“Speaking of hot guys…” She angled her head in the direction
of a white Porsche Panamera that pulled into the parent pick-up line on the
other side of the wrought-iron fence. “There he is.”
And I wondered if I was seeing things.
Hallucinating.
If this was some kind of cruel, sick joke or if I’d just
done something really terrible in another life and this was my
punishment.
Because there was no mistaking the smoldering eyes staring
me down through the windshield where he came to a stop at the curb.
The way shock blanched his unbearably gorgeous face before
his jaw clenched in what appeared hatred.
Or maybe glee.
With the man, I was sure they were one and the same.
My hand tightened on the child’s.
Instinctual.
A gut reaction to protect him.
Shivers raced. This unsettled feeling that something was
coming. Something I didn’t understand, but something I should fear.
The man climbed from the driver’s seat of the flashy car
that I wouldn’t have thought would fit him at all but somehow right then looked
like the perfect accent piece.
He straightened to his full, menacing height.
“There he is! There he is!” The child started jumping up and
down and waving his hand in the air. “Hi, Dad, hi! Over here!”
That seething intensity flashed through the air. My head
spun and my knees knocked, my mouth going dry.
Trent Lawson strode toward the gate, all dark swagger and
don’t-give-a-shit attitude, even though there were at least fifteen signs
asking parents to stay in their cars and their children would be escorted out.
I got the sense the man wasn’t exactly one to follow the
rules.
Because there he was, dressed a lot like he’d been last
night, black jeans and a black v-neck tee and black boots that were unlaced.
All that exposed, inked flesh somehow appeared obscene.
I had the urge to wrap the child up and take him into
hiding. Run to the rest of the children and usher them to safety.
Emergency evacuation.
But I just stood there.
Dumbfounded.
Finally, I mumbled, “That’s your dad?”
Gage Lawson.
Of course.
This really was some cruel, sick joke, and I was the very
brunt of it.
“Yep! That’s him.” Gage was jumping and pointing. “Tell him
I got an A, Miss Murphy! He’s gonna be so proud!”
Trent Lawson strode toward the gate with the clear intention
of barging in.
Finally, I found my voice, calling out before he made it
through the barrier. “Sir, you need to wait in your car. School isn’t over for
a couple minutes, and we will bring your child to you. Parents aren’t allowed
in this area without signing in at the office first.”
With his hand on the gate latch, he paused, an arrogant
smirk ticking up like a threat at the corner of that plush mouth. “That
so?”
I lifted my chin, still clutching his son’s hand.
“Yes.”
He eyed me as if I were the enemy. “So, let me get this
straight. I pay an ungodly amount of money for my son to come here, and you get
to tell me when I can and cannot pick him up?”
“You’re paying for your child’s education, Sir, not for me
to order you around.”
“Huh…would have been mistaken.”
My chin lifted higher. “It seems you are very, very
mistaken.”
A war waged in the exchange. That same tension that had
existed last night clear and present, his outright animosity unchanged. But
there was something else lining it, too.
As if I’d gained some sort of power as we stared each other
down.
“You’ve got to wait, Dad! I told you I got to get all the
As, and you’re gonna ruin it by not followin’ the rules. Sheesh.”
Tessa giggled beside me.
One second later, the bell rang. It jarred me out of the
trance the man held me under, my entire being jolted with the sound, as if time
had been set to pause and it’d begun to speed to catch back up.
Children screeched their excitement and ran to grab their
bags that were lined up against the wall.
“Please remain in your car tomorrow,” I called out, the
words roughened shards as I reluctantly released Gage’s hand.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he returned, just as smug and
cocky and infuriating as he’d been last night.
Gage went running that way, that giant backpack bouncing all
over. He glanced at me, running backward for two steps, nothing but grins and
belief. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back to see you tomorrow, Miss Murphy!”
When the child made it to him, Trent stretched out a hand
for Gage to take.
For a flash, his entire demeanor shifted when he looked down
at the child and the child smiled up at him.
Soft. Kind. Protective.
I had to be seeing things.
Then he turned to leave on those ridiculous boots, but not
before he tossed out from over his shoulder, “See ya soon, Kitten.”
Anger rushed, my cheeks hot and my pulse wild and that
irrational rage taking hold.
All mixed up with that feeling.
That impossibility.
They walked back to the Porsche, and I remained rooted to
the spot as he helped Gage into the backseat and into a booster before he
rounded the front of the car and slipped into the driver’s seat.
The man glared at me before he tossed his car back into
drive and pulled from the curb.
Fingernails curled into my upper arm. “Holy shit, Eden
Jasmine Murphy,” Tessa hissed. “What was that? And you better fess it up now,
because I can already feel your denial coming on, and there is no denying
whatever the heck that was.”
She waved a turbulent hand through the air as if she could
capture that feeling.
Something unattainable but real.
“That?” I let my eyes follow the car that whipped out of the
drive far too fast. “That was my new boss.”
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A.L. Jackson is the New York Times & USA Today
Bestselling author of contemporary romance. She writes emotional, sexy,
heart-filled stories about boys who usually like to be a little bit bad.
Her bestselling series include THE REGRET SERIES, CLOSER TO
YOU, BLEEDING STARS, FIGHT FOR ME, CONFESSIONS OF THE HEART, and FALLING STARS
novels. Watch out for her upcoming stand-alone, GIVE ME A REASON, releasing
August 30th!
If she’s not writing, you can find her hanging out by the
pool with her family, sipping cocktails with her friends, or of course with her
nose buried in a book.
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