Chapter 6
James
Being late is not a great start on your first day.
Just my luck. The office had passed along a message that she was stuck in traffic.
I sit back in my chair at the table in the conference room, drinking my tea.
My knee starts to bounce. I don't have time for this. The department meeting is supposed to kick off at nine-thirty, but there is still no sign of the newly qualified teacher. My annoyance begins to grow. It’s not the best start to a career is it?
I’m to be this teacher’s manager, and they can’t even be bothered to be on time for their first day.
I stir my tea, silently thanking the office assistant who had brought a tray in, hoping the new starter will arrive before it goes cold.
Just then, the door bangs open, and a flustered woman stumbles in, fumbling with her coat, keys, and bag. I assume this is her.
Yes, Miss
She looks up at me, and my jaw drops open.
Holy shit.
Isabelle Matthews.
But… She’s grown up. Gone is the geeky, chubby kid I remember. The one who had applied to go to teaching college. She’s back, and she’s all woman.
This Isabelle is tall, with toned legs, curvy hips, and full breasts that fill out her outfit perfectly.
Her below-the-knee pencil skirt, crisp white shirt, and burgundy V-necked jumper hint at just enough cleavage to intrigue.
Her hair is pinned with the top half up, and she looks every bit the confident professional.
I try to say hello, but my voice refuses to make an appearance.
She is stunning. Clear English-rose skin and striking sapphire blue eyes that fix on me as a small smile plays on her dusky pink lips. Lips I can easily imagine wrapped around my length.
Jesus fucking Christ, James!
I realise I’m starting to sound like Daniel. What’s even worse is that she had been my student. There is no way I should be thinking about her like this.
But my body refuses to listen to my own admonishment, and I feel my cock start to thicken.
Alexandra Ravensbrook
Get it together! A pretty woman walks in, and this is your response?
She stares at me as she halts in her tracks.
Yup, same Isabelle. But as she straightens her posture, taking a deep breath in, I can see her morph into someone else entirely.
A new Isabelle—confident, in control, and composed.
For a newly qualified teacher, she certainly exudes an impressive self-assurance.
Maybe this won’t be as much of a hand-holding situation as I had feared.
I rise as she takes her seat at the table.
“Mr. Wentworth, it's a pleasure to see you again. I look forward to working alongside you and creating a thriving performing arts department.” She holds out her hand, and I’m dumbstruck by her.
My mind is blank. “I apologise for my lateness; the traffic was worse than I remembered.” Her voice is steady and sounds like it holds a subtle purr.
I take her hand, shaking it, noting her skin is soft and warm, but she has a firm no-nonsense shake.
I don't seem to be able to speak properly. I struggle to match the girl I once knew with this new Isabelle. My mind is frozen, stalled, as I sit here speechless. I feel like an awkward teen, complete with a very inappropriate hard-on.
I sit back down quickly, desperate to hide the developing bulge in my pants and take back some
Yes, Miss
semblance of control. As head of this department, it’s my role to manage Isabelle and her transition here.
I clear my throat and finally find my voice again.
“Isabelle, it must be strange to be back on the other side of the desk. I do hope you find your feet and settle in. If memory serves me correctly, you were quite the talented pianist.” Memories of our lessons come flooding back, our duet pieces and how fluently she played.
She sits back in her chair and takes her time in answering, sipping her tea before leaning forward, placing her elbows on the table, and bringing the cup to her lips again.
Every move seems slow and deliberate, and I can't help but watch her, my eyes slowly drifting down to glimpse the cleavage of her soft, rounded breasts beneath her shirt.
“Mr. Wentworth—” My attention snaps back to her jewel-toned eyes.
“Call me, erm, call me James, please,” I stutter, feeling like a child that’s been caught. Shit. Embarrassment washes over me at my lack of professionalism.
“James,” she sounds out slowly, like she is trying how it feels to say my name, and I like the way it sounds on her lips. “I’m looking forward to becoming part of the team.”
Oh, me too, Isabelle. Me too.
Alexandra Ravensbrook