Page 94 of Embracing the Beat
“The position closed last week, so the plan is to interview the qualified candidates soon, and my replacement will shadow me next semester.”
“Sounds good.” I ball up the wrapper from my sandwich—the safest choice from the cafeteria since I forgot my lunch again after tossing and turning all night, thinking about my argument with Michaela.
I still feel like an ass and will apologize to her repeatedly for my churlish behavior when I see her tonight. It’s been a long three days, and I can’t wait to hold her in my arms again.
“Who in the world watches this trash?” Phil points to the TV mounted to the wall of the lounge as we make our way to the door. The Celebrity Gossip News logo bounces around the screen as their “news” show starts.
I roll my eyes, following Phil out, but a name catches my attention.
“Uh-oh. Looks cozy, right? Why is it every time Michaela King is captured on film, it’s for less-than-stellar reasons?” one reporter asks.
Freezing mid-stride, I turn my attention to the screen where a picture of Michaela and another man is prominent on the display with a caption in big, bold print.
Jax and Michaela…another shot in the City of Angels?
In the image, Jax has his hand on Michaela’s arm. Her chin is propped on her hand as she gazes at him in adoration.
What. The. Fuck?
Another picture pops up next to it, the image older and grainier, like it was taken from a security camera. Michaela is in a short denim skirt and tight top, her head tilted while she’s kissing the man in front of her. The one who looks an awful lot like the guy touching her in the recent picture.
Michaela told me the attorney’s name was Michael—Mike, she called him. So why the fuck is she in a picture with Jax Bryant?
I clench my jaw so hard my head begins to throb. She told me she was meeting an attorney.
Remember, things aren’t always what they seem.
Her voice echoes in my head, but it doesn’t stop a playback of the awful shit I discovered a few weeks ago. Even if they turned out to be wrong.
Ask her.
Letting out a breath through my nostrils, I unclench my jaw, but the tension still locks my shoulders in place.
“West, everything all right?” Phil stands by the door, holding it open and staring at me curiously.
“Sorry,” I say and join him by the door.
“You a fan?” He gestures to the TV before he steps into the hall.
“Oh, um, not really.”
“No?”
Obviously, Phil doesn’t recognize Michaela from the time she dropped off my lunch, and I don’t want to explain who she is or what she means to me. Or why the image of another man touching her has me seeing green, the jealousy spiking hot and hard in my blood.
“No. The board presentation is coming up next week, right?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Yes. Hopefully it goes as smoothly as the first. I think everyone is aware that there isn’t much more we can do,” he says.
“Let me know if there’s any way I can help,” I offer.
He nods, waving when a student stops him to ask a question.
Getting back to my classroom, I pull my phone out of my pocket, debating whether there is enough time to call Michaela to find out why she was with Jax. To beg her to remind me things aren’t what they appear.
The ringing bell negates the idea, and I tuck my phone away. Two more periods. Then I can go home and talk to Michaela in person—her flight was supposed to land about an hour ago.
Several times over the next ninety minutes, the clock either stops entirely or goes backward. That’s the only explanation for why it feels like it takes eight hours to get to the final bell. There’s a cacophony of scraping chairs and chatter among the sophomores leaving my class, taking the smell of hormones and acne products with them.
