Chapter 3
THREE | TARYN
My truck rolls to a stop in one of the parking spaces in front of Cedar Creek Elementary’s two-story brick building. The freshly manicured lawn meets a blue-and-red climbing structure with slides, swings, monkey bars, and a basketball court, surrounded by red alders and maple trees.
The sidewalk leads to a set of double doors surrounded by massive glass windows.
The corners of my mouth lift upward.
I can see myself here.
Unlike the last school I attended, this one looks well-kept. They care, hopefully meaning they value their kids and teachers, too.
I turn off the ignition, taking notice of the brand-new-looking black Ford a few spaces away from mine with a lift that raises it slightly higher off the ground.
My truck looks like a piece of junk compared to that beauty. I run my palms over the worn and peeling leather steering wheel. But I love this truck. She did get me here successfully, after all.
I grab my purse off the passenger seat, open the door, and jump out. This place is downright deserted, except for the principal and me.
The last interview was hard. My heart was beating rapidly, and the principal was…
daunting. He was seated farther back from the camera in his office, reading off a long list of questions, some related to teaching and others not.
Several random ones caught me off guard, but that’s an interview for you. Thinking on your feet is essential.
I answered them one by one and felt pretty good about it.
Excitement swirled in my stomach when the call came through about a second in-person interview.
But then I remembered I explicitly told him I was moving to Cedar Creek.
That probably boded well in my favor. Everything after that was a breeze.
I looked up rentals, secured that shithole, packed my bags, and Rossco and I were on our way.
Using my hands, I smooth the white halter-neck blouse and black pencil skirt that drops just above my knees.
Peering at my reflection in the driver’s window, I check my makeup one last time, patting the light amount of concealer under my eyes with the pad of my finger to ensure it’s not cakey.
I usually only wear a little makeup, but I accidentally put on too much this morning because my hands needed a job instead of shaking.
The halter top might have been a questionable decision, but I didn’t have much to choose from regarding interview attire. Combined with the top and skirt that immaculately hug my curves, cakey makeup might make me look like a stripper.
I don’t need him thinking this young teacher came directly from a pole.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that; it’s just not a vibe I need to release in this defining moment. If this doesn’t work out, I can see if Crocks is hiring bartenders. Then I could get to know that handsome guy who brought me my pizza.
That can be plan B.
Glancing at myself one last time, I remove and reposition a bobby pin that slipped out from my low, messy bun.
I close my eyes.
Please, let this work out.
“Here goes nothing. No pressure or anything,” I say to my reflection in a pathetic attempt to boost my confidence.
Dropping the keys into my bag, I stroll up the walkway. My heels are boisterously tapping on the sidewalk, the echo spiking my adrenaline and nerves. When I approach the double doors, I reach out a hand. Suddenly, I’m nearly hit in the face as it flies open without warning.
“Shit,” I stammer, leaping backward to avoid the corner contacting the side of my face.
When I look up from the ground, I’m met with a very stern and disapproving scowl, probably at my language.
Off to a great start, Taryn.
I clear my throat and reach out a shaky hand. “Alaric—” I shake my head, “Principal Sinclair, I’m Taryn.”
His attention first locks on the tips of my heels, roaming up my body leisurely.
An unforeseen mix of heat and chills follow their wake.
I didn’t even know that was possible. When Alaric’s bold, light green eyes clash with mine, I withdraw a breath.
He narrows his eyes at me through his glasses, and mine widen of their own accord, no matter how hard I try to stop them.
Oh, my dear Lord, Principal Alaric Sinclair is the definition of a young and nerdy Greek god.
How old is this guy? I’m sure it’s slim pickings here for hiring teachers and staff, but this specimen is one I wasn’t expecting.
He leans against the frame in his gray slacks and a white button-up that pulls against his tight muscles.
The top few buttons are undone, showcasing strands of his chest hair as dark as his stylized, messy brown hair.
My eyes flit up to his perfectly cut jawline with a dusting of hair that creates a shadow.
He gives me a once-over, and my clit throbs.
If one person’s appearance could make me wet, I think I just found them.
It’s probably good that he was seated far back from the camera during the virtual interview because I would’ve been as distracted as I am now.
But I need this to go well, so I clear my throat again, shoving my outstretched hand closer to him.
He narrows his eyes before dropping his hand, adorned with a silver watch, into mine. My focus snatches onto the little bits of ink on his skin, peeking out from where the cuffs sit on his wrists.
“Miss Meyers, right this way.” He motions me inside but takes off ahead, leaving me behind to shut the door.
Kind of a dick move if you ask me, but it gives me a brief moment to peek at the ass on him. God, if this guy is my superior, I am going to be completely screwed.
The door clicks behind me, and I speed-walk through a room that, from the couches and round tables everywhere, appears to be a common area and cafeteria combined. My shoes hit the white tile aggressively as I try to catch up to him, the sound ringing through the space.
He turns left down a hall and then another left into an office—his office, because there is a sign on the outside of the door that says, Principal Alaric Sinclair. He moves around his desk, motioning at the chair across from him.
“Please take a seat, Miss Meyers.”
“Taryn. You can call me Taryn.”
He raises a brow. “This is a professional relationship, Miss Meyers. I’ll stick with exactly what I called you.”
My eyes flit from side to side, astonished at his harsh tone. Now, my nerves are skyrocketing.
Great.
I put my purse on the second chair and plop down across from him. Looking out the large windows facing the playground, I attempt to muster enough confidence before I look at him again.
He folds his hands on the desk. “Now that you are sitting in my office, I assume you have settled here?”
I swallow and take a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “Yes, sir.”
His posture solidifies at that label before he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Other teachers must not call him that. Noted.
A moment of awkward silence sits between us before I continue.
“I officially moved here a few days ago and have been working on getting everything in order. Transferring my certificates is easier since Washington and Arizona have a reciprocity agreement. Now I’m getting ready to take the necessary exams and doing the other steps needed to join your team here at Cedar Creek. ”
Hell yeah. That was a pretty good response if I do say so myself.
He gives a curt nod. “That’s great, but this interview is going to be a little different.”
His forwardness sends adrenaline flowing through my veins, feeding my already overdriven heart.
“Okay,” I draw out.
“I want to get to know a little more about you so we can ensure you will fit in with our staff and our students.”
Fitting in with students shouldn’t be a priority for teachers since students are at school to learn and grow, not make friends with the teachers. But if it’s important to him, then I’ll enlighten him.
I nod my approval, and he begins asking questions.
“Do you have any siblings, Miss Meyers?”
That’s a strange question to start with, but whatever. “I grew up as an only child, I’m afraid.”
“Would you say the stereotype that only children are more reserved and spoiled fits you?”
The fuck.
“Um…no. I have a bachelor’s degree in elementary education and love how I can impact young children’s minds.
Show them that despite their differences, they are worth something—” I swallow because this answer I’m giving hits me hard thinking about my parents.
“Even if they don’t believe they are. I consider myself to be a giver, Mr. Sinclair.
Being an only child made me realize my passion for being around young children since it was a part of life that I missed out on.
Because as much as I teach them, I think they teach me more. ”
He tightens his lips, his heated eyes roaming over my face, studying my reaction while I analyze his.
I think he is pleased with that answer. But it’s difficult to tell since his face lacks emotion.
Maybe he’s like a fish and doesn’t have facial muscles—he relies on his body language to react.
Alaric’s strong frame relaxes, so I take that as a positive sign.
“And what about your family life?”
“What family life?” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
His brows draw together, observing me suspiciously.
We need to pop some of those buttons and loosen that shirt a little more, Alaric. Maybe then you could take a breath.
I tilt my head. “Chill, it was a joke.”
“You told me during the virtual interview that your parents travel a lot, and you moved around several times growing up. You must talk to them often.”
I surprise myself when the honesty in my heart beats the answer I came up with in my head.
“My parents are very immersed in their traveling endeavors, so I don’t bother them with meaningless updates all the time.
We send texts here and there, but other than that, I am mostly on my own and keep to myself. ”
He lifts a finger, pushing his glasses farther up to sit on the arch of his nose. “Friends?”
“I just moved here, so none yet and none I keep in contact with—” Positivity, Taryn. “But I look forward to creating meaningful relationships with the other teachers and exploring more of Cedar Creek.”
“Can you cook?”
I roll my eyes. The muscle in his jaw pops as he shoots me a disapproving look.
Why is that important?
Leaning my back against the chair, I knit my arms together, mimicking his position. “I know my way around a kitchen.”
“Do you have any questions for me yet?” he asks.
I lick my lower lip in thought.
Yeah, I have a few questions for you. Like, how old are you, and what kid shoved a crayon up your ass?
Before I have time to answer, he says, “No questions? Moving on.” He places his elbows on the desk, folding his fingers together. “What about pot and drug use? Have you used them before? What about arrests?”
Who the hell is this guy?
The water on the stove in my chest boils over and onto the burner. “What kind of question is that?” I snap, pinning him with my stare. “You did a background check, did you not?”
He reclines back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Of course I did,” he counters like I should know the answer to that.
“Had to make sure you’re a good girl…” His eyes drop to my chest as his head cocks to the side.
“And right for my students,” he finishes.
“Now answer the question, Miss Meyers,” he says hard-heartedly.
Plan B it is.
I stand up from my seat and step forward, resting my palms on the surface. I lean over, glare down at his handsomely irritating face in those black-rimmed glasses, and gift him with the fakest smile I can manage. “Do you want me to pull down my panties so you can drug test me, sir?”
His muscles harden under his shirt. Alaric’s burning gaze holds mine captive—his eyes appearing like sagebrush in a desert being licked by flames. They send liquid heat rushing between my thighs until it’s an intensity that’s difficult to ignore.
“If you speak to me like that again, I’ll bend you over this desk, rip them off, and shove them in your hot little mouth as punishment for using a tone like that with me.”
My limbs tremble.
I wonder what else his mouth could do if it were put to better use.
But I have more self-respect than that. So, I stand up and straighten my posture, giving him a nod.
“Thank you for meeting with me about the position, Mr. Sinclair, and hitting me with all those arbitrary questions. But I’m over this conversation and will not beg you for this job.
” The confidence stirring in my chest expands.
“I hope you’ll have better luck finding a teacher who will drop on their knees for you because. It’s. Not. Me.”
I reach for my purse, not sparing him a second look.
But it’s not until I exit his office that I realize I may not have to.
With the size of this town, it’s only a matter of time before we see each other again.
And if that happens, I only hope our next interaction is a little more pleasant than this one.