Always the terrific bullshitter. He usually got away with it because of his good looks and cocky demeanor. But today, the very sound of his voice made her want to throw up.
“We need to talk.” Her voice was low. She was hyperaware of the three students still chatting about twenty feet away in the otherwise empty hall.
“Oh?” He continued to study her. “About anything in particular?”
“You know exactly what this is about.”
“Let me guess. Leanne Armstrong tattled on me.” He finally broke eye contact to glance at his watch. “Can this wait?”
Unbelievable. He knew damn well this wasn’t about Leanne. Fine, he wanted to play it that way, so be it.
“No, it can’t.” Her voice was still quiet, but she spoke with authority. “Whatever the hell’s going on between us, you still work for me, and you still need to do your job.”
Ethan laughed, and the sound echoed in the large auditorium. He didn’t care who might be listening. “You’re ballsy. I always liked that about you. Always so professional.”
“Ethan-”
“So why don’t you do my job as well? From now on, I’ll redirect all student concerns to you. You can handle that, can’t you?” He cocked his head to one side. “I know how much you care about your students, Dr. Tao. You’d never let them down. Especially me.”
The three students still chatting in the lecture hall were watching them, perplexed looks on their faces. Sheila didn’t think they could hear anything from where they were standing, but there was no way to know.
Ethan leaned in closer and she could smell his cinnamon breath. “I watched our video again last night, Sheila, and I am this close to making you famous. Go ahead. Push me.”
CHAPTER 8
N ormally Sheila would complain about spending all day Saturday watching college football in Morris’s gigantic living room. She had nothing against football, but it wasn’t her idea of a fun time.
However, she couldn’t bear to protest. Her days with Morris were numbered. Any moment now, it would all come crashing down, and she wanted to enjoy what happy times they had left. Watching football with him was the least she could do.
He was yelling at the TV, clutching an old football in his hands as he always did when the Longhorns played. He had no idea how beautiful he was. She loved everything about him-his thick brown hair with a touch of gray at the temples, the crinkles around his blue eyes that gave him character. He was dressed in jeans and a half-unbuttoned white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to expose his strong forearms. He caught her staring at him and winked.
The game went to commercial. Putting the football down, Morris leaned toward her, cupped her face in his big hands, and kissed her deeply. He smelled the way he always smelled-a blend of fabric softener, soap, and spicy citrus aftershave.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach-they always did when he kissed her like that. She parted her lips, slipping her tongue inside his mouth, and let her hands wander down to his belt.
From somewhere nearby, wherever she had dropped her purse, her BlackBerry chimed. She had a new e-mail.
“Don’t you even think about checking that.” Morris’s hands were under her shirt.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She continued to kiss him, but then it occurred to her the e-mail might be from Randall. She’d been in contact that morning with a sweet-sounding woman from the New York branch of Amnesty International who’d promised to get back to her with new contact info for Morris’s long-lost son.
The game came back on and a moment later a loud cheer erupted from the TV. Morris turned his face toward the screen midkiss.
“Yes!” he barked in her ear. “He makes the extra kick and they’re going into overtime. Are you excited?”
“Oh, hell.” She pushed him away and stood up, looking around for her purse. “I can’t check my phone while we’re making out, but you can watch football?”
“Aw, honey, it was just one quick look.” He feigned sorrow but his eyes were still on the TV.
“Where’s my purse?”
“Kitchen.”
She found it sitting on the shiny black granite of the large center island. She loved this kitchen. Morris had designed it himself because he loved to cook. It was one of the things they often did together. Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was huge, with cabinets that stretched up to the ceiling, sleek stainless steel appliances, a chef’s cooktop and double wall oven, even a pot rack hanging over the island. She wouldn’t miss her townhouse.
Scrolling through her BlackBerry, she saw that she actually had two new messages. The first was an e-mail from Katrina Lebert, the nice Amnesty woman. The other was a text message from Ethan. She ignored the text and clicked on Katrina’s e-mail first.
Subject: Randall Gardener
Hi Sheila,
Good news. Randall and his team should be passing through the AI office in Honduras sometime this week and my sister just happens to work there. I’ve let her know you urgently need Randall to contact you and will have her pass along your info.
Hope this helps!
Katrina
Damn. It didn’t really help. She’d been told before that Randall would be passing through one of the Amnesty offices, but if he’d gotten her messages, he’d never contacted her. Every phone number she had for him was disconnected, every e-mail address was either inactive or he just wasn’t checking. Time was running out. The wedding was in three weeks.
She could understand the issues Randall had with his father. Morris had admitted he’d been a distant parent to all three of his sons, and unfortunately Randall, as the oldest, had taken the brunt of it. Morris’s drinking had damaged his son deeply. All Sheila wanted to do was help-first, by reuniting the two of them, and later, by helping Randall work through his issues, whatever they might be.
Sheila poked her head into the living room. Morris was yelling at the television, lost in the world of football. After a second of hesitation, she clicked on the text message from Ethan. It only took one second to read what he wrote.
What do u see in that fat fuck anyway?
Sheila gasped, then looked up quickly to make sure Morris was still in the other room. She took several deep breaths in an effort to stem the rage building inside her.
The goddamned son of a bitch! Who the hell did he think he was?
Suddenly she didn’t give a rat’s ass about the sex video that could destroy her career. Ethan wanted time off and a reduced workload? Fine, whatever. But nobody talked about Morris that way. Nobody. Careers weren’t everything. If Ethan was determined to get her fired, there was nothing she could do about it. But there was still a chance she could protect what she had with Morris, and that mattered more to her than anything. She had let this scumbag into their lives and it had to stop.
Shaking with anger, Sheila’s thumbs flew over the keyboard of her BlackBerry.
He’s 1000 times the man you will ever be. Go fuck yourself.
She pressed SEND before she could change her mind.
A sense of utter satisfaction washed over her. God, it felt good to stand up to this asshole once and for all. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a small smile, picturing the shock on Ethan’s face when he got her reply.
It was a full minute before panic set in.
Oh, no. What have I done?
Morris came into the kitchen and Sheila looked up, wondering if her burgeoning hysteria was written all over her face. She stuck her phone back into her purse as Morris opened his enormous Sub-Zero fridge to peruse its contents. He selected a can of Diet Coke and popped the tab.
“Anything important?” he asked, taking a long sip.
It was time to tell him everything. Her e-mail had just cemented her demise, and if she didn’t tell Morris now, Ethan certainly would. She had to explain before the bastard splashed her naked body all over the Internet. She had to prepare Morris.