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My phone is heavy in my pocket, and every time I’m alone, I want to pull it out to watch that video I have of her.
I should really delete it. It’s the right thing to do, but Mr. Right isn’t exactly the name I go by.
I’m sitting alone at my desk, my last class just left, and I sit back in my chair, running my hand over my face.
I need to forget about this, pretend it never happened and focus on what I’m here for, which is keeping an eye on Katya Volkov. She’s leaving this school in a few months and I need to make sure she’s alive and well when that happens.
Focus on Katya, forget Haley. At least it would never cross my mind to fuck Katya. I do enjoy my dick attached to my body and her brother would take care of that in no time if I touched her.
“What the fuck am I talking about,” I whisper to myself. Why am I even worrying about that? It’s not like I have a record of touching younger girls. No, Haley is the first time this ever happened, and I can’t ever let it happen again.
If only she wasn’t so stubbornly annoying, this would have never been a problem.
“Mr. Hayes.”
I’m surprised by the sudden voice but am careful not to show it. Turning toward the door, I smile at the woman. I hope she’s not here because Haley went to her. I would have to have her threatened by the Bratva so she doesn’t fire me.
“Ms. Moore, hello.”
“We have a staff meeting tonight at six pm. Are you planning on staying here while you wait?”
Staff meeting. I’d completely forgotten about that.
“Sure,” I nod politely. “I’ll catch up on some work in the meantime.”
“May I offer you to dine with Father Santo, the sisters and myself at five pm? If I’m keeping you late, at least let me offer you food.”
“That would be my pleasure.” I’m getting really good at this fake smiling stuff. I never had to before. The men I usually work with and myself don’t expect smiles from each other.
“I’ll see you then,” Moore says in that stern voice of hers before leaving my classroom.
I rake my fingers through my hair and look down at the copies of homework on my desk.
Superb evening ahead.
When I walk into the dining room at five, I stop dead in my tracks. I don’t eat here at the school because it’s a depressing place and I’ve been leaving the grounds every day for lunch.
I didn’t know the staff and students dined in the same room. Warmth hits me from the number of people in here. It smells of all kinds of foods, the general scent making me hungry. Voices are rising everywhere, cutlery clinking against plates, sounds of glasses being put back on the wooden tables, giggles and laughter. Everything is a mess of many people eating in the same place.
There’s a mahogany head table at one end of the room where Ms. Moore is sitting with the sisters and a priest I’m assuming is Father Santo.
The girls are sitting on two long tables perpendicular to the head table. The separation creates an alley between them that will lead me right to where the staff is eating. I make my way, but before I can control my brain, my eyes search for a girl with brown hair and dark eyes. Haley is sitting in the middle of other girls, looking paler than yesterday. She’s the only one without a plate in front of her. Next to her, Katya is trying to convince her to eat something.
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “I’ve got enough reserve to skip a couple of meals, Kat. Drop it.”
The moment I hear her clipped voice, the raucous around me quietens. Everything disappears and my eyes narrow on her.
Has she not eaten all day long?
I keep walking, trying not to bring attention to the fact that I can’t stop looking at her, and eventually must move my gaze to the staff.
“Mr. Hayes, please take a seat,” Ms. Moore tells me. Out of the two seats left, I take the one that gives me a good view of Haley.
I know I talk to people during the meal, but I’m on automatic mode. My eyes keep going back to Haley. I watch her eye everyone’s food while she waits, very impatiently, to be allowed to leave the room.
“Is Miss Stewart alright?” I ask before I can control my own curiosity.
Sister Ivy and Sister Mary look at me, surprised.
