“You are, Mr. Hansen. In fact, the point of my interruption of your evening is twofold. The first to meet you.” He paused and nodded at Miller, who stepped back and grasped my hand, threading it through the crook of his arm. “The second was to inform Miss James that the application selection has begun, and I’ve yet to see what I’m sure is an impressive resume cross my desk for consideration.”
“Pardon me, sir. My what?”
“Resume. It’s the only part of the application the board is waiting for. They’ve already made their decision, I’m sure, but the necessary paperwork must be filed.”
“Oh. Um. Of course,” I mumbled, re-tucking that same damnable curl and staring at my heels.
Where had that brave girl disappeared to? The one who argued in his face earlier and stood up for what she believed in? Perhaps she was back in my office, sitting in the corner and rocking back and forth with the repercussions of her actions.
“See that it arrives before the first bell on Monday morning. I’d hate for you to miss such a promising opportunity because of something as silly as paperwork.”
His pocket watch slipped gracefully back into his vest, and he turned to Miller with his hand outstretched. “Pleasure to have met you.”
Miller nodded, gripping his hand back and letting that calm smile I knew so well light up his face. “Likewise, sir.”
Hopkirk’s eyes met mine, and with a final arch of one brow, he turned in the opposite direction, taking all of ten steps before being pulled into another conversation. The balls of my feet were throbbing from standing in the same place for too long, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the back of his tuxedo.
Had he inadvertently told me I’d secured the position? No. Couldn’t be.
“Well, that went better than expected. Right, Em?”
He touched my arm, but I barely felt his fingers, too stunned to process anything but the headmaster’s words.
Gumption? Spunk?
This was too much. I needed air. My breath came out in harsh pants, and I pressed my hands to my cheek, turning toward Miller.
“Unexpectedly strange is more like it. Especially after our conversation this afternoon,” I said, leaning into him as his fingers stroked my arm. His touch grounded me, taking away the anxiety of seeing Hopkirk.
“What happened this afternoon?” he asked, taking my hand and placing it in the crook of his arm before leading us toward the bar. Lifting two fingers to get the bartender’s attention, heordered a neat bourbon for himself and a glass of prosecco for me.
“He, um, came into my office and berated me.”
Miller’s eyes widened as the bartender prepared our drinks. I nodded my thanks when he handed me the flute of prosecco and took a large sip, not wanting to go into details about what happened with Hopkirk. Miller’s face twisted into a frown, and he opened his mouth to speak, but I shook my head, squeezing his bicep.
“It turned out to be a good thing because I expressed my unhappiness with the after-hour requirements, and he said this could be my last one until he came up with a rotating schedule for the entire staff.”
“Wow. That’s—” He paused, rubbing his chin and swirling the bourbon in his glass before downing the liquid in one gulp. “Enlightening.”
“Enlightening?” I repeated as he laid his empty glass on the bar and signaled for another.
“Yeah,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug. “So, what changed this morning that made you speak up to Hopkirk rather than your usual approach of canceling plans with me and then complaining afterward?”
I took another sip of my prosecco and sighed, wanting to shout loudly enough to be heard over the band playing in the corner but also desperately desiring to be alone with him before I whispered thathewas the reason—well, one of the reasons.
He’dshown me what it felt like to be loved, and I wanted to spend my evenings exploring that, not attending events and schmoozing benefactors.
“Tell me, Emma. What changed?” His voice was barely a murmur as his gaze traveled over my face, stopping on my lips before returning to my eyes.
“Everything,” I said back just as softly, taking a step closer so the tips of my heels touched his shoes. The urge to kiss him was overwhelming, but as I waited for him to break the silence, the smile melted from his face.
“Why can’t you admit what you want? It is too much to ask for you to just be honest with me? Tell me what you want.”
“What I want is not to have this conversation with my colleagues surrounding us,” I hissed, closing my eyes for a moment as he removed my hand from the crook of his arm.
He took a step back and tapped his fingers against his leg. As the silence between us stretched on, I made a point to study him, something I had failed to do when I first felt his presence on the balcony. I couldn’t help but notice the elegant, smooth lines of his tuxedo, and the perfect knot of his bowtie resting against his throat.
He looked insufferably handsome in his tux—paired with a crisp white shirt and silver cufflinks. My first thought was how good it would feel to run my fingers through his light hair and tug the bowtie free before unbuttoning the top button of his shirt to expose his neck. There wasn’t a trace of mud on his polished shoes or a hair out of place on his artfully styled head.
