“Wonderful. I have a meeting off campus at four this afternoon, so I can meet you at the bar.”
“Great. I’ll be there.” Her mood lifted slightly.
“And, Harper, we can get this taken care of. Try not to worry. If we get this straightened out, you could be here a long time.”
She thanked him and walked back to her classroom, glad to have a vote of confidence from her boss. She returned to her juniors, who were presenting their essays on their favorite family vacations. She could hardly stomach listening to all these trips to the Louvre, zip-lining in the Alps, glamping safaris in Kenya, and sailing in St. Tropez.
She scrolled her contacts to text “Climate Denier,” her conservative brother, Ernest, who lived in a new building in Hudson Yards. She found the neighborhood soulless, but he said liked the new construction and walk-in closets.
“Hey. Can I stay over a couple of nights? Bathroom flooded at my place. And don’t say I told you so. I know it’s a dump!”
They argued bitterly about politics, but they were good to each other. He said yes, of course she could stay.
“But only if you text me Mary’s number.” Their running joke about how he was in love with her friend.
“Fat chance!”
AT 4:30, HARPERfinished going through the last of her emails and jotted some notes about her experience with the Baldwins for the conversation she had to have the next day. She freshened up in the teachers’ all-gender bathroom, putting her hair in a tidier bun and adding some under-eye concealer and lip gloss. She wore a long tan dress, ankle boots, and her signature brown leather jacket that she’d had for years. It was perfectly broken in and had just the right number of pockets. She thought her outfit said youthful and creative, part of the New York crowd who didnotwork in finance or media.
Harper had enough time to walk to the Oyster Bar to get there by five. She enjoyed the city at this time of day, before the evening rush. The restaurants were starting to fill up as tourists grabbed an early dinner before the theater. She loved Broadway and made a mental note to enter a lottery to see if she could win tickets for a show—she knew all the tricks to getting decent seats at a good price.
Mr. Swift had beat her to the restaurant inside Grand Central. He was at the bar, a martini in front of him, and an empty seat to his right.
“Harper. You made it. You look beautiful.”
She was flattered but thought that was a little weird coming from her headmaster. She shook it off and ordered a glass of Sancerre, which she thought made her seem sophisticated. He asked the bartender for the special oysters of the day for them to share.
“Right away, sir.” The bartender was efficient. Harper realized he probably made way more money than she did. Should she consider a part-time job after school?
They made small talk for a while. She’d been hired quickly when the previous English teacher had moved on to Dalton. He asked about her upbringing and told her about growing up on the Main Line in Philadelphia. They ended up talking about their favorite books, which was a topic she loved. She felt warm and happy. She ordered another glass of wine.
“So, Harper. Edith Thistlewood told me all about the... uh, other situation today—this thing with the Laschers.”
“Yes. I’m sorry that I’ve caused you a hassle.”
“It’s okay. It’s okay. I know how these parents can be. I understand from Edith that you handled it as best you could in the moment, but she’s not sure they’re completely satisfied.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. What else can I do?”
“Oh, no need to apologize,” he said, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a card, and setting it on the bar. The logo was recognizable: Hilton. The hotel next door to Grand Central.
She stared at it, not sure if he’d meant to get out his credit card to pay the bill before he caught his train.
“You know,” he continued, “I could talk to the Laschers privately. And we can make all this go away.” He looked at her over his martini. “If you want it to.”
For the second time in front of him that day, heat rushed up her neck to her face. She was ashamed, embarrassed, and furious. And confused. Was he asking her to sleep with him to keep teaching at Van Buren?
Harper’s brain set off in several directions at once. She needed this job, but this man was way out of line. Her instincts were firing. Her parents had drilled this advice into her head at an early age: “You’re the only one who can protect your integrity.” She’d made some bad decisions in her life so far, and she knew that sleeping with her boss would be the worst one yet.
She had to think quickly—the second glass of wine had been a terrible idea.
“That’s a very interesting proposition, Mr. Swift.” She tilted her head and didn’t meet his eye.
“Phil, please.” He put his hand on her knee. She flinched.
“Tell you what,” she said. “Let me use the restroom and I’ll meet you at the front entrance on Forty-Second?” She smiled and met his gaze. He looked relieved, his eyebrows raised in salacious expectation, believing he’d made the right call in exploiting Harper.
He dug in his pocket for cash to leave on the counter as she grabbed her jacket, threw her bag over her shoulder, and walked toward the ladies’ room. Her heart was beating fast.