11. Dangerous Liaisons

11

E very time I spoke to Chance, he threw me off-kilter.

I'd spend hours analyzing what he'd said and how he'd said it, or if it meant something deeper than the surface layer words. And don't get me started on the time I'd spent replaying our physical interactions. Just the tips of his fingers grazing against me had set me on fire.

Curse him for having such power over my body, with only the slightest touch. Despite everything, I still found myself drawn to him. I couldn't get him out of my mind.

Was it possible I was being too harsh and only seeing things through the jaded lens of my own circumstances?

I understood that I was being quite indignant over the whole situation, but the feelings he stirred inside made me uncomfortable in my own skin. When he was near me, I wanted to go against every instinct I had to stay away and protect myself from not just potential heartache, but more importantly, from losing my job.

Perhaps it was immature of me not to find a way to get over myself and simply maintain a polite but distant acquaintance with Chance, but I knew he felt it too. The chemistry that undulated, just below the surface, when we got too close, felt like a constant threat to my sanity. So instead, I chose to keep my distance.

And all the mental hemming and hawing was a simple way to protect myself, clinging to any desperate attempts to ignore the fact that Chance Harper appeared to be a decent guy. I supposed I didn't know him well enough to be sure, but I sensed it. I think in my own twisted logic, if I was an asshole to him, he'd get the hint and stay scarce.

But in fact, it seemed as though my strategy was having the opposite effect, drawing him to me like a moth to a flame. Or maybe I was the moth…surely I was the one bound to end up burned to a crisp in the ashes of whatever combustion that was likely to spark between us, should I decide to give in to my desires.

I tortured myself, running through all the awful things Harry Ainsworth (yes, of those Ainsworths), my most recent ex, had put me through. Namely love bombing me for the better part of a year, then suddenly pulling the rug out from under me and accusing me of being a gold digger and opportunist.

I had taken all the grand gestures and offers to help with my finances as generosity born of love, but it had merely been a way for him to extort control over me and feel superior to me.

Without a formal education (and why would he need one, when his family paid for everything?), I realized later, piecing together many of the common jabs he'd make at me, especially toward the end, that he was just an insecure, privileged man-child.

I still wasn't sure if he had turned so spiteful and mean to push me away, validating his self-fulfilling prophecy of me having used him for his means and money, or if he truly couldn't get out of his own head and his own way to see that I cared little for any material objects. He'd set me up to fall into his trap. I was barely scraping by when I'd met him. I'd never asked for anything from him, but I had accepted it when offered, because I'd thought it was a sign of his affection, not because it had been my goal from the start.

I had seen a future with him. I had planned for that future. And I was still grieving the loss of merely the illusion of having a secure, kind, and loving partner to share my life with.

The last words he'd ever spoken to me as I stormed out of his high-rise penthouse in the city perpetually bounced around my head. They were louder on days when I struggled with my near-constant feeling of inferiority.

"You're just desperate to be loved. Even your own mother didn't want you," Harry had snarled, watching me pack up what little I owned into a single suitcase.

He was definitely right about the first part, though it pained me deeply to admit it. I didn't think I'd ever known what love felt like, because everyone I thought I had come to love had found a way to betray me, my own mother being one of those people.

But he wasn't exactly correct about her not wanting me. She had wanted me, but I had left her alone, and in her loneliness, she had betrayed me as well, although I felt that I was the one to blame for it.

I had let my guard down with Harry because of an initial physical spark, and there I was, wanting to do the same thing with Chance. I should have never let him give me a ride home, or asked him to walk me up, or kissed him. I'd created this mess. I would have to wallow in it.

The fact was, I knew better. So how could I give Chance the opportunity to break me? And he would break me. I was already so broken, there would be no putting me back together if my heart was shattered again.

After Harry, I vowed I would never again be made to feel so foolish. And unfortunately, that meant closing my heart to anyone who showed they couldn't be trusted.

But I did have to find a way to co-exist with Chance. He wasn't going anywhere, and the one refuge I had from him had been infiltrated. There truly was no escape.

It had been weeks since Chance had discovered the lounge. My heart ached for my cozy space, but I knew the moment I set foot up there, he'd join me. So I stayed away.

Occasionally I'd hear the floorboards creaking overhead, as if he was pacing by the fireplace. Some nights I thought maybe I should just go up there and get it over with, but I was nothing if not stubborn.

I knew eventually I'd have to see Chance again, but I wasn't ready.

Undeterred, Chance was the one who wound up finding me.

With Halloween quickly approaching and midterms well underway, tensions were running high throughout Montgomery with both students and faculty. I was on the way to my classroom earlier than normal, needing to write instructions for my midterm on the whiteboard, when I heard Chance's hushed whispers just beyond the threshold.

I paused in the hallway to listen.

"I'm not joking around—you can't tell anyone," he pleaded with someone.

"I won't say anything," a young female voice replied, but her tone was uncertain.

"Because things aren't like they used to be at Montgomery. If the wrong person finds out, we'll both be in danger," Chance warned her.

What did he mean about how things "used to be at Montgomery"? What kind of danger would they be in?

I had asked Jolene to check the school records after the mixer because Chance seemed so familiar with the headmaster, but she confirmed that nobody named Chance Harper or similar-sounding names had attended Montgomery Prep in the years that would have aligned with his age.

"You want to pursue this, don't you?" he tried to confirm her intentions.

"Yes," she said more vehemently. "You know I do."

I could feel my heart racing as I pressed my back against the hallway. Alarm bells were blaring in my mind, but I tried to quiet them to continue listening. Because at best, he was conspiring with a student over something that was likely unauthorized, but at worst…I shook my head. Their tone wasn't romantic. I didn't want to consider the potential of a relationship.

I had just spent weeks feeling guilty over giving him the cold shoulder, thinking he was a good guy—that it was me who was fucked up—and here he was, sneaking around, having hushed conversations with a young girl.

"Good." Chance sighed in relief. "Meet me after dinner, okay?" he asked kindly.

"Okay," the girl agreed.

I only had a moment to gather myself. I stared in shock as none other than Claire DeLongpre strolled out of my class, appearing completely unbothered.

"Hey, Miss Price." She gave me a tight smile as she passed me, but oddly didn't seem to be concerned about having been overheard. What on earth was going on between them?

I took a moment to gather my thoughts and rein in the confusion that was likely showing on my face.

Apprehensively, I walked into my classroom.

Chance was also oblivious to the fact that I had overheard his rendezvous with a student.

"Good morning, Violet," he simpered, leaning against my desk, almost provocatively, with his eyebrow raised in anticipation of my terse response. That day, he wore a vest over his button-up shirt, which only accentuated his criminally lean and tapered waist.

"What do you want?" I grumbled.

"It wasn't my intention to chase you out of that room, you know." He pushed himself off the desk and followed me as I placed the midterm packets on each of the student desks.

"Why does it matter to you if I like you or not?" I was quickly becoming aggravated with him, despite how good he looked in that damn vest.

"You know why." He attempted to block my way, but I sidestepped him. "I don't know what I've done to incite such contempt."

It further angered me that he was always so elegant with his words. But he had all but confirmed my suspicions that there was something more sinister to Chance Harper. And I had a feeling that whatever he was up to with Claire was far from the only secret he was keeping.

"I don't have time for this." I again pushed past him to make my way to the dry-erase board to begin writing the test instructions.

"They all think very highly of you." Chance suddenly switched tactics.

I spun around, eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?" I hissed.

There was no humor in Chance's stance. "You're so concerned with what everyone thinks of you. You've convinced yourself they hate you—that they'd get rid of you in a heartbeat if you so much as looked at a student the wrong way."

"This is not the time—"

"Violet, nobody is out to get you—least of all me."

Chance paced toward me, trapping me against the whiteboard.

"They might be a little put off by you, but they think you're a good person and a great teacher." He raised his hand slowly, delicately combing his fingers through the ends of my hair. "You isolate yourself, but if you give them a chance…"

Again I found myself furious with my heart, for pounding so fast, and with my body, for angling toward his touch.

He could be a predator…

I shook my head, trying to regain my wits. "Why are you telling me this?" I said through my teeth, though I wasn't mentally strong enough to push him away from me.

"Because I don't want you to hate me," he whispered, leaning in.

The sound of feet shuffling and male laughter in the hallway pulled us both from our daze. Chance stepped back from me, just in time.

A few boys sauntered in, joking with each other.

"Hey, Mr. H," Jonathan Walters, a sweet, but rather dim student said, looking around the classroom, completely unaware of the sparring match he and his friends had interrupted. "Is this the right classroom?"

I glared at Chance, wordlessly commanding him to leave.

He stood his ground as the boys settled in their usual seats at the back of the room, having come to the conclusion that they were in the correct place.

I didn't know what he wanted from me, so I spoke the truth at that moment, hoping it would be enough to end the conversation. "I can't hate you, Chance. I don't know you."

He gave an exasperated sigh at the sentiment, and I thought he might leave, but he just had to get the last word in. "Whoever made you feel like you need to be so guarded at all times, I'm not him. And I'm not giving up."

"Get the fuck out of my classroom," I growled under my breath.