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Tyler took what he wanted but cut loose what he didn’t need. His upcoming campaign, his son, and his company were his priorities, as they should be, and he’d made a choice. While there may have been space enough for me in his life, he was too afraid to fail at anything else to make the room.
I had offered myself up, naked, in his office, and he’d let me go. We had come too close to the point where it was going to hurt too much to ever let go of each other. And then last week, I’d let him go. He’d been in my classroom, and I’d walked away from him.
Checking the clock, I turned and faced the class. “Is there anyone not done?”
Isabel Savers raised her hand, and I looked to the boy in front of her.
“Loren, can you take Isabel to Ms. Meyer’s room?” I requested. “She can finish there. Thank you.”
Once they walked out, I collected the test papers, and the students opened their laptops to continue gathering research for the simulations they were planning. It was a new teaching technique I’d discovered, where students re-create – live – what it was like to experience everyday life on, say, the Mayflower or in a wigwam. I was excited to see what they’d come up with.
“Ms. Bradbury?” Christian approached my desk as I started grading the papers. “Since we have the rest of class for private study, can I watch my father’s interview? It’s streaming online.”
“Um…” I shot up my eyebrows, for a split second thinking of telling him no because I wasn’t sure I wanted to see Tyler.
But that was selfish. The fact that Christian was at all interested was fantastic.
I nodded quickly. “Sure,” I told him.
But then I stopped. “Actually…”
I turned on the projector, my laptop screen appearing up on the front board.
“What site is it?”
“You don’t have to put it on for everyone to see,” he interjected, and I could tell he was embarrassed.
I switched off the projector, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.
“Okay, but I’d like to see it,” I added.
“KPNN,” he called over his shoulder as he walked to his desk.
I brought up the site and turned down the volume, grabbing my green pen, a rubric for grading, and the first student paper, listening as I read.
Tyler’s face flashed on the screen, and I had to force my expression to stay as hard as stone. He looked so large and commanding, and I was afraid the shot of lust coursing through my body, making it hard to breathe, would be written all over my face.
He wore a black three-piece suit with an emerald-green tie, and I wished the camera would back up so I could see all of him. His jet-black hair had been cut since I’d last seen him and was styled up and off to the side, shiny, with every hair in place.
He sat at the conference table in his office, and I knew the expression on his face. The one that said he had better things to do.
Tyler hadn’t officially announced his candidacy yet, but the whole city knew it was coming. I was interested in seeing how he handled the interview, knowing his aversion to prying eyes in his private life and his inability to indulge people and play nice.
And then I steeled every muscle in my arms and legs, seeing the camera flash to Tessa McAuliffe as the interviewer.
Son of a bitch.
“Well, yes, Mr. Marek,” she went on, continuing a conversation that I was catching the middle of. “But you employ no consultants. Your company has interests in the economy, agriculture, and construction, but what qualifies you to vote on legislation for, say, education?” she challenged.
“The fact that I go to the source and talk with teachers,” he answered without hesitation. “Ms. McAuliffe, I don’t need a conference table full of consultants and lobbyists advising me or influencing me on a topic from which they’re also isolated,” he explained, leaning back in his chair with one hand resting on the table. “To learn about construction, I visit my sites. To become aware of issues prompted by poverty, I can find that a block from my home. To know about education, I’ll talk to teachers. Go to the source.” He laid it out. “Ask questions. Read. Research. Find the answers you need in the purest form.” And then he narrowed his eyes, speaking with command and certainty. “I learn some things from second- and thirdhand accounts, but even more from firsthand accounts.”
I looked down at my paper, twisting my lips to hide the smile.
“What changes would you like to see in education?” she asked, unfazed.
He took a deep breath, and then a thoughtful look crossed his face as he thought about what he was going to say.
“A teacher’s job is undoubtedly hard,” he started. “They struggle with less and less funding and ever-growing class sizes.” He looked at her, tipping his chin down. “They need support, and the curriculum and the methods need to change,” he stated.
I put my paper and pen down, unable to concentrate on anything else.
He continued. “Teachers are finding it difficult to compete with increased technology use in the home but then are unable to use that same technology to maintain their students’ attention in the classroom,” he explained, and I smiled, a shocked breath expelling from my lungs at his statement. “They need cell phones, iPads, laptops… We’re educating students for jobs that don’t yet exist, and we’re still using tools that are fifty years behind the times. It’s long past time that those teachers got those tools and learned how to use them to engage students.”
I felt my body flood with heat, and I closed the laptop, unable to keep the elation from making my stomach flutter.
