Carson circles around me before I can reach it, his hand settling on the small of my back as he guides me toward the whiteboard. “Focus, Leif. This matters.”
He sketches a quick flowchart while he talks through the presentation structure, while over his shoulder, I watch the clock change to eight-twelve.
Nearly half an hour since he pulled me into his office.
Dinner at Emily’s cottage recedes with every passing second, shifting from certainty to a might-have-been.
“Do you see how this structure addresses the board’s concerns?” Carson asks, demanding engagement despite my obvious desire to leave.
“Yes, it’s very clear,” I reply, edging toward my bag. “If that’s all, I need to?—”
“There’s one more thing,” Carson interrupts, stepping into my path. He pulls a thin manila folder from his desk. “The parent committee submitted questions requiring review.”
He flips it open to reveal three pages of typed concerns. My stomach drops as I scan them. Every question demands a response, every response invites discussion, every discussion steals another five minutes.
“Why didn’t you give me these before the meeting today?”
“There was already so much to go over. I didn’t want to overload the evening,” he says. “The meeting ran long, without these added concerns.”
“Perhaps we could address them tomorrow,” I suggest, looking at the clock. “During regular hours.”
Carson follows my gaze, his expression suggesting mild surprise at the time. “Is it that late already? Time flies when the work matters, doesn’t it? Give me a few more minutes to sort the priority items, then you can be on your way.”
A band tightens around my throat. There will always be one more document, one more question, one more reason I can’t leave. This meeting has nothing to do with work and everything to do with keeping me from Emily’s dinner table tonight.
I thought I’d done a good job of hiding my continued relationship with the female Alpha from Carson, showering and wearing only clothes kept at my hotel before setting foot within the school, never going out in public with her, never breathing her name within these walls.
But he found out somehow.
My lungs stop working as the meeting stretches into its forty-fifth minute, each breath coming in shallow, measured intakes barely slipping past the noose tightening around my neck.
While Carson drones on about committee structures, my spine transforms to steel, vertebrae locking into place as I maintain a posture of professional attention. Inside my head,though, a clock ticks louder, counting down to the moment Emily will give up on me.
“The board expects a unified front on these accommodation policies,” Carson says, shuffling yet another stack of papers. “As faculty representatives, we set the tone for the entire institution.”
I nod, my neck muscles rigid with the effort of appearing engaged while panic bubbles like acid, eating away at my composure.
My phone vibrates with the fifth message. Or is it the sixth? I’ve lost count.
“Excuse me,” I say, the words tight in my constricted throat. “I should at least alert my dinner host about my delay.”
My fingers close around my phone, pulling it from my pocket. The screen illuminates with notifications for three texts from Emily, a missed call, and a voicemail.
Carson’s hand shoots out, stopping me again, and this time his thumb digs into the tender spot where my pulse throbs beneath pale skin.
“The Roberts family asked about handler continuity for Quinn’s service animal,” he says in a not-so-subtle threat, as if his hand isn’t gripping my wrist hard enough for my fingers to go numb around my phone. “Your response needs careful consideration, not a rushed reply from a distracted mind.”
My pulse starts racing as he takes the phone from me and slips it back into my pocket.
“As I was saying,” Carson continues, as if nothing happened. “Leadership at Pinecrest Academy requires certain sacrifices. Time, primarily. Availability when needed.”
His hand settles on my shoulder, light after the brief flare of violence.
“You’ve shown remarkable dedication to Pinecrest Academy,” he says, fingers squeezing once before sliding away. “The board recognizes your commitment.”
He moves to stand before me, leaning back on his desk, legs crossed at the ankles in a casual pose that blocks my view of the door, and his fingers tap out a three-beat rhythm.
One, two, three.Pause.One, two, three.