Page 528 of Lessons in Cruelty

“What for?” I cut in.

“Oh, uh...” the liaison hesitates. I can just imagine her fussing with the cheap reading glasses she wears on the end of her nose. “Dean Winslow wants to arrange a sit-down with him. I’m not sure what it’s about.”

The words hit harder than they should. And I know it’s just my paranoia kicking in again, but I swear Thatcher is leaning forward as he strains to hear.

I hold the phone away from my ear. “Do you mind?” I say dryly.

Thatcher looks surprised that I’m speaking to him, then gives me a chagrined shrug as he steps back.

One foot.

Jesus, this fucking guy⁠—

“Leave it with me.” I hear the sharpness in my tone, and smooth it out with effort. “Things are…delicate at the moment. You know how it is with these students. I’ll speak to the dean and make the necessary arrangements.”

“Oh, I see,” Nora says faintly. “I had a feeling something wasn’t right when⁠—“

“Alright, Norma, we’ll talk more when I come to collect the class notes. See you in a few.”

The moment I end the call, Thatcher steps up and opens his mouth.

I hold up my hand, shaking my head.

“There’s a staff shortage, so my workload just doubled.” My words are as precise and deliberate as the way I tuck my phone back into my pocket. “If you still have questions next week, Deputy Thatcher, feel free to contact me then.”

Thatcher holds up his hand too, but his face is all apologies. “All I want to know is if you were anywhere in the vicinity of this ‘Rain Dance’.”

“Seeing as it was less than half a mile from the country club, yes. I’d say I and nearly all the faculty were in close proximity.”

Thatcher purses his lips. “Were you aware that Mr. Jordan was bullying Haven?”

I almost ask which Jordan he’s referring to. Almost.

But I don’t, and yet, Thatcher still clarifies with belated, “Ezra, of course.”

Of course.

“No.”

“I see.” He bows his head to scratch something in his book.

Thatcher isn’t just asking questions. He’s building a fucking case. And every seemingly casual inquiry is another potential nail in my coffin.

Fuck this.

“You have my number.”

I turn on my heel, pretending I’ve turned deaf when Thatcher calls out, “Actually, Professor, you never gave me your…” He trails off as I trot down the stairs, and it feels like I’m escaping by the skin of my teeth.

That creaky step groans under my weight, forcing a sour, “Piece of shit,” from me.

There’s no relief when I slide into my Tesla’s red leather seat. Not with Thatcher’s penetrating stare stuck in my head.

Ezra, Kai, Haven, the dean, and now Thatcher?

How had I convinced myself I could keep my head above the water with all this fucking baggage? But that’s just it…I was doing fine until Haven Lee came along.

I just couldn’t resist those bright, innocent eyes, could I?