Chapter 23
The thing about loving a powerful man is knowing when to stand back and let him take the reins.
Today I’m doing just that.
“What is he doing out there?” Patrick frowns.
I dip my head to peer out the window and onto the front porch to see Tristan pacing, hands on hips, muttering to himself. He’s been up since five o’clock, dressed in his suit, and ready for battle.
Mrs. Henderson is going down ... and to be honest I feel like calling ahead and warning her.
She needs to run.
It was his first official night here with me last night, and he didn’t even come to bed until well after I was asleep, and he was up before I woke this morning. I missed the entire thing.
He stayed up and went through all of Harrison’s past assignments and tests.
He interviewed Harrison in great detail about the goings-on in class and when and why he has been sent out or suspended.
I know that Harrison is a handful, and I’ve been sympathetic to the teachers about his behavior up until this point.
But Tristan has assured me that there is more to this story than I realize.
I’m pretty sure Mrs. Henderson is going to regret giving Harry such a low grade.
He sticks his head in the front door. “Are you ready?” he calls.
“Tristan.” I stare at him.
He raises his eyebrows impatiently. “What?”
“You’re not going to be passive aggressive to Mrs. Henderson, are you?”
He clenches his jaw. “Nope.” He gestures toward the car impatiently, and the boys walk past him into the front yard. “I’m going to be aggressive aggressive.”
I roll my eyes. “Can you not?”
“Claire.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I will not for one fucking minute have him treated in this manner, and if you are asking me to bite my tongue ... it’s best you don’t come.”
“Christ Almighty,” I mutter under my breath. “Can you just be calm, please?” I ask. “You’re stressing me out.”
“I’m stressing you out?” He points to his chest incredulously. “Don’t come, Claire. Sit in the car. Because I am telling you right now: I’m not about to take shit from this fucking teacher.”
Oh jeez. I brush past him and get into the car. It’s big and black and has a new-car smell. Patrick and Harry bounce in the back. They love it and made Tristan drive them around the block ten times last night.
I watch Tristan leave the house and lock the door. He takes a deep breath, drops his shoulders, and undoes his suit jacket with one hand as he walks toward the car.
I smile as I watch him ... Tristan Miles is here, the takeover king. The take-no-shit, get-what-he-wants man whom I used to hate is here batting ... for us . Somehow, he has taken my naughty little boy under his wing.
I don’t think I’ve ever loved him like I do right now.
He gets in and slams the door. “Harrison, you will be coming to the meeting with us, please.”
Harry’s eyes widen in horror. “But—”
“No buts. You need to learn how to defend yourself.”
Oh jeez. I slide down in the seat in dread. I don’t even want to come to this meeting myself ... maybe I can sit in the car?
Ten minutes later we pull up at the school, and Tristan parks the car. We walk into the office. The receptionist does a double take as she sees him. Her eyes flick to me and then back to him, as if questioning what he’s doing here with us.
She’s a real bitch, this one, and I’ve had run-ins with her before.
“Can I help you?” she asks flatly.
“Hello, I’m Tristan Miles. I would like a meeting with Mrs. Henderson, the principal, the vice-principal, and someone from the parent-teacher association, please.”
Her eyes flick to me, and I swallow the lump in my throat.
“When for?”
“Now.” He stares at her deadpan, and I really wish the earth would swallow me up.
“What is this in regard to?” she asks.
“Harrison Anderson.”
“About?”
Tristan glares at her. “Can you please just do your allocated job and book the appointment? This is a private matter.”
Harrison looks up at Tristan and gives him a hopeful smile, and Tristan takes his hand.
I wither ... oh crap.
Aggressive aggressive, here we go.
She glares at him and then twists her lips in annoyance. “That won’t be possible. You need to book a meeting at least two weeks in advance.”
“All right.” Tristan fakes a smile. “I would like you to get the board of education on the phone for me immediately.”
Her eyes widen. “What for?”
“I would like to make a formal complaint to them. It is your duty to contact them on my behalf in the instance of a crisis, is it not?”
She stares at him, shocked, and I drop my head to hide my smile.
He’s such an arrogant ass.
He takes a seat in the waiting area, crosses his legs, and sits back, as if he owns the place.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“I’m not leaving until I have that meeting or speak to the education board.” He shrugs casually. “The choice is yours.” He taps the chair beside him, and Harrison sits down.
“Just a minute,” she says. She disappears into the principal’s office. I know where it is—I’ve been there many times before.
I take a seat beside them, and I can’t look at him—or I’ll burst out laughing.
She reappears a moment later. “Mrs. Smithers, the principal, has had an opening. She can see you now. Mrs. Henderson is in class, so she won’t be attending.”
“Make that call. The meeting doesn’t go ahead without her,” he says as he lifts his chin defiantly.
She stares at him for a moment, as if doing an internal risk assessment.
He glares at her with a silent “don’t fuck with me” attitude.
“Just a minute.” She scurries back into the principal’s office.
“No talking in here,” Tristan whispers to Harry.
Harry nods. “Okay.”
She reappears a moment later. “This way, please.” She shows us into the office. Mrs. Smithers and the vice-principal are seated at the desk.
“Hello.” He smiles calmly. “My name is Tristan Miles, and this is Claire Anderson, my partner, and I’m sure you know Harrison.” He shakes their hands.
Their eyes flick to each other. “Take a seat, please.”
Tristan turns toward the rude receptionist. “You will need to stay and take minutes, please.”
Her mouth falls open. “What?”
“I want this meeting documented. Who will take notes,” he replies as he looks among them, “if not you?”
I bite my lip to hide my smile. Oh, he’s something else.
Mrs. Smithers nods. “Yes, okay. Sheridan, take the minutes, please.” She passes her a notepad and pencil.
Mrs. Henderson rushes into the room all flustered. “I’m here.” She falls into a seat and glances over at Harrison.
Mrs. Smithers links her fingers together on the desk. “How can I help you, Mr. Miles?”
“I would like to discuss the education of Harrison and, in particular, the grading system of his work.” He pulls the assignment from the inside pocket of his jacket. “He got a thirty on this. Please explain to me why.”
Mrs. Henderson shrugs. “It wasn’t any good.”
Tristan’s eyes flicker with anger. “In whose opinion?”
“Mine, and as his teacher, what I say goes.”
Tristan sits back, angered, and I wince ... jeez. Here we go. “Is that so?” He smirks. “I would like this assignment independently graded.”
“No, that’s not possible, and why would you want to do that?”
“Because Harrison Anderson is being victimized by you because you have a personality clash with him.”
“Oh please,” Mrs. Henderson huffs. “I try and teach him, but there is nothing in his head.”
The principal lets out an audible gasp.
Tristan smiles. “And there it is.” He turns to the receptionist. “Did you get that?”
The receptionist nods nervously.
“You’ve just signed your termination letter, Mrs. Henderson.” He smiles sweetly.
She glares at Harry.
“I’ve personally checked this assignment, and it is not a thirty—perhaps an eighty at worst. You grade him low on every test on some personal power trip.”
“Oh, that is rubbish,” she scoffs.
Tristan pulls out a folder from his briefcase. “I have every single test of Harrison’s right here, and I would like an independent grader.”
“He’s rude, and he needs to repeat.”
“He’s gifted and tired of being discriminated against. Tell me, Mrs. Henderson, have you ever had his IQ tested?”
“No ... but—”
“Do you think it’s possible that you are intimidated by this child, and you purposely try and get him sent out of class so that he doesn’t activate your own inferiority complex?”
“Oh, that’s ridiculous,” Mrs. Smithers retorts. “You are very rude, Mr. Miles.”
Tristan turns his attention to her. “On another topic, Mrs. Smithers, I would like a report on what you are doing to help Patrick Anderson.”
Her eyes widen. “For what?”
“He has dyslexia, and under state law your school receives special funding for extra help for him. Where is it?”
Oh, he’s good.
“I don’t appreciate you coming in here and slinging your accusations around,” Mrs. Smithers snaps.
Tristan glares at her. “And I don’t appreciate incompetence.” He stands. “You will be hearing from the education board with regard to this matter.” He takes Harry’s hand. “Harrison won’t be back. Nor Patrick, for that matter.”
My eyes widen ... what?
“And where are you going to send him?” Mrs. Henderson smirks sarcastically.
“They’ll be attending Trinity School.”
“Ha,” Mrs. Smithers laughs. “He won’t get in there. They won’t take him with his behavior record.”
“We’ll see.” He smiles at the people in the room with an eerie confidence. “You know, intelligent people scare stupid people.” He turns to the woman taking notes. “Did you get that?”
She glares at him.
“What does that supposed to mean?” Mrs. Henderson snaps.
“What is that supposed to mean,” Tristan corrects her. “Let’s go; we are wasting our time here.”
He marches out the door, leading Harrison by the hand, and we walk out through the playground. I had considered moving schools before but thought the boys had had enough changes to deal with. “Do you want to go and say goodbye to your friends?” Tristan asks him.
“Nah, my friends don’t even go here anymore.”