Misconduct (20 page)

“What kind of inventions sprang forth?” I asked, snapping my fingers. “Let’s go. Come on.”

“The cotton gin!” Rayder Broussard shot out.

“Which did what?” I continued, listening as I stared at the tile and paced back and forth.

“Uh,” a girl stuttered, and then shouted, “Cotton fibers separated from seeds, enabling clothing to be more quickly produced!”

I looked up, seeing it was a student from Team One, so I jetted over to the board and tallied a point for her team and one for Rayder’s.

“What else?” I called out.

The students flipped through their notes and charts, working vigorously and still going strong despite being worked like machines from the moment they’d stepped into the room today. They sat or stood scattered around the room in organized chaos with their groups and with their noses buried in their research. I would’ve loved this level of participation if my intentions were noble.

But they weren’t. I’d needed the distraction ever since my brother’s visit yesterday. He’d denied leaving my kitchen a mess, and now it was all I could think about. If Jack hadn’t left the drawer and cabinets open, then who had?

He should’ve known. The minute he’d walked into the apartment the night before and seen the kitchen out of sorts, he should’ve known something was wrong. I never left things out of place.

Four cups in a stack in the cabinet, two turns to close the toothpaste, closet organized – blouses, shirts, pants, skirts, dark to light – everything was always in order.

But upon further inspection yesterday, I’d found my shower curtain also open and two skirts I hadn’t worn lately hanging on the back of my bedroom chair.

My heart started to pound again, and I swallowed.

While I arranged and organized things as a way to achieve a small sense of control, it had begun as a way to tell if anyone had been in my space.

At sixteen, when I’d started obsessing, if something was mussed, crooked, or out of place, I would know that I wasn’t safe.

And while now I still did it for a measure of peace, I hadn’t felt unsafe in five years. Not since the last time I’d seen him.

Maybe I’d taken the skirts out two nights ago, when Tyler had wanted to take me to dinner. Maybe I’d opened the cabinets and drawer before that, when I was arguing with Jack.

I hadn’t counted anything lately, so maybe I was starting to loosen my grip on the order I’d once needed. Maybe my brain was so preoccupied with my class and with Tyler that I’d started to do what I’d needed to do for years: move on and let go.

Or maybe my brother did open the cabinets and drawers and just forgot.

Maybe.
 

I blinked, the class’s commotion growing louder.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to relax. “Come on!” I clapped my hands, rejoining the class. “Team One is in the lead here!”

I looked to Christian, who sat with his team but was not participating. “Christian?” I prompted. “Any ideas?”

He didn’t answer but only flipped through his notes absently, not attempting to even look like he was trying to work.

“The steam engine!” someone shouted.

I let my aggravation over Christian’s continued defiance go as I met Sheldon’s eyes and mentally tallied Team Three.

“Which did what?” I called out, walking for the whiteboard again.

I heard a chair screech behind me as someone shot up. “It allowed a wide range of machines to be powered!”

I recognized Marcus’s voice and placed another point for Team One and one for Team Three on the board.

“What else?”

“The telegraph!” someone called.

“And what was its purpose?”

“To um…” The girl’s voice drifted off, while everyone else whispered in their groups or flipped through their notes.

“Come on,” I urged. “You’re heading for Earth, and your spaceship is out of control. You’re going to crash!” I shouted, a smile tilting my lips.

“Communicate over long distances using Morse code!” Dane called out, his eyes wide with excitement.

“They already could communicate over long distances by writing letters,” I challenged.

“But the telegraph was quicker!” he shouted, pointing his finger up in the air as if declaring war.

I laughed. “Good!” I praised, walking to the board and marking points.

Turning around, I walked back down the aisle, paying special attention to Christian.

“Now,” I started. “Imagine that you need a ride home, and cell phones don’t exist. How do you get home?” I asked.

“Find a phone,” Sidney Jane answered.

But I shot back. “The school’s closed, so you can’t use theirs.”

“Go to a business and use their phone,” Ryan Cruzate called out.

I shrugged. “No one answers when you call.”

“Walk home,” Shelby Roussel continued the problem-solving.

I nodded. “Okay, you got there, but you don’t have a key.”

“Sit your butt outside,” Marcus joked, a few kids joining in the laughter.

“It’s raining,” I argued again.

Trey Watts locked his hands behind his head. “Go to a friend’s and wait,” he suggested.

“They’re not home, either.” I winced with fake sympathy.

“Call someone —”

I stopped her with a head shake about the same time she realized we’d already been through that. The class laughed when they remembered that they don’t have cell phones in this scenario. How easy it was to forget that we no longer had something we didn’t realize we relied on so much.

And there really was no solution. You adjust and cope, but you can’t make it the same again.

I paced the aisle, feeling Christian’s silence like a deafening weight to my left.

“Now, we can survive without cell phones and microwaves,” I explained, “but advances in technology have obviously made life easier. To the point where, in some cases, we don’t know what we’d do without them.”

“If your mom – or dad – had a cell phone,” I went on, “you could’ve reached them wherever they were, no matter that they weren’t home. Now, we know what some of the big inventions during the Industrial Revolution were, and we know what they did, but what was the impact on our country and our daily lives after they came into existence?” I asked. “How did they make life easier? Or more difficult? How does new technology” – I raised my voice for emphasis – “forever change the course of our lives?”

I gazed around the room, seeing their contemplative expressions. I hoped they weren’t merely blank and that they were actually thinking.

Maybe I’d asked too many questions at once.

I glanced to Christian, who stared at me, looking very much like he had something to say but was holding back.

“Make a T-chart,” I ordered. “Label pros and cons and then put your pencils down.”

The students did what was asked of them. They opened their notebooks to a blank page, drawing one line down the middle and one across the top and labeling the two sections.

After they’d replaced their pencils on their desks, I went on.

“Revolution usually means quick, dramatic change,” I pointed out. “Do you think the Industrial Revolution was aptly named? Were the changes in production and distribution fast, or were they a steady development over time?”

I walked up the last aisle and stopped. “Christian, what do you think?”

He shook his head, looking bored. “I think it was fast, I guess.”

“Why?”

He dropped his eyes, mumbling, “I don’t know.”

I got closer. “You don’t have to know.” I kept my voice light. “Tell me what you think.”

His eyes shot up to mine. “I don’t know,” he repeated, his voice turning angry.

“It was decades,” I shot out, knowing I was close to overstepping my bounds. One of the first things you learn about classroom management is to never call out a student in front of the class.

But I needed a reaction out of him. I needed him to do something. To say something.

“Is that fast or steady, Christian? What do you think?”

“It’s all about perspective, I guess!” he barked. “Humans are, like, two hundred thousand years old, so yeah, a lot of advancement in only a few decades would be fast,” he argued. “Some civilizations in history barely made any progress in generations, while others a lot. Everyone’s frame of reference is different!”

I held his angry blue-gray eyes – the same as his father’s – and elation flooded my chest. I let out a breath and gave him a small smile, nodding.

“That’s a good point,” I told him, and then turned around to walk away.

“But then it may not be fast, either,” he continued, and I stopped.

Spinning around, I watched as he crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his chin up, more confident.

“I would say the past two decades have seen even more advancement in manufacturing and technology than during the Industrial Revolution,” he debated. “The phones, the iPads, automobiles, the Mars rover…” He trailed off. “It’s about perspective.”

It felt like those moments when you get exactly what you want and then you don’t know what to do with what you got.

I stood there, wondering what the good teachers do when a student opens up, and I was clueless. Christian Marek was an angry kid. He was difficult and defiant and so like his father and yet so different. Whereas I gathered Tyler always felt he had something to prove, Christian seemed like someone who never needed to prove anything to anyone.

“So was it fast or steady?” a student called out to my left.

I bowed my head, smiling as I turned around and walked to the front of the classroom.

I cleared my throat. “You’re not being graded on what you think,” I told the class. “You’re being graded on why you think it. Defend your answers.”

I turned off the Smart Board and placed my hands on my hips.

“Complete your T-chart with the pros and cons of the impact on life by the inventions of the Industrial Revolution.
T
hen tweet what you learned today – hashtag Bradbury2015 – and then you may get online and start adding primary sources to your folder for the Deep South project,” I instructed.

I turned, grabbing a dry-erase marker, and finished adding points for the class.

“Aw, yeah!” I heard Marcus bellow when he saw the points I added to Team One. “We got fifty points. Good job, Marek!!”

Team One clapped, celebrating their success and the final point Christian had earned for them, bringing them to a total of fifty before all the other teams.

“So we get Song of the Week, right?” Marcus asked, already working his laptop to find his song, no doubt.

“Yes.” I nodded. “You have five minutes.”

“It’s my choice, everyone!” he shouted, clicking his computer and standing up as the song began playing.

The entire class stopped what they were doing and joined in the fun as the song came out louder and louder from Marcus’s computer. Soon there were hands in the air, voices singing along, and people standing up at their desks, moving to the music.

I laughed at the sight, loving the amount of work they put in to succeed just so they could have these five minutes as often as possible. Even Christian was laughing as he watched others dance to the music.

And then my face fell and I sucked in a breath as I finally realized what song was playing, Afroman’s “Because I Got High.”

“Wait!” I blurted out. “That song has profanity.”

Marcus jerked his shoulders in moves probably only he thought were cool.

“How would you know, Ms. Bradbury?” he singsonged.

And I just planted my face in my hands as the entire class joined in on the chorus so loudly the entire school probably heard.

T
wo days later and I was still thinking about her. What the hell was wrong with me? The luncheon was the day after tomorrow, and I couldn’t wait. I hoped she wasn’t going to chicken out, because it would throw off my entire fucking day.

I pulled back the pen, noticing I’d been retracing notes I’d already made as I sat at the head of the conference table, vaguely aware of Stevenson, one of my vice presidents, updating everyone on distribution figures from the last quarter.

I wasn’t even listening.

Every time I sat still, my head would drift back to her. Her body, her lips, her hunger… She was driving me crazy, and I knew right then and there that I hadn’t lied to her.

I might actually have a crush.

And I dropped the pen to the table, knowing that was the last thing I needed.

Easton Bradbury was beautiful, educated, and strong. She was built for challenges. But she was also complicated, difficult, and moody. She wouldn’t make friends easily.

Even if she weren’t my son’s teacher – even if I weren’t about to enter a campaign, knowing that going public with a love interest could put me further under the microscope – Easton could still fuck me up.

Damaged people were survivors, and they survived because they always put themselves first. Self-preservation demanded it.

I didn’t like realizing I might not be the first one to walk away.

I had to enjoy her for what she was and not let her mean more than that. She was fun company, good in bed, and a welcome distraction when I had time for one. And I had every confidence I was the same for her.

Other than that, she needed to be pushed out of my head.

I came back, refocusing on the table in front of me. “All right,” I said, cutting off Stevenson midsentence. “Everyone go to lunch. We’ll continue this later.”

I didn’t wait to see if anyone had any questions before I got up and moved back into the main office to continue the work that was doubling before me, no matter how many hours I spent at it.

Everyone slowly drifted out while I got on the computer and started reviewing messages from Corinne.

There was a stockholders’ meeting in the evening, but I was going to send Jay in my place, and some new contracts to delegate to regional vice presidents.

Jay was right. I couldn’t handle everything myself. With the campaign – and the Senate, if I won – I was going to have to learn how to hand off more work to others.

Then I looked around, seeing that my brother had left the meeting. Picking up my phone, I speed-dialed him.

But Corinne walked in. “Mr. Marek? Ms. McAuliffe is here to see you,” she said.

“Five minutes,” I commanded.

She nodded, knowing that it was her job to come in and scurry out whoever I needed gone, so I could get on with my day.

Corinne walked out, and Jay picked up his phone.

“You just told us to go to lunch,” he pointed out, knowing I needed him back here.

“Not you,” I shot back. “I want to be out of here by four, so get back in here.”

“Four?” he blurted out, but I hung up the phone without responding.

I never left the office that early, and he knew it. But slowly I’d started to try to manage my time better. I could take a break, eat dinner with Christian, and then work in my home office while he went to his room to do homework or over to a friend’s house.

I began clicking on the messages on my computer when I saw Tessa stroll in, a casual smile brightening her face and her beige suit jacket and handbag hanging in her hand.

She was dressed in a burgundy blouse and a beige pencil skirt, and as usual, she had a relaxed sway to her hips and determination in her steps, as if she were always comfortable, no matter the room or the company.

Such a contrast to Easton’s stiff posture and the black curtain that seemed to hang over her eyes.

I don’t want anyone else to have it while we’re doing this, okay?
 

I inhaled a deep breath and hardened my jaw.

“Close the door,” Tessa instructed Corinne a few feet behind her, turning her head only enough to be understood but not enough to see her.

Corinne shut the door, and Tessa tossed her things onto one of the chairs opposite my desk.

She smiled. “I thought you were away on business,” she said sweetly, but I knew she was scolding. “Or perhaps detained with no way to communicate.” She circled the desk, making her way to me. “Or maybe you lost my number and, knowing how anti–social media you are, you didn’t think to tweet.”

Twitter? Was she kidding?

Tessa and I were never the type to check in with each other, and while I knew she was playing it cool, it was unlike her to show up at my office without calling.

Or put herself on my side of the desk, interrupting my day. That was what I liked – or did like – about Tessa. She respected our careers, and she didn’t get territorial.

Not like Easton. I started to smile at the thought of her but stopped myself.

“Tessa —”

“I’m seeing someone?” she interrupted, finishing for me. “Is that what you’re going to say?”

I sat down, watching her as I ran my finger over my lips. I knew what was coming.

She looked at me, all business, calm and levelheaded. “Here’s the thing, Tyler.” She sat down on the edge of my desk, crossing one leg over the other. “I don’t care. Her, me…” She shrugged. “You get two for the price of one. Which works for me, because I don’t want anything more anyway.”

And then she leaned in, running a finger down my light blue tie. “But I don’t want to lose what I already have,” she clarified.

I looked up into her eyes, wondering why she was really here. A few months ago she’d insisted on having our lunch date in my office, but we’d never eaten. She’d walked in, pulled up her skirt, and straddled me in my chair.

And while I’d enjoyed it, I was simply wondering now if the five minutes I’d told Corinne to give us were up yet.

I let out a breath and cocked my head. “You haven’t been waiting around for me to call,” I challenged.

“No,” she allowed, pulling back with a smile. “But I would’ve canceled any plans I’d made if you had.”

I grinned, appreciating her candor. She was useful, and I’d rather keep her on my side if I could. We’d enjoyed each other, and there was mutual respect for the other’s position and connections in the city.

But the thing was… I’d never craved her.

And I no longer wanted her.

It’s not that I was callous or that I thought women were disposable. I only involved myself with women who knew the score and wanted the same thing as me.

Easy fun.

Now everything felt different.

Because of Easton.
 

Her sharp tongue spouted words that cut, but it also tasted like a cool lake on a hot day.

I remembered her whispers in my ear, waking me up Wednesday morning before she slipped a leg over my stomach and climbed on.

I inhaled a sharp breath, refocusing on the current situation
.

“It turns out,” I confided, “maybe I do want to complicate my life a little.”

Her eyes widened, and she smiled big. “Dish,” she demanded.

I let out a bitter laugh. “Not a chance.”

“It’s off the record,” she assured me, holding up her hands in innocence.

“You’re never off the record.”

“Oh, come on.” She waved a hand at me. “You’re bound to take her to dinner sometime. The press would kill to see someone unknown on your arm. You can’t hide her away forever.”

That’s exactly what I wanted to do. If anyone found out, we’d be done, and I wasn’t ready.

I let out a sigh. “I can do whatever I want,” I replied, aware I sounded a little cocky.

She pursed her lips in a plotting smile. “I’m intrigued.”

“But not disappointed, I see,” I shot back.

“Psh.”
She laughed and hopped off my desk. “I would be disappointed if I thought it would last.”

I narrowed my eyes, watching her walk back around the desk to the chair and pick up her jacket and handbag.

She cocked her head, looking coy. “But you, Tyler, are a bachelor for life,” she asserted. “I only hope you marry her. It’ll make our little interludes all the more fun.”

And with a confident smirk, she spun around and walked for the door, calling one last time over her shoulder, “You’ll call me when you’re done with your shiny new toy?” But she didn’t wait for an answer.

Swinging the door open, she disappeared, and I let my eyes fall closed as I pinched the bridge of my nose. I wasn’t quite sure if there was a man alive in this city who could match that woman’s set of balls.

“Jesus Christ,” I breathed out.

“Well, that was quick.”

I looked up to see my brother strolling back in, his attention half on me and half on his phone.

“She’d make a good politician’s wife,” he hinted. “No matter what, she always looks cheerful.”

I cocked an eyebrow and stood up, getting ready to sort through what I needed him to handle today.

Cheerful.
And then I snorted, thinking how much that word and Easton would never go hand in hand.

My phone buzzed, and I immediately stopped, reaching into my top drawer for it.

Since Easton’s little lesson to all of my VPs the other day, I’d set out to prove her wrong by leaving my phone out of reach at certain times. There was no such thing as an information addiction. It was simply an excuse so she could manage attention in an easier way.

But when I saw a text from her, liquid heat rushed in my veins, and I couldn’t possibly ignore her like I did others when I was busy.

How many politicians does it take to change a lightbulb?
she’d texted.

Two,
she answered.
One to change it, and one to change it back.

I laughed, causing Jay to peer up from his phone with an inquiring look.

Tweet that,
she ordered.

I shook my head but did it anyway.

“What are you doing?” Jay pried as I clicked on my Twitter app and began typing.

“Tweeting,” I said in a low voice.

“Oh,” he said, sounding surprised. “Good. Your breakfast tweet earlier this week was exactly what I’ve been talking about. People eat that shit up.”

I finished the tweet, tossed my phone down on a pile of folders at the edge of my desk, and ran my hand through my hair.

“I need you to make sure Corinne has everything set up for the luncheon,” I told him, “and can you set up a conference call with Mexico City for one o’clock today?” I asked but didn’t wait for an answer as I grabbed a sheet from the printer, handing it to him. “Also, here’s the speech for the veterans benefit. I made some changes, so just look it over for me.”

I sat back down, straightening my tie and grabbing the remote. I turned on the TVs on the wall, a barrage of news stations coming to life and their chatter filling the room as I turned to my computer and jumped online.

Trying to organize my day to allow for more time for Christian was kicking my ass.

“Are you okay?” Jay asked.

“Where the hell are those deeds to that land in California?” I barked, ignoring him as I scanned my e-mails.

The lawyer was supposed to scan them and send them over, so we could get on the land, and I knew there were at least fifteen other fucking things I was forgetting to do.

“Corinne, get in here!” I shouted.

“All right, I’m outta here. I’ll take care of this,” I heard him say, holding up the speech I’d run through last night. “Is Tessa coming to the luncheon?”

“Yes, of course,” I answered. “She’s influential, isn’t she?”

“And Ms. Bradbury?”

I stopped, looking up at him and sitting back in my seat. How the hell did he know?

He smirked, shaking his head at me. “Give me a break, Tyler,” he scolded. “It was pretty clear you weren’t the one taking that picture of your breakfast, and judging by the sparks in your office last Saturday…”

He stood there, probably waiting for me to say something, but I didn’t.

Jay was younger, but I knew he never took it to heart that I was the boss. He liked working here and working with someone who took his bullshit.

Working together had never been a problem. Until now.

An average assistant would know their boundaries. A brother had none.

“Look,” he started, “I’m not saying you can’t —”

“That’s right.” I cut him off, nodding. “You’re not telling me anything.”

I let his expertise drive the invitations I accepted, the platform I created, as well as guide my campaign, but I would keep Easton separate.

It wasn’t that my brother didn’t have a right to ask. I just didn’t care to hear what I knew he would say.

“Tessa McAuliffe is
our
business,” I clarified. “Whoever I fuck is
mine
.”

 

 

I’d gathered in my short and limited experience as a father that being a parent was like tossing marbles up into the air and seeing how many would land in a shot glass.

I’d read enough and seen enough to know that kids could grow up in the worst hell and become valedictorians and doctors. Or they could be raised in privilege with two parents and Christmas trees stocked with gifts and still die of overdoses or by suicide.