Then he muttered a quietfuck, and she looked up to see Dale making his way across the room in their direction.
Perfect timing.
“No need for coarse language, Mr. Krause.” She straightened, but let his arm remain around her waist. “Only yesterday, you said you wanted to see this.”
It took him a moment to remember. But once he did, his stiffness slowly relaxed, and that Expensive Cologne Model grin returned as Dale drew within a few feet of them.
Oh, this was going to feelgooooooood.
“Brandi,” Dale greeted her loudly. “I saw your numbers were low for AP U.S. History next year.”
She drew herself up straight and looked down her nose at him. “Good evening to you too, Mr. Locke.”
His step stuttered, but he recovered himself and came closer. “Don’t know yet what’s going to happen with your funding, but it depends on enrollment. Be a shame if you lost money for training or supplies.”
Her smile, she knew, would gleam under the dance floor lights, and its absolute chill should freeze him in place.
Sure enough, he stopped dead.
“If our AP program lost funding, that would certainly be a shame.” She cast a sidelong look at Martin. “Dearest, have you heard? I’m sure Dale already knows, since all the important people in administration do.”
Dale’s mouth worked, as he attempted to conjure a suitably crushing response.
Currently, only the superintendent—who’d answered Annette and Alfred’s call Wednesday morning—was aware of the news, because the details were still being determined. But Dale couldn’t know that.
She let her smile spread. Become terrifying.
“Anonymous benefactors have offered to fully fund our school system’s AP programs for the indefinite future.” She paused. “Under one condition.”
Martin’s arm spasmed around her waist, and she heard his indrawn breath. He didn’t say a word, though. Instead, he let her have this moment, since he knew exactly how difficult arranging it had been for her.
She wasn’t accustomed to asking for help. But she’d learn.
The seconds ticked by, and she waited.
Anticipation only sharpened the pleasure.
Finally, Dale gave in. “What condition?”
“From now on, social studies department chairs will determine which preps their teachers receive and which classrooms they’re assigned. The head of secondary-level social studies no longer has a voice in those decisions.” She tilted her head in feigned confusion. “For some reason, the AP program’s benefactors were very insistent on that point.”
“I see.” His face had turned ruddy, and his lip lifted in an unconvincing sneer. “Apparently your ex-husband’s rich friends didn’t leave you when he did.”
The comment might have hurt a month ago. Not now.
Nevertheless, Martin had become stone beside her, his rage at Dale’s cruelty hardening his lean frame.
She found his hand. Squeezed it. Paused to let him regain control of himself.
As if spurred by the movement, Dale swung on him. “I can’t believe she finally wore you down. Have some pride, man. What are you doing with someone like her?”
She almost laughed. As if Martin would take advice from Dale—Dale—because they both had dicks. That misogynistic buddy-buddy shit didn’t fly with her man.
“Someone like her?” Martin enunciated each word with the care of a drunken man in front of a cop, his voice gravel. “I don’t understand. I’ll need you to explain precisely what you mean by that.”
But Dale couldn’t say much more, or else—as he was now realizing—he might be writing his own dismissal letter. So he seethed in silence, his watery eyes bugged out in anger.
“Oh, Martin.” She turned to her back to Dale, a deliberate insult. “I forgot to mention one other development. It also involves Mr. Locke.”
