“I guess once again I owe you an apology,” she says sheepishly as that pink glow stains her cheeks. Something about her has me thinking thoughts a man my age has no business thinking about a young woman. She looks far too young and innocent for someone like me to fuck over.
I look down at her, letting my gaze linger a little more than necessary. I have to resist reaching my hand out to slip it beneath her chin. That would be highly inappropriate which makes me want to do it all the more. Since my wife died four years ago, I’ve had zero desire to find any sort of emotional connection. My arrangements have been purely physical, just a sexual means to an end.
No emotions. No sleepovers. No attachments.
But this young woman before me right now, this tiny, innocent little thing that seems to be a complete mess, has me wanting to teach her a few lessons in discipline. To make her realize just exactly how powerful of a man to whom she’s speaking.
“No apology necessary, but next time we speak,” I say, shoving my hands deep in my pockets to keep from touching her before walking out of her classroom, “I hope it’s under much more pleasant circumstances and if you have any further complaints about my behavior, feel free to send me another email I won’t bother reading.”
3
DAPHNE
“You are not going to believe who I had the misfortune of speaking to the other day.” I toss my yoga mat on the floor of Xana’s living room, rolling it out. “You remember the guy from Paris?”
She pauses, clicking through workout videos on YouTube to look over at me. “The one you scalded with the coffee?”
“I didn’t scald him; that sounds dramatic, but yes, him. The one who refused to let me on the plane because he owned the airline. Turns out, he was actually the pilot of the flight as well; that’s why they held the plane for him. I kind of feel like an idiot now for getting so annoyed that they held the plane for him, but still, it doesn’t explain why he acted like he didn’t know me.”
“Wait, I’m confused. How did you find out he was the pilot of that flight?” She turns her attention back to the TV, finally settling on a thirty-minute yoga practice for us to do, and hits play.
“I spoke to him again; that’s what I’m saying. He is the father of one of my students.”
“No way. What are the odds?” Her mouth hangs open before she starts laughing. “That is just your luck.”
“He was, of course, the last parent to come meet me and was almost two hours late. He also had such an uppity attitude the entire time.” I inhale a deep breath, bending into a forward folds per the woman’s instructions on the screen. “He kept telling me how he didn’t have time for this meeting because he had more important business to attend to or whatever. So annoying.”
“Is he hot?”
“What?” I snap my head to the side as I swan dive down, almost losing my balance.
“You’re kind of flustered talking about him so it’s a legitimate question.” She giggles.
“I’m not flustered, I’m annoyed. He’s arrogant and rude and just because he’s a billionaire who can also fly a 737 doesn’t mean that my time isn’t as important as his. He could have shown up on time. And I hate when you’re clearly upset and the person who is in the wrong acts all calm and cool, only making you more upset… He knew what he was doing.”
“Hmmm, sounds flustered to me.”
“You’re so annoying.” I laugh as I push back into downward dog.
“So we’ve established he’s hot, but is he single?”
“I never said he was hot.” I halfway lie… Sure, I didn’t say he wasn’t, but I know damn well what that man looks like. I practically swallowed my own tongue the first time I met him by the Eiffel Tower.
“The fact that you got more flustered by the question tells me he’s hot; we both know that.”
I roll my eyes even though she can’t see my face in our contorted positions. I think about her question for a second, fully aware he’s the unequivocal definition of hot, sexy, forbidden, and everything bad for you, dripping with regret. After our little meeting in my classroom, I researched his name to find out just exactly who he was and I may or may not have spent way too long clicking through the plethora of Google images that came up.
“I have no idea if he’s single.”
Another lie. In my deep dive of him, I also might have noticed he was a widow and proceeded to search if he was currently dating someone.
“Why are you so curious? Thinking about ending things with Ryan?” I ask, knowing full well that she has no intention of ending things with her long-term boyfriend.
“For you, silly.”
“Pretty sure fraternizing with my students’ parents is highly frowned upon, especially when they’re probably the richest and most powerful parent at the school.”
“Sounds like a fun fantasy—one of those sexy, forbidden romance novels you love to read. Speaking of, what’s his name? I want to look him up.” She abandons our workout as she reaches for her phone.
“Weston Vaughn.”
“Ohhh, sounds so mysterious, kind of like a sexy villain.”
“He’s a villain alright,” I mutter.
She lies on her stomach, her feet up in the air, as she types furiously on her screen before gasping. “Are you kidding me?”
“What?” She looks over at me and I untwist my body, flopping down beside her to look at the screen.
“I’ve seen photos of him on Instagram and TikTok. Women are always thirsting over this man hard-core. I just didn’t realize his name.” She flips over to one of her social media apps and turns the screen toward me so I can see a woman fanning herself and pretending to drool as images of him flash across the screen.
“Oh God, just what his ego needs. I bet he eats that shit up.” I roll my eyes again.
“Damn, he doesn’t have any of his own social media accounts.” She flicks through several more posts about him. “Look at his body, he’s so ripped. Holy shit, he’s forty-two? He looks like he’s thirty.”
I feel that flush growing up my neck again, a warmth spreading through my belly as I remember the way he looked down on me in my classroom. He was closer than I realized at the time, the scent of his spicy cologne teasing me. I don’t know if I was imagining it or not, but it felt like he stared at me a little bit longer than necessary. And I swear I saw his eyes flick down my body and back up in a flash.
God, I’ve been reading too many romance novels. Weston Vaughn sees me as a bug flying around his head, a nuisance that only causes him frustration.
“If I had to guess, he’s more of a triple fudge sundae, gooey brownie kind of guy and not a low carb, low sugar diet kind of brownie.”
“Huh?” Xana lifts a brow at me, turning her face away from her screen. “Explain this Daphne logic to me, please.”
“Just something my mom would say.” I smile to myself, remembering her talking about this hotshot quarterback I was head over heels in love with in high school. Her logic wasn’t that I couldn’t attract someone like him; it was that oftentimes guys who only offer looks and popularity weren’t the ones you wanted to waste your time on. “She’d say that a man like Mr. Vaughn, powerful, richer than God, and looks like that—he’s the sundae. Decadent. The kind of dessert that makes no pretense about what it is—nothing healthy yet sinfully delicious. But most likely will leave you filled with regret when the excitement wears off.”