Page 23 of The Headmaster’s Rule

But details don’t guarantee success. If we try this and it fails, if the board doesn’t back it, if the parents protest… we’re back where we were last year. Cleaning up another mess.

I shake my head, turning toward the door. “I need to think,” I growl.

“Well, don’t take too long.” When I glance back, his expression has shifted to disappointment, and something heavier underneath. “If you don’t recognize that woman’s passion and dedication, someone else will, and she’ll go where she’s valued.”

I leave the room, jaw tight, the echo of his words following me down the hall. The idea of Eleanor taking that fire somewhere else—off this campus, out of my reach—is more unsettling than I want to admit.

The faculty lounge is empty when I enter later that afternoon, which is exactly how I like it. I have a Nespresso machine in my office, but I needed to stretch my legs. I’ve been at my desk all day, trying to compose a routine update to the board, debating whether to include a reference to Eleanor’s proposal. There’s no point if I’m not going to follow through. Which I’m not.

It’s a pilot program. It’s not ready. She’s not ready.

Still, the email took all day. I wrote it, deleted it, rewrote it—over and over—then finally sent it off without including Safe Harbor.

Then I organized my inbox. Cleared my voicemails. Tried to ignore the nagging feeling that I’d done something wrong.

The coffee canister in the faculty kitchen is empty, and I curse under my breath. There’s a single decaf pod left in the bowl on the counter, and with a sigh, I shove it into the coffee machine. As it brews, a fluorescent bulb flickers overhead, grating on my nerves.

What a day. Hours gone, nothing of significance achieved.

I take my coffee to a seat by the window and sink onto the worn tweed upholstery. Stretching my legs in front of me, I try to massage the tension from my neck. I’ve had a permanent tension headache for a week now.

Paige Mercer enters the faculty lounge, sighing heavily. She doesn’t spot me as she moves to the kitchen, rooting through the cupboards in agitation.

“For God’s sake,” she says to herself. “How is there no coffee?” With a resigned sigh, she dumps a tea bag into a mug and fills it with hot water. When she turns to find me sitting across the room, she nearly jumps out of her skin. “Shit.” Her hand flies to her mouth in horror. “Sorry. I didn’t see you, sir.”

“No problem.” I sip my coffee. As much as I want to turn and stare out the window into the courtyard, I feel duty-bound to make sure there isn’t something going on I need to know about. “Everything okay, Miss Mercer?”

“Yes, thank you.” She exhales, raking a hand through her dark-brown hair. “Still settling in, but it’s been a busy start and more intense than I expected this early on.”

I remember Eleanor speaking with Paige after last week’s faculty meeting. I’d chalked it up to over-caution, but the worry etched into Paige’s brow suggests there’s more to it.

“How so?”

She hesitates. “Well, a lot of our students are struggling more than they let on.” She dips her tea bag thoughtfully. “I’m noticing some challenges I hadn’t fully anticipated.”

My eyes narrow, and I set my coffee down. “Did Miss Hart put you up to this?” I hear the distrust in my voice and hate how it sounds.

Paige blinks. “Sorry?”

“Never mind.” I wave a hand, wishing I hadn’t said it. When did I become such a cynical bastard?

Paige shakes her head, returning to the topic at hand. “I usually don’t see this kind of overwhelm until midterms. If it’s like this now…”

I steeple my fingers, absorbing her words. I hadn’t realized other staff had noticed the same issues Eleanor highlighted.

“What would help?” I ask at length.

She lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know, exactly. But sometimes I wish there was something more proactive in place. Something to ensure no one slips through the cracks.” Her mouth pulls into a strained smile. “Anyway. Didn’t mean to drop all that on you. Enjoy your coffee.”

I watch her leave the lounge, turning over her words. Something to ensure no one slips through the cracks.

Something like Eleanor’s proposal.

I push to my feet, dumping the decaf coffee in the sink. Was I too hasty in dismissing Eleanor’s idea?

At the top of the stairs, I head to Danny’s office, but it’s empty. Margaret is at her desk as always, and I pause.

“Have you seen Danny?”