How did I not know Sawyer Strong wasthe principal?
I dart a quick, panicked glance behind me, toward the hallway.
This was a terrible idea.
Ifeelit when his gaze slowly drags down my body, and then back up, an inscrutable expression on his face.
When our eyes connect, my stomach does a flip.Nerves.
“Brie Queso.” He says it quietly, almost to himself.
But I hear it as loud and clear as when he christened the nickname in first grade.
My nails dig into my palms as memories ofWho cut the cheese? Must have been Brie Quesopierce their way into my mind.
It would be funny if it wasn’t just one of a thousand examples of his incessant torture. For thirteen years—kindergarten through twelfth grade—Sawyer and his lackeys were the absolute worst. I don’t count those few months senior year when he fooled me into believing he might have a heart. In the end, he proved he didn’t.
His body tenses as he shoves to his feet. Judging by the way his jaw is clenched, he doesn’t want me here either.
He rounds the desk, revealing navy slacks, a baby blue button up, and a patterned tie. I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Leave it to Sawyer to keep growing past high school.
Suddenly, he’s inches from me and the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up. A shiver works its way through me before I remind myself I’m here for ajob, and I swallow all the words I used to dream of screaming at him one day.
Of course, in those fantasies, he’s hunched, balding, and has a beer belly. Also, crying.
He clears his throat. “Brie Casey.” His voice, deep and throaty, scrapes all the way down my spine. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
I bet you didn’t.
“Likewise, Principal Strong.”
He frowns. “Don’t be ridiculous. Call me Sawyer.”
Being calledridiculousby Sawyer Strong makes my hackles rise. I’m off to a fantastic fucking start here in gorgeous Blue Ridge, Tennessee, where I’ve shown up homeless and my new boss is the reason I used to cry myself to sleep at night.
He offers me his hand. I clench my jaw and stare at it, waiting for the punch line. Thetrick.
Sawyer’s eyebrows furrow at my hesitation. He watches me, waiting.
Be professional. Polite, and professional.
I slide my sweaty palm into his dry one. His eyes are too sharp. I pull my hand back and rub it on my pant leg.
He follows the movement, mouth tightening. “When the school board told me yesterday they’d found me a third grade sub, I didn’t know it would beyou.”
Asshole.
I set my jaw. “Well, I’m here and ready to work.” I can be polite and professional while also sending him a message: I’m not Sawyer’s plaything. Today’s Brie Casey has a backbone.
My remark is met by that familiar toothy grin—a smirk, really. An evil one that says he’s ready to play.
Bring it on.
The corner of his mouth lifts, like he’s amused by my new attitude. It doesn’t matter that it makes my skin itch, I won’t run and hide.
This isn’t prom.
“Do you have a problem with that,PrincipalStrong?” I emphasize his title and give him a cloying smile.
