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But then it is gone, replaced by polite concern. "You should take care of yourself," he says quietly. "You work too hard."

My face heats. The words are innocuous, professional, exactly what a concerned parent might say to a teacher.

But the way he says them—the slight drop in his voice, the way his gaze lingers on my face—makes me think of the note Vanguard left.

Take care of yourself.

"I'm fine," I say, taking a small step back. "Was there anything else you needed to discuss about Kayla?"

Brock studies me for a moment longer, and I have the unsettling feeling that he can see straight through me.

But that is impossible.

"No," he says finally. "That was all. Thank you for the update."

He turns to leave, and I exhale in relief.

Then he pauses at the door and looks back at me, his hand resting on the frame.

"Ms. Hartley," he says, his voice low and deliberate. "If you ever need anything—anything at all—don't hesitate to reach out."

My heart slams against my ribs.

"Thank you," I manage. "I'll keep that in mind."

Brock nods once, his dark eyes holding mine for a beat too long, and then he is gone.

I'm still staring at the supplies when someone clears her throat behind me.

"Well, isn't that nice?"

I turn to find Jennifer Marsh standing in my doorway, a coffee mug tucked against her chest.

"What's nice?"

She nods toward the shopping bags. "Brock Rhodes bringing you presents. Must be nice having a parent who spoils you like that."

"They're for the Thanksgiving project."

"Of course they are." She smiles and steps closer, peeking inside one of the bags. "He really is something, isn't he? Successful attorney, gorgeous, devoted father. And single."

I start putting the construction paper away. "He's a very involved parent."

"You don't have to convince me, honey. I've noticed." She laughs. "Actually, I might ask him to help with our third-grade holiday party. Give him an excuse to visit my classroom for a change."

"I'm sure he'd be happy to help if he has time."

"We'll see." She gives me a quick once-over. "Anyway, I should get going. Some of us have recess duty."

She disappears down the hallway before I can answer.

I stand frozen in the middle of my classroom, my hands trembling, my pulse racing.

The hotel night was supposed to help. It was supposed to satisfy the craving, get Brock Rhodes out of my system, let me move on.

Instead, it has made everything worse.

Because now, every time I look at Brock, all I can think about is Vanguard. And the worst part is that my body can't tell the difference.