Chapter Twenty-Four
Leif
Aqueasy sense of dread fills me as I drop Quinn off at her classroom right as the first bell rings. Emily and Jared’s pheromones cling to my clothes, my hair, and my skin, woven into the fabric of my sweater from falling asleep on their couch last night.
With a wave, I clutch the leather strap as I turn and head down the hall, my shoes squeaking along the way from the puddle I stepped in on our way into the building from the parking lot. My socks squish with each step, adding to my plummeting mood.
The calendar notification had come through at five thirty this morning, reminding me of an eight o’clock meeting I’d somehow overlooked.
Usually, I go back to the hotel to shower and put on clothes that aren’t saturated in Alpha pheromones, but I had overslept and barely had enough time to make it to the docks to meet Quinn.
My heart hammers as I stride toward the faculty workspace at the end of the corridor, its frosted glass door revealing a shadow of movement within.
Carson is already here, waiting.
I pause, one hand on the door handle, and take three controlled breaths to settle my pulse. The pheromone blockers I applied during my frantic morning rush offer minimal coverage. Emily’s crushed clover scent rises from my skin with each elevated heartbeat, a beacon announcing where I spent the night.
The handle turns under my palm, and I step inside.
Carson sits at the conference table, a neat stack of folders arranged before him. His sandy hair catches the fluorescent light, freshly trimmed at the sides. He doesn’t lift his head as I enter, but his nostrils flare.
“Good morning,” I say. “Sorry, I’m late.”
Carson marks his place in a document with one finger before raising his head. “Traffic on Harbor Road again? That stretch is becoming quite problematic.”
The olive branch of a plausible excuse surprises me, and I latch onto it. “Yes, a delivery truck blocked the intersection.”
“You should move further into town,” he suggests. “Closer to the school.”
I stiffen at the suggestion. “Moving further away from the docks isn’t conducive to my job as Quinn’s nanny.”
Carson scoffs at that. “Really, how long are you going to keep demeaning yourself like this when there are better job opportunities at your fingertips?”
My hand tightens on the strap of my satchel. “I like it the way things are now.”
“Well, then. Let’s not keep you longer than necessary.” He gestures to the chair across from him, a casual invitation that doesn’t match the calculation in his gray-green eyes. “I’ve arranged the scheduling materials in order of priority. We should be able to move through them efficiently.”
The conference room shrinks as I take my seat, walls closing in with each breath Carson takes, each subtle inhale samplingEmily’s scent on my skin. The overhead fluorescents buzz, a persistent hum vibrating through my skull.
“I’ve completed the substitute request forms for next week,” I say, pulling papers from my bag to place on the table between us. The pages curl at the edges from the damp. “History and science, as requested.”
Carson pulls the forms toward him, scanning my neat handwriting. “You included copies of the lesson plans. Excellent. The department heads will appreciate the thoroughness.”
“I spoke with both teachers to ensure continuity,” I continue, settling into the familiar rhythm. Anticipating needs, creating systems, and maintaining order are what I’ve always excelled at. “Ms. Thompson provided digital copies of all lab materials, which I’ve uploaded to the shared drive.”
Carson writes a note in his planner, the quietscratch-scratchgrating on my nerves. “And the committee reports?”
I extract a folder from my bag, its edges crisp despite the rain. “Completed yesterday. The parent committee approved the service animal policy amendments with only two abstentions. The implementation timeline remains on schedule for January.”
His pen pauses, hovering above the page. “The board will be pleased. Your presentation last month was quite persuasive.”
My muscles tense at the praise. Carson never offers approval without purpose.
“Thank you.” I open my laptop and angle it so we can both see the screen that is already loaded with the spreadsheet of color-coded schedules. “I’ve drafted the rotation for hall monitoring during final exams. Faculty preferences are incorporated where possible.”
Carson leans forward to examine the screen, his cherries and iron pheromones washing over me. They’re stronger than usual, as if he’s trying to block out Emily’s scent on me.
“Very efficient,” he murmurs, tracing a column with his finger. “You’ve managed to accommodate Mrs. Linwood’s medical appointments without disrupting coverage.”