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 darkas 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.”
