Disgusting.
“You said it.”
“No.”
“We can discuss it over dinner.”
“No.”
“You don't have a choice.”
And he yanks me toward him.
Rage explodes through me.
Not fear.
Not anymore.
Anger.
Pure anger.
I jerk backward.
He stumbles.
His fingers slip.
Good.
“You disgusting pig!”
My hand flies before I even think about it.
Crack.
The slap echoes through the classroom.
For one second, he just stares at me.
Then his face transforms.
All pretense gone.
“You just made a big fucking mistake, you fat bitch!”
I actually laugh.
The sound surprises both of us.
Because suddenly?
I'm done being scared.
“Let me explain something to you, Mr. Jonas.”
He blinks.
“You're the only person in this room who's made a mistake tonight.”
I retreat behind my desk.
I see my phone.
But my thumb hovers over the panic button.
“Those children deserve that gym, and they're going to get it.”
His face darkens.
“With or without you.”
He lunges forward and slams both hands down on my desk.
Pens scatter.
Papers fly.
My coffee mug tips over.
“I have friends!” he shouts. “This isn't over!”
“Yes, it is.”
I point towards the door.
“Get out.”
“You'll regret this.”
And that's when I smile.
Actually smile.
Because there's something he doesn't know.
Something he's forgotten.
“You know what your biggest mistake was tonight?”
His eyes narrow.
“What?”
“You assumed I was lying when I said my boyfriend was coming.”
The classroom door opens.
Both of us turn.
And suddenly my heart leaps into my throat.
Because standing there—broad shoulders filling the doorway, black shirt stretched over muscle, dark eyes absolutely lethal—is Kai.
My Kai.
And he’s ten minutes early.
His hazelnut gaze finds me first.
Always me.
Checking.
Assessing.
Making sure I'm safe.
His eyes drop to my wrist.
To the spilled coffee.
To the mess on my desk.
Then they land on Joel Jonas.
And I have never seen a human being go so cold.
“Firecracker, you good?”
His voice is calm.
Terrifyingly calm.
I swallow.
“Yes, Kai. I'm good.”
He nods once.
Steps inside.
And somehow the entire room changes.
Because Joel Jonas might have money.
He might have power.
But Kai Montego?
Kai looks like a man who would walk into Hell itself if I asked him to.
“Good,” he says softly.
Then his eyes return to Jonas.
“Now.”
He loosens the cuffs of his shirt with deliberate slowness.
“Why is this man in your classroom?”
Joel laughs nervously.
“Oh, come now, Montego. Mary and I were just discussing—”
“My question wasn't for you.”
The room goes silent.
Kai's eyes never leave mine.
“Firecracker?”
I take a shaky breath.
“He offered to reinstate the permits if I'd sleep with him.”