Page 78 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

Dr. Ellis

I have my job back? Just like that? How? What changed in twenty-four hours?

Then it clicks. Leonid must have provided the new information they referred to. How else would they know I didn’t “come on to him”?

I dial Principal Ellis’s number before I can overthink it. She picks up on the second ring.

“Ms. Harper? Did you receive the email?”

“Yeah.” My voice is steadier than I feel. “I’m a little curious, what made you change your mind?”

A pause. Then, carefully: “Mr. Volkov visited this morning. He cleared the air. Made it very clear that he pursued you, not the other way around. And that you… didn’t have much choice in the matter.”

“What?” The word snaps out sharper than I intend. “I didn’t have much choice? That’s what he said?”

She clears her throat. “Essentially, yes. He provided evidence that shifted our perspective entirely. Inappropriate messages from Ms. Smith to him. It appears her actions were motivated by jealousy. We’ve terminated her employment effective immediately.”

I’m stunned silent for a beat. Aria fired?

But the relief I should feel never arrives. Instead, something hot and bitter coils in my chest. “Shifted your perspective?” I cut in. “Yesterday you were prepared to destroy my career without blinking, and today you’re talking about perspective?”

There’s a pause on the line. I don’t let her fill it.

“You didn’t suspend me,” I continue. “You fired and humiliated me. You didn’t ask about my plans, my reputation, or what this would do to me long-term.”

“I understand why you’re angry, Ms. Harper,” she says carefully.

“Do you? Oh because now someone powerful stepped in, suddenly the school realizes it may have been… mistaken?”

There’s a pause. “I understand your frustration,” she says again, quieter this time. “And you’re right to feel it.”

I exhale sharply, forcing myself to rein it in. “Good. Then you’ll also understand why I need time to consider whether I even want to come back.” I end the call before she can say more.

I lower the phone, my fingers still tight around it. For a moment, my chest aches in a way that’s almost sweet. Leonid stood up for me. My job, the thing I fought so hard for, is still mine, and for a heartbeat I’m touched.

And then the other feeling creeps in. He didn’t ask me first. I immediately dial Leonid. It rings once, then straight to voicemail. His deep voice rumbles through the recording: “Leave a message.”

I hang up, thumbs flying over the keys instead: I see you got involved after I specifically asked you not to.

I stare at the screen. No read receipt.

The silence boils into frustration. We talked this morning, brief, sure, but he could’ve mentioned it. “Hey, I’m about to ignore everything you said and fix this my way.” But no. And saying I had no choice?

That undermines everything, makes me sound weak, coerced. Like our relationship is something he imposed on me.

I throw off the covers, grab the first outfit I lay my hands on—a shift dress—pull it on, run a brush through my hair, and pull it into a messy bun.

I’m going to his office. If he won’t pick up or text back, he can explain this to my face.

I step out of the cab and tilt my head back, taking in the sleek glass tower rising into the Manhattan sky. Polished black stone at the base, mirrored windows reflecting the chaos of Midtown below.

I’ve only been here once before, one evening when we were out together and Leonid needed to grab a document.

I push through the revolving doors. The reception area is all marble and muted gold. A few suited people move through, and no one spares me a second glance. I approach the long curved desk where a receptionist sits, pretty, early thirties, dark hair pulled into a low bun.

I open my mouth, already rehearsing the awkwardness. Hi, I’m Laurel, Leonid’s… girlfriend? Do I need an appointment? What if he’s not even here? What if I look like some clueless woman who doesn’t know her own boyfriend’s schedule?

Before I can force a word out, she looks up, recognition flickering across her face.