I’d forgotten that Arthur has to bring his wife to the hospital for a procedure and requested time off for that and to look after her as she recovers.
“My apologies.” I glance at the calendar on my desk. “Yes, you certainly can. I should’ve told you yes right away. Family first.” At the time, I’d been trying to balance the schedule and regret not telling him that, of course, he could have the time off. “Please tell my new client that I’ll be right out.”
Mr. Wolfe demonstrated that he doesn’t respect my time, so he can wait while I study the calendar and try to cobble together a solution for who can cover for Arthur while he’s gone.
The school is short-staffed and Regina Harrow, the bursar responsible for the school’s budget, informed the Board of Regents that we’re operating at a deficit. We’re already on a shoestring and after the most recent meeting, there’s no more liquid to squeeze out of the sponge.
I already had to let go of my assistant, Gemma Nelson, because of funding. But before that, she and I had been devising a plan to create an auxiliary online school of etiquette affiliated with Blancbourg to generate more revenue. When we’d presented it to the Board of Regents, Regina had been the only one to turn it down, leaving the proposal dead in the water.
Maybe because the Boston Bruisers are high-profile sports stars, if we produce a positive outcome from the Blancbourg program, perhaps more athletes, celebrities, and other businesses will use our services.
Unable to think of a solution to the school’s financial woes, I stride down the hall to finally meet Connor Wolfe.
Outside the door, my pulse races and I draw a deep inhale. Standing outside the threshold, I catch my breath and collect myself. Pushing away the stress, I tell my heart to calm down.
When I enter, a man with a shock of wild, long brown hair, tan skin, and who is at least three times my size, sits in the chairwith his feet kicked up on the table while scrolling his phone. He doesn’t glance up.
My heart resumes its rapid pace, as if cautioning me against a dangerous animal, a beast of a man.
I step fully into the room, but he still doesn’t acknowledge me.
Rounding the table, I glimpse over his shoulder to see that he’s looking at images of himself on social media. His handle is@ChicksDigWolves. He then taps the screen and checks out content under #BruiserButt.
He lets out a low, lupine laugh—probably at a comment someone left. It’s the kind of sound that would send shivers across my skin if I were in the woods. There are plenty of wolves in the forests of Concordia.
I clear my throat to get his attention.
He doesn’t flinch or look in my direction.
I reach over his massive, broad, muscled shoulder and pluck the phone from his hand. Our skin brushes, sending a flame of warning through me.
He knocks his feet from the table and spins around to face me. Brown eyes that are almost copper, a perfectly proportioned nose, and the smuggest set of lips I’ve ever seen flash a wolfish expression that isn’t quite a smile.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think my heart skipped a beat.
6
CONNOR
Without a word, the woman standing in front of me plucks the cell phone out of my hand. My inner wolf stirs. First in defense, and now alert with intrigue, interest.
She is not what I was expecting.
When the coach said we were going to reform school, I had visions of a grouchy woman with baggy pantyhose, a hairy mole on her cheek, and a ruler in hand, scolding me.
Yeah, I have a pretty good imagination, but it turns out that in this instance, reality paints a much prettier picture.
I lean back in the chair, taking her in. Dressed in a stylish black silk blouse, a fitted navy-blue skirt that reaches her knees, and a black blazer with silver buttons, and matching heels with a little buckle on the toe, my gaze wanders down and then back up, soaking in every inch.
Vavavoom.
She’s the opposite of my vision—except for the bun at the nape of her neck. It’s a nice touch to give the impression of a strict teacher. She could also double as a feisty librarian if she had a set of eyeglasses.
But no, her eyes are dark. Sharp. Like she doesn’t miss a trick.
Her hair is a deep brown, almost black like pepper, and shiny. I’d place a bet that it hangs in thick waves when released from the claws of her bun.
And her lips. The lips on this woman could kiss the sting out of a snake...or kiss the sass right out of me.
