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“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Donovan leaned against the door frame. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Really, the girls don’t need the distraction,” British said through gritted teeth.
“Aw, Ms. B,” the girls whined. “Please, can he stay?”
One could only imagine their parents; their homes must be filled with puppies. How was she supposed to say no to them? “Fine,” she groaned, “but just stay out of the way. You know what they say about cooks?”
“Not cooks,” replied Donovan, “but I do know what Chef Jessilyn has to say about you.”
British elbowed Donovan in his six-pack stomach, knowing good and well it didn’t hurt. “Be quiet.”
“Miss Jessilyn makes the best cookies,” Natasha added into the conversation. “I wonder if she has any.”
Donovan scratched the back of his head. “I saw her pulling out a batch when I put up my lunch dishes.”
And that was all it took for the STEM for GRITS team to take off out of the room, hurling their promises to be right back behind them.
They took off with such a rush Donovan spun around after being hit by one and pushed out of the room by another. Then with the last two he was spun back into the room and pushed against British.
Now alone with Donovan, British took a step away from him. “Thanks for that,” she snarled. “Do you realize how hard it was to get them all on the same page?”
Mouth opened in stunned disbelief, Donovan shook his head. “Those girls need to be on the track team.”
“A few are,” British replied. She sighed and took a seat on the couch. Donovan followed her and sat on the arm of an overstuffed chair.
“Donovan, this may be hard for you to understand, but the girls are in a time crunch and they need to focus.”
“What did I do to distract them?”
British waved her hand at his attire. “Seriously?”
Donovan crossed his arms over his chest in feigned modesty. “I feel so cheap.”
All of a sudden British laughed. “I’m sorry if I am testy.”
“Just a little bit,” Donovan said, lifting his large hand and measuring an inch with his thumb and forefinger. For a man who worked behind a desk at a powerful company, Donovan somehow bore several scars on his hand. When he realized she was staring, he dropped his hand to his side. “It’s cool,” he said with a nod. “I get what you’re trying to do and I admire it. Such leadership.”
If only he’d left off the last part. The compliment triggered an alert in her. “Do not offer me a job at Ravens Cosmetics.”
“May I at least ask why?”
“I’m a teacher, Donovan. Clearly, by me being here with the girls, you can see I am highly dedicated to them.”
“All right, fine,” he said.
Somehow she knew the discussion wasn’t over.
“What happens when you win this competition?” Donovan asked.
“Well, bragging rights...” British began but got distracted for a moment when Donovan cast a smile as if he understood. She felt her cheeks heat. “The current director is a bit of a sexist jerk when i
t comes to women in science,” she explained.
Donovan wiggled his brows. “Want me to rough him up a bit?”
“Thanks, but no thanks. We’re molding the minds of impressionable young ladies,” she said. “So by winning, we would get the respect of the science department at Southwood Middle School and hopefully we’ll be able to move our practice space to the school, especially since our rec center burned down.”
“You’re not in the school?”
