“When we hired him, we had no idea there would be a connection.” Blake scratches his beard, sending a rain of glitter onto the table. “He’s been wonderful with Quinn.”
“It doesn’t surprise me.” Carson runs a finger along the rim of his glass. “Leif always had a special touch with children. His classroom management was exemplary. I had the pleasure of training him myself when he first started.”
My grip tightens on the glass as he reframes Leif’s success as evidence of his own skill.
“Now, I can’t promise any preferential treatment just because we’re old friends,” Carson adds with a wink that draws chuckles from Blake and Nathaniel.
The exchange fills me with mounting unease. The dissonance between Carson’s casual reference to friendship and Leif’s visceral fear response widens with each word, the gap between them a chasm Blake and Nathaniel can’t see from their vantagepoint. In fairness to them, they didn’t see how fast Leif bolted when he saw Carson.
“Speaking of Leif,” Blake says, glancing around the ballroom, “where did he go? He was just here.”
Carson’s attention sharpens, though his expression remains pleasant. “Leif is here tonight? I’d love to say hello. It’s been too long since we caught up.”
The predatory edge beneath the casual inquiry raises the hair on my arms, my Alpha instincts surging in response to a threat I can sense but can’t yet name.
“He mentioned checking on Quinn,” I offer, the half-truth sliding from my lips. “She’s excited about the party, but large crowds can be overwhelming for her.”
“Of course,” Carson says. “Children need structure and boundaries, especially in stimulating environments. I’m sure Leif knows how to handle her needs.”
Jared tips his chin toward the ballroom entrance, where Grady has reappeared alone, his posture tense as he navigates back through the crowd.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” Carson says, following my line of sight and misinterpreting my attention, “I should greet a few other people, then get out of your hair so I don’t intrude further on your celebration.”
“No need to rush out the door,” Blake assures him. “In fact, you should join us for dinner sometime next week. I’d love to hear more about your vision for the school.”
Carson smiles like the cat who caught the canary. “I’d be delighted. Perhaps we could include Leif as well. I’m sure he has valuable insights about Quinn’s educational needs.”
The suggestion hangs in the air, innocent on its surface but loaded with implications I can’t decipher. A bone-deep certainty fills me, though, that Leif needs protection from this man, not proximity to him.
“Excellent idea,” Nathaniel says, unaware of the undercurrents. “We’ll arrange it soon.”
As Carson turns to greet another group, Jared slides closer to me. His fingertips brush the back of my hand in silent question.
I don’t have answers yet, only questions and the knowledge that whatever is happening here runs deeper than social discomfort. Leif’s reaction wasn’t embarrassment or awkwardness. It was self-preservation.
“Emily,” Blake says, pulling me into conversation, “how does mid-November sound for starting the indoor pool construction? Would that give your crew enough time to finish the cabin foundations?”
“With good weather, we can pour the last foundation by Halloween,” I reply while noting how Carson has positioned himself at the center of his new group without appearing to have done so. The investors angle toward him, their body language deferential despite his newcomer status. “My crew works fast when motivated by holiday bonuses.”
Blake laughs, clapping a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder. “See? I told you she’d have a solution.”
As our conversation continues, Carson drifts closer, his movement so natural it appears coincidental when he ends up within arm’s reach of our table. He stands with his back to us, engaged with another group, yet positioned to eavesdrop.
“You mentioned indoor recreation facilities,” Carson says, pivoting back into our group with such practiced ease that Blake and Nathaniel welcome him back without hesitation, as if he’d been part of the discussion all along. “The academy has been exploring ways to expand our physical education options beyond traditional sports.”
“We’re planning a multi-purpose facility,” Nathaniel explains, his enthusiasm overriding any question of why Carson would be so interested. “Indoor pool, fitness center, and yogastudio. The goal is year-round wellness options for guests and locals.”
“An admirable goal.” Carson clasps him on the shoulder. “At Pinecrest Academy, we believe in whole-child development, physical, emotional, and academic growth in balance. That’s why community partnerships are so vital.”
His educational philosophy sounds perfect on the surface. Who could argue with balanced development for children? Yet the rehearsed quality of his delivery strips the sentiment of genuine warmth.
“Mr. Whitaker,” calls a woman from across the room, waving a program in his direction. “A moment of your time?”
Carson inclines his head with regret. “Please excuse me. Duty calls.” He touches Blake’s shoulder. “I look forward to continuing our conversation soon. Perhaps at that dinner you mentioned.”
“Nice guy,” Blake comments, watching Carson depart. “Smart, too. His ideas for modernizing the academy’s curriculum sound promising.”
I hum a noncommittal response, unwilling to contradict Blake without evidence yet unable to share his positive assessment.