16. Eleanor
Eleanor
He’s kissing me. Headmaster Wright—Theo—is kissing me. Me.
The second the thought forms in my head, he pulls away, as if he’s realized it too. I open my eyes to find his face contorted in horror as he steps back on unsteady legs.
“Oh, God, Eleanor.” He rubs his forehead with jerky, agitated movements. “That was so unprofessional. I— I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” I choke out, incredulous. Surely he must know I wanted that as much as he did.
“I’m your boss.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to make you feel unsafe, to violate your trust—”
Okay, fuck this.
I grab his tie, tugging him back toward me until his hand lands on my car behind me with a thump, his mouth inches from mine.
“What are you doing?” he rasps in surprise.
“I want it. Want you.”
I release his tie to cup his scruffy cheek. His nostrils flare, jaw tight under my hand.
“Kiss me again. Please, Theo.”
His eyelids drop to half-mast, a low growl rumbling deep in his throat. Then he takes my mouth again, firm, hungry, as if he’s held back for too long.
I melt into the feeling of his lips, their softness beside the scratch of his jaw, the insistent way he claims me. His kiss starts slow, deliberate, careful. Just like him. But it’s not long before I feel his control slip, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, urgent now, demanding, taking.
And I’m all too happy to give.
Desire rockets through me, hot and intense, my skin electric with need. I tilt my head, letting him in. Letting him devour me with desperate strokes of his tongue, his hand tightening in my hair, tugging in the most delicious way.
I shouldn’t be kissing my boss like this, but I can’t stop. I can’t make myself care.
I slide my hands up the hard planes of his chest, feeling his heart pound through his vest, winding my arms around his neck, fingers threading into his hair.
God, he’s perfection. The feel of his cheek against me, rough with stubble, the hard, wet press of his mouth, the heat of his chest as it meets mine.
I shouldn’t push my luck, but I can’t help it.
I reach for his ass, gripping the solid globes, dragging him against me.
Heat streaks down my center when I feel the hard ridge of him against my belly, when he moans onto my tongue as our bodies meet.
I need more. I need all of him. Instinctively, I lift my leg, hooking it over his hip, wanting him closer, but this does something to him, makes him break the kiss, sends him staggering back from me with wide, wild eyes.
“No, no, no,” he mutters, dragging both hands down his face. “God, Eleanor—” He glances frantically around the empty parking lot. “We can’t.”
I press my fingertips to my swollen, tingling lips, heart pummeling my ribs. Disappointment rips clean through me, and I try desperately to get him back in my arms.
“Theo,” I say gently, reaching for him again, but he takes another step back.
“No.” His usual frown returns, shoulders back in their rigid position, hands jammed into his pockets as if to stop himself from touching me again. “This can’t happen.”
I swallow, letting my hand drop.
Of course this can’t happen. What was I thinking? I have to work with this man—technically, for this man—and my work matters to me. Greatly. I should be grateful he stopped this before it went too far, because I sure as hell wasn’t going to.
But I’m struggling to find any gratitude right now.
He takes a step closer, softening. “I’m sorry. I wish…” But he doesn’t finish the sentence, and I’m left silently wondering what he wishes. If it’s the same thing as me.
“It’s okay,” I force myself to say, smoothing a hand over my mussed hair. “I understand.”
He gazes at me, expression agonized, mouth opening and closing, as if he can’t settle on what to say. At last, he exhales a long, jagged sigh of bitter resignation.
“Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe.”
Confusion swims through me as I reach for the door handle with shaking hands, but all I say is, “Okay.”
And for the second night in a row, I drive out of that parking lot with Theo in my rear-view mirror.
I spend the next two weeks avoiding Theo.
It’s for the best, I tell myself, even if every day feels worse because of it.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d come to enjoy our work sessions.
I understand why we can’t take things further, even if I don't like it, but I miss working together on the fundraiser and Safe Harbor.
Not that we’re not working on it, we just aren’t doing it together. Instead, he emails me tasks to do, people to contact, venues and caterers to inquire with, and I respond with a politely distant and professional tone. The way a teacher should communicate with the headmaster.
It’s my own fault we’re in this position.
I let myself get carried away in that garden, talking and laughing, teasing Theo like we’re old friends, like he isn’t my boss, for fuck’s sake.
I shouldn’t have touched him—again—but God, my heart broke as I listened to him flagellate himself because he’d made a mistake with last year’s fundraiser.
Because he isn’t perfect.
All this time I thought he’d been hard on me, on everyone around him, but really that was an extension of his own high standards. Of what he expects of himself.
And it’s too damn much.
I know what happened last year is a big deal, that much is clear. Donors aren’t happy, staff don’t want to go near the fundraiser, and the board is obviously breathing down Theo’s neck, but he wasn’t negligent. He isn’t superhuman. These things will, unfortunately, occasionally happen.
I drop my tote bag on my classroom desk, looking up at yesterday’s quote of the day on the white board: The greatest mistake you can make in life is continually fearing that you’ll make one - Elbert Hubbard.
That describes Theo to a T. So worried about making another mistake that he won’t let himself breathe, so damn hard on himself when he slips up.
My heart pinches as I slip my jacket off and hang it over the back of my chair.
I’m certain he’ll be mercilessly beating himself up after what happened between us, and I wish I could speak to him, could tell him to cut himself some slack.
Guilt has been my constant companion since that night.
I shouldn’t have pushed him about last year, should have kept my mouth shut.
When I tried texting him to apologize, I got nothing back.
In the few times I saw him in the hallways, it hurt too much, so I started avoiding them altogether.
Sighing, I glance at the empty mug on my desk.
I could really use a coffee, and it’s getting tiresome hiding in my classroom.
Swiping my cup off the desk, I head to the faculty lounge, my steps slowing as I climb the marble staircase.
For the first time, I stop to examine the black and white photos that line the dark wood-paneled walls, my gaze landing on a man both handsome and stern in way that’s familiar. The nameplate reads: Walter Wright.
Theo’s father.
I stare at the photograph for a moment, struck by the resemblance. No wonder Theo feels the weight of responsibility. How can he escape the pressure with his father watching over him like this?
Maybe that’s why he never gives himself a break.
My chest aches as I continue up the steps, hovering in the doorway of the faculty lounge. No Theo. Just Marlene and Rowan in the kitchen, deep in quiet conversation over their coffee. Relief washes through me. I join them, forcing a smile as I load a pod into the machine.
Rowan always wears that casual artist’s look, so unlike the other faculty.
There’s something private about him, as if he’s careful about which parts of himself he wants to share.
He’s been positive about the summer camp idea as part of Safe Harbor, and even though I’m getting ahead of myself because it’s not part of the pilot program, I can’t help feeling a spark of excitement at the possibility.
He smiles as he takes his coffee and leaves the lounge, another clump of teachers entering and chatting among themselves. I catch a few words of their conversation as they wait for the coffee machine.
“Did you hear the guy who was poking around campus got picked up and charged? Apparently he broke into two stores in town, too.”
My ears perk up at this, relief flooding me. At least that’s no longer an issue, and maybe Theo will let himself forget about it. Though that seems unlikely.
I take my coffee and step aside, adding sugar as they continue.
“I heard Headmaster Wright installed cameras himself first thing the next morning.”
I pause. He did? That would have been the morning after the break-in.
He was already exhausted from dealing with that all day, then we worked late into the night, then he got up early and installed cameras?
God, he must have been wrecked. And here I was, prattling on about the garden, mocking him for not listening to me, when he had a thousand other things on his mind.
Guilt tugs at me, and I consider texting him to apologize again, but I know better. I’ve already crossed so many lines I shouldn’t have gone anywhere near.
“Morning, Nora.” I blink from my thoughts, glancing across the room to see Paige and Juliana at a nearby table. They wave me over, and I settle into one of the worn tweed chairs, cradling my coffee.
“You look like your mind is a million miles away,” Juliana teases.
I huff a small laugh. More like in the garden, then the parking lot, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Sorry. Just… thinking about… stuff.”
“Everything okay?” Paige asks, her brow creasing.
Reserved yet friendly, Paige wears the same pencil skirt, blouse, and cardigan combo to work every day.
I’ve had a few conversations with her now, first about Andy O’Reilly, then about Safe Harbor.
She’s got some great ideas to support the project, and I’m excited to work with her more.
“Yes.” I pin on a smile, but she cocks her head, gazing at me. As a guidance counselor, she’s warm, naturally intuitive, and great at reading people. I sigh. “Just… off to a rocky start this year.”
She nods. “It’s been a tough start for me too.”
Headmaster Wright stalks into the faculty lounge at that moment, grumbling, and several faculty members visibly shrink away from him.
A hush falls across the room as he rummages through kitchen cabinets, slamming doors, muttering to himself about coffee.
He finds what he’s looking for and spins on his heel, gaze colliding with mine.
His eyes rake over me, something painful flickering under his thunderous expression.
Then his face darkens further, and he strides away.
I stare after him, pulse racing. He’s in his usual three-piece suit, buttoned up tight, tie firmly in place, and today he’s shaved. Probably just as well. A memory of his stubble rasping against my cheek makes me shiver, and I quickly shake it off.
“It doesn’t help when my father storms about like a moody teenager,” Juliana adds, lifting her gaze to the ceiling.
“He does seem to be on the warpath lately,” Paige agrees, wincing.
I glance at them. I haven’t witnessed it myself, since I’ve spent all my breaks in my classroom, but that tracks.
He’s back to how he was before we started working on the fundraiser, doing his best to hold everything together, to keep that wall up around him.
He’s probably terrified I’m going to report him to the board, not that I would ever consider it for a second.
I’m pretty sure I want him more than he wants me, so I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.
“Poor Nora looks miserable too,” Paige adds, and I grimace, hoping Juliana doesn’t say anything more about her father.
But she straightens, looking between the two of us decisively. “That’s it. We need a girls’ night out. A chance to blow off some steam.”
“Sounds good,” Paige agrees, after a moment’s hesitation. “I can’t tonight, but tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow it is.” Juliana points at me. “You in?”
Despite the hollow feeling in my stomach, I smile. “Definitely.”
Tomorrow night can’t come soon enough.