*This piece is part of an ongoing short story*
I’m counting on you reading parts one through six HERE!
Anass knows by her ring that she’s fairly newly wed. It’s one of those made to look antiques every fresh bride he’s come across in the last five years wears but it’s platinum rather than yellow gold and a baguette setting instead of a solitaire. It’s loose on her finger and he watches her twisting it back and forth. Her nails are freshly polished and shine like a display case boasting a precious jewel.
“When exactly did you become aware of this?” He asks, leaning in a little too far.
“You’ve known since Friday and you’re only telling me now?”
Mrs. Statton’s face prickles with heat and she’s not sure if it’s the embarrassment or frustration.
“I found it just before our lunch meeting but I was running late, so I threw it in my briefcase,” she pauses. “And, well, I’ll admit I forgot about it over the weekend. I didn’t open my bag again until this morning.”
“I don’t have to tell you the problems this could have caused for the school should something have happened.”
“I would have been late for Manger Corbeau if I’d have read it then. You said twelve-thirty sharp, remember?” Mrs. Statton leans in to meet him in the middle. “And we all know how you hate to wait, Mr. Anass.”
Anass backs off, if only slightly.
“And frankly, I think Mr. Crawford could have done more than throw it in a basket full of paperwork and walk away, don’t you?” Stephanie smiles her sweetest smile.
“So, if anyone is responsible for potentially causing problems for the school, Mr. Anass, I think Crawford should be considered.” She leans in even further, ensuring he has a clear view of the bright blue V-neck she’d pulled over her matching bra this morning.
“Mmm,” Rick had murmured as he watched her dress. “Come back to bed.”
Mr. Anass clears his throat.
“Yes. Yes, I’ll be chatting with Crawford as well.” His voice shakes a touch but he recovers quickly. “However, in the meantime, let’s you and I discuss strategy.”
As Stephanie walks down the hall back to the safety of her office, she tries to shudder off what she and some of the young, female teachers have to come to call “Whatanass’ Circadian Spurt.”
Once inside she breaks her own open door policy and drops the essay on her desk with an uncertain sigh.