“Email me the room number to report to.” I gather my messenger bag as I rise. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
Her relief is palpable, as if she expected me to make a scene. How many of Carson’s whispered narratives did she accept without question? How many doubts about my stability did she help spread with her gossiping ways?
“Mr. Hollis,” she calls as I reach the door. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” I step back into the hallway, which has emptied again as students returned to classes.
Halfway to the exit, the familiar scent of cherries and iron stops me, my stomach swooping. With him on administrative leave, I didn’t expect to run into Carson, and his presence catches me off guard.
Dread twists my stomach into knots as I turn to find him standing at the intersection of two corridors. His usually impeccable appearance shows signs of strain. His shirt collar is crooked, his tie loosened, and he stares at me in a way that would have scared me a week ago.
“You,” he snarls, the single word dripping with venom. He stalks forward, eating up the distance between us with purposeful strides. “You couldn’t just submit, could you? Couldn’t take what I was offering?”
I stand my ground, though every instinct screams to run. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I came to collect my belongings,” he spits out.
“Well, I’m just here to complete paperwork.” I move to go around him. “I’m leaving now.”
“You destroyed everything,” he hisses, closing the distance until we stand toe to toe, and his cherries-and-iron scent fills my senses, acrid with fury. “Years of work. My reputation. My standing with the board.”
“You did that yourself,” I say as my heart hammers. “Every threat. Every manipulation. Every time you used Quinn’s needs as leverage.”
His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around my forearm with bruising force. “After everything I did for you,” he snarls, his face inches from mine. “I created your position. I protected you from the board’s questions about your qualifications. I made you.”
Pain shoots up my arm from his grip, but I don’t flinch. “No, you tried to break me. There’s a difference.”
His fingers dig deeper, his breathing ragged. “You ungrateful little?—”
“That’s enough, Carson.”
I don’t turn my head at the new arrival, don’t break eye contact with Carson first, but I hear the sound of multiple footsteps stopping behind me.
Carson’s eyes flick over my shoulder, his pupils contracting as he registers that we’re no longer alone.
His grip on my arm loosens, fingers uncurling one by one. I resist the urge to step back and rub the place where his fingers have left impressions on my skin.
“This is a private conversation,” Carson says, sliding into the smooth, professional voice he reserves for parents and board members. “A professional disagreement between colleagues.”
“No, it’s not.” The man steps forward, and I jolt as I recognize my employer and Quinn’s uncle, Blake Wright.
He stands with his feet planted shoulder-width apart, his tall frame blocking half the hallway. Behind him, I catch a glimpse of Nathaniel’s blond hair and their Omega, Chloe’s, concerned frown. She carries a large tray of cupcakes in front of her growing belly that can no longer hide her pregnancy, and I remember Quinn talking about a movie party today. They must have decided to bring treats for her class.
Carson takes a half step back, his pheromones receding, though acrid notes of anger still permeate the air.
“Mr. Wright,” he says, straightening his disheveled tie. “I’m just trying to understand why a valued staff member would spread such damaging misinformation about our working relationship.”
A door opens down the hall. Mrs. Peterson emerges with her second-grade class lined up behind her, their curious faces peering around her legs at the scene unfolding. She falters mid-stride as she sees Carson facing off with me, Blake, and his bondmates.
“Children, stay together,” she says, directing them to line up at the wall. But she doesn’t retreat to her classroom or try to shield them from what’s happening.
Another door opens, and Mr. Finnegan from history steps out, arms crossed as he leans in his doorframe. A parent volunteer with a clipboard pauses near the office, her eyes narrowed as Carson finally steps away from me.
The hallway, empty just moments ago, now contains witnesses. Dozens of people watching, cataloging, and judging.
Blake takes another step forward, positioning himself between Carson and me. “The investigation has already begun. Your position here is finished.”
A dull red creeps up Carson’s neck to stain his cheeks as his breathing comes faster, nostrils flaring. He looks from one person to the next, seeking an ally and finding none.
