He lingers in the doorway, studying me the way a hunter studies an animal already caught in a snare. My bruise earns a flicker of open satisfaction before he shuts the door behind him, never once turning away.
“I was wondering if you would come in today to discuss things like an adult, or if you would hide like a child.” The collar of Carson’s shirt sits aligned beneath his crimson tie, without a wrinkle in sight. He hadn’t spent a single second of the weekend worried as I had. “I’m proud of you.”
Am I supposed to be pleased by his praise? My throat tightens as he speaks, but I hold my position by the desk.
“The bruise is healing well.” His mouth curves upward. “An unfortunate but predictable outcome when you refuse guidance from someone who understands both the professional world and the biological realities of our dynamics.”
He circles the desk, his cherries-and-iron scent expanding to fill the office with each passing second.
“You’ve always struggled with accepting structure.” Carson trails his fingers along the polished wood of his desk as he moves. “That’s why I created this position for you. Did you know the board balked at creating the new role for an Omega when I first brought it up?”
The question hangs between us, but he doesn’t want a real answer. I’m within his clutches now, so all this is theatrics.
He stops at the corner of the desk nearest me, close enough that his intensifying pheromones surround me. “I persuaded them by vouching for your capabilities under proper supervision.”
My pulse quickens, but I keep my expression neutral, allowing him to continue his monologue.
“The opportunity I’ve created for you is rare, Leif,” he murmurs, intimate despite the professional setting. “Parents don’t trust Omegas with leadership roles. Your continued employment depends on maintaining the stability I’ve worked so hard to build for you.”
The sunlight shifts as a cloud passes outside, dimming the room for a moment. Carson moves another step closer.
“That stability requires cooperation.” His hand adjusts his tie pin. “Not only in the classroom, but in private matters as well.”
Carson’s satisfaction radiates from him in waves, his pheromones thickening until they smother me. “Your professional loyalty, your personal availability, your willingness to acknowledge the Alpha investing so much effort in shaping your future... These aren’t unreasonable expectations.”
I swallow, keeping my body still while every instinct urges me to retreat from his presence. “When you speak of loyalty, what does that mean?”
Carson blinks, surprised by my question. “It means putting the needs of the institution and those who guide it above your personal comfort.”
“And who decides when the institution’s needs conflict with mine?”
“Those with the experience and authority to make such judgments.” His hand rises to straighten his already perfect collar. “Your perspective is valuable, Leif, but limited by your position and your nature.”
I avoid looking at my phone on his desk.
“You mentioned stability,” I continue. “Who determines whether that stability exists?”
Carson’s mouth curves. “The board follows my recommendations regarding staff performance. Parent committees rely on my assessments. The school administration trusts my judgment when it comes to evaluating risks to our educational environment.”
“And Quinn’s support program?” I ask. “Does that stability extend to her as well?”
“Of course.” He steps closer, misreading my questions as capitulation. “Children with special needs require consistent structure. Any disruption in their support systems can have lasting consequences.”
“So my relationship with you affects Quinn’s accommodations?”
His eyebrows rise. “Everything in a school this size is connected, Leif. Quinn’s services depend on consistent advocacy from staff the board trusts. Your position provides the advocacy, and my recommendation ensures you keep the position.”
“And if I refuse these expectations?” I ask, pushing harder now. “If I decline any personal arrangement?”
“You misunderstand the nature of our professional relationship.” The temperature in the office drops. “Your position exists because I advocated for it. Your continued effectiveness depends on my continued support.”
He straightens from the desk. “Reputations in education are built on perception, not reality. A teacher who displays emotional instability loses the confidence of parents and administrators.”
The implied threat sends ice through my veins.
“Reports of inconsistent behavior would necessitate closer supervision,” he continues. “Concerns about judgment would trigger review of any sensitive responsibilities.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. “Such as Quinn’s support program.”