DREARY UNDERTONE

Chapter 3

But who will take care of him?

He tugs a hankie from his shirt pocket, his hand trembling as he lifts it to my lip.

“You look mighty smart this morning.” His shrewd eyes bore into mine. “And nervous.”

I close my eyes while he blots the blood away. He already knows my strongest ally at the academy resigned from her position as the head music instructor. My relationship with Mrs. Wilson was three years in the making. She was the only person at Le Montaigne who had my back. Losing her endorsement for a scholarship is like starting over.

“I only have one year.” I open my eyes, locking onto Liam’s. “One year to impress a new instructor.”

“And all you need is a moment. Just make sure you’re there for it.”

I’ll catch the 91 line a few blocks away. The bus ride lasts twenty-five minutes. Then a ten-minute walk to the campus. I check my watch. I’ll be there, missing buttons, lip busted, but my fingers still work. I’ll make every moment count.

I run my tongue over the cut and cringe at the fatness around the broken skin. “Is it noticeable?”

“Yes.” He slides me a narrowed glance. “But not nearly as noticeable as your smile.”

Unbidden, my lips curl up, which I’m sure was his intention. “You’re such a charmer.”

“Only when she’s worth it.” He opens the clutter drawer at his hip and digs a quivering hand through the guitar picks, reeds, nails… What is he looking for?

Oh! I snatch the safety pin beside his probing finger and search for another. “Do you have any more?”

“Just the one.”

After a few strategic adjustments, I manage to pin the front of my shirt together and give him a grateful smile.

With a soft pat on my head, he makes a shooing motion. “Go on. Get up outta here.”

What he’s really saying is, go to school so I can get out of that house. Out of Treme. Out of this life.

“I plan on it.” I slide the bread across the counter.

“Oh no, now. You take it.”

“They’ll feed me at school.”

I know he hears the lie but accepts it anyway.

As I turn to leave, he grabs my wrist with more strength than I thought he was capable.

“They’re lucky to have you.” His dark eyes flash. “Damn lucky sons-a-bitches. Don’t you let them forget it.”

He’s right. Just because my family can’t offer wealthy donations or powerful connections doesn’t make me a charity case. My four-year tuition was paid in full when I was ten-years-old, and I passed the required auditions when I was fourteen, just like my peers. As long as I continue to outshine the others in coursework, recitals, essays, and behavior, the academy might not be so hard-pressed to drop me.

With a kiss on Liam’s wrinkled cheek, I head toward the bus stop, unable to stop the dread from returning to my stomach. What if my new music instructor hates me, refuses to mentor me or support me in the matriculation process for college? Daddy would be devastated. God, that’s my greatest ache. Is Daddy watching me? Has he seen the things I’ve done to make ends meet? The things I’ll have to do again, as soon as tonight? Does he miss me as much as I miss him?

Sometimes the terrible hole he left behind hurts so badly I can’t bear it. Sometimes I want to give into the pain and join him, wherever he is.

Which is why I’m moving my biggest challenge to the top of my task list.

Today, I’m going to smile.

As the early morning faculty meeting adjourns, my shiny new colleagues file out of the library in a monochrome of starched suits and clicking heels. I remain seated at the table, waiting for the herd to disperse while watching Patricia Laurent out of the corner of my eye.

She hasn’t shifted her authoritative stance from the head of the table, hasn’t given me so much as a glance since she introduced me at the beginning of the meeting. But she will, as soon as the room clears. No doubt she has one more agenda item to discuss. Privately.

“Mr. De la Croix.” Her eyes cut to mine as she glides across the marble floors, surprisingly quiet in her pretentious pumps, and closes the doors behind the last staff member. “A quick word before you go.”

It’ll be more than a word, but I won’t use semantics to unbalance the position she thinks she holds over me. There are more inventive ways to put her on her knees.

Folding my hands in my lap, I recline in the leather chair, an elbow on the table and an ankle on my knee. I give her the full force of my gaze, because she’s the kind of woman who wants something from everyone, something powerful she can manipulate according to her own will and vision. For now, all she’s getting from me is my attention.

Patricia strolls around the long table, her modest skirt-suit tailored to fit her slender frame. Twenty years my senior, she carries her age with remarkable elegance. High, pronounced cheekbones. Narrow, aristocratic features. Barely a wrinkle in her pale complexion.

Hard to tell if her hair is gray or blonde where it gathers at her nape. I bet she never wears it down. Attracting attention from men isn’t her especial vanity. No, her ferocious pride lies in her sense of superiority in giving orders, and watching subordinates scramble to kiss her ass.

Our first and only face-to-face meeting over the summer exposed some of her nature. The rest I deduced. She didn’t become the dean of Le Montaigne through the goodness of her heart or by shrinking from competition.

I know firsthand what it takes to oversee a prep school like this one.

I also know how easy it is to lose that position.

As she saunters toward me, her sharp eyes pass over the nooks between the mahogany bookcases, the empty librarian desk, and the vacant couches at the far end. Yes, Patricia. We’re alone.

She lowers into the chair beside me, legs crossing at the knees, and regards me with a calculated smile. “All settled in your new house?”

“Let’s not pretend you care.”

“Fine.” She drags trimmed fingernails over her skirt. “Sophia Wilson’s attorney contacted me. As it turns out, she decided not to leave quietly.”

Not my problem. I shrug a shoulder. “You said you’d handle it.”

Perhaps Patricia isn’t as competent as I assumed.

She hums, holding on to her smile, but it’s tighter now. “I handled it.”

“You threw more money at it?”

Her smile slips. “More than was warranted, the greedy bit—” Her lips thin as she leans back in the chair and stares across the room. “Anyway. It’s finished.”

I relax my mouth in half-smile, a deliberate signal of amusement. “Second guessing our arrangement already?”

She flicks her gaze back to me. “You’re a risk, Mr. De la Croix.” Her eyes taper into frosty slivers as she swivels her chair to face me. “How many job offers have you had since your fiasco in Coventry? Hmm?”

Her taunting awakens a torrent of anger and betrayal that kicks up my pulse. My throat burns to lash out, but all I give her is an arched eyebrow.

“Right. Well.” She sniffs with insolence. Or uncertainty. Probably both. “Le Montaigne has an inimitable reputation, one I’m responsible for upholding. Wilson’s departure and my willingness to hire you as her replacement have stirred unwanted suspicion.”

While Coventry destroyed my professional reputation, the reason for my resignation was never made public. Nevertheless, people talk. I suspect most of Le Montaigne’s faculty and student families will hear the whispers. I’d rather air the truth than subject myself to judgments based on twisted rumors. But Patricia’s terms for the job offer require my silence.

“Remember our agreement.” Her elbows press against her sides, her eyes overly bright, almost glassy. “Keep your mouth shut and let me herd the sheep and their frivolous chatter.”

She says this as if I should be impressed by her unethical business practices. But what she’s inadvertently done is shown her hand. Her fear is palpable. She wrongfully fired a tenure-track teacher and paid the woman to shut up, all to bring me here for her personal gain. If she truly had control of the situation, she wouldn’t have felt the need to initiate this conversation. She’s cold-blooded enough to destroy people’s lives, but that doesn’t mean she’s prepared to play this game. My game.

I rub a thumb over my bottom lip, delighting in the way her eyes reluctantly follow the movement.

The skin above her buttoned collar flushes. “It’s paramount that we keep the attention on your achievements as an educator.” She lifts her chin. “I expect you to set a professional example in the classroom—”

“Do not tell me how to do my job.” I was a well-respected instructor before I climbed the administrative ranks. f**k her and her self-righteous audacity.

“Like most teachers, you seem to have a problem with learning. So try to pay attention.” She angles forward, her tone low and clipped. “I will not have your perversions darkening the corners of my school. If your misconduct at Coventry is repeated here, the deal is off.”

The reminder of what I lost sparks a fire in my chest. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned Coventry. Why? Are you curious?” I level a challenging look at her. “Go ahead, Patricia. Ask your burning questions.”

She breaks eye contact, her neck stiffening. “One does not hire a w***e to hear about his exploits.”

“Oh, I’m a w***e now? Are you changing the terms of our deal?”

“No, Mr. De la Croix. You know why I hired you.” Her voice raises an octave. “With the explicit stipulation that there would be no indiscretions.” She lowers her tone. “I don’t want to hear another word about it.”