Page 27 of The Headmaster’s Rule

A grin breaks across my face before I can stop it, wide and unguarded. Something flickers in his eyes when he sees. Like maybe he’s glad to be supporting me, rather than shooting me down.

Like maybe there’s more to this than simply Safe Harbor.

I look at my hands, dismissing the outlandish thought immediately. I’m too excited about my idea being accepted, that’s all, and he’s no doubt relieved it’s one thing off his plate.

He clears his throat, hesitating, before pushing to his feet as he speaks. “I hope you realize this is when the actual work starts.”

“I do,” I say quickly.

“We still have to organize the fundraiser itself and get the rest of the faculty on board with Safe Harbor. That will take long hours. Late nights working together…” he trails off.

“I know.”

I glance at him as he paces behind his desk, dragging a hand through his hair, body tense. I was sure I almost saw a smile from him before, but I must have imagined it. He’s so uptight all the time. So serious about everything. Even his clothes; the three-piece suit, buttoned up tight, the tie choking his neck. Everything about him emphasizes control and restraint. I wonder what he looks like when he finally lets go?

His gaze collides with mine from where he stands, stern and unyielding, and for a moment I think he knows what I’ve been thinking. He settles back at his desk with a frown, and I straighten in my seat. If I want to work with him on this project, if I want to be taken seriously and treated like a professional, I need to behave like one.

“Shall we get to work?” I ask, pulling my binder from my tote. I scan his desk, cluttered with his computer, notes, his brass nameplate, and an empty coffee cup. “Should we go back to the conference room?”

He sighs. “Probably.”

“Or…” I glance at the fireplace with the cushy leather chairs and low coffee table in front of it. The perfect place to spread our work out, without the harsh fluorescent lighting or the uncomfortable chairs of the conference room. “We could work here?”

He eyes me carefully, as if debating something, then nods, sliding on his glasses, picking up his laptop and folder. I stare for just a beat too long as he crosses to the chairs.

Honestly. Those glasses.

When he glances back at me in question, heat singes my cheeks, and I scramble across to one of the chairs.

Focus, Eleanor. For God’s sake.

“I appreciate you taking a chance on my idea, sir,” I say, voice formal as I open my binder. “Thank you.”

His gaze comes back to mine, expression softening slightly. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs, before glancing at his laptop. We’re sitting so much closer than we usually do in the conference room, and I get a hit of his cologne, crisp and clean with the faintest trace of sandalwood. There’s something deeply masculine about it, enough to leave my mouth dry and my thoughts scattered.

I swallow, leaning away. “It means a lot to me,” I add, forcing myself to stay on task.

His typing slows as he asks, “Why?”

I hesitate, not sure what he’s asking.

“Why does this matter so much to you?”

Oh.

“I guess… because I know what it feels like to have no one on your side.”

He glances up, leaning back and sliding off his glasses as he listens. His attention is unexpectedly sincere, and I continue.

“When I left pre-law, my family didn’t exactly throw a party. They laughed. Literally laughed. Like the idea of me teaching kids was hilarious.”

He frowns at that, a deep groove etching into his forehead.

“I think about the kids who feel like they don’t fit in,” I continue, gathering momentum now. “Or the ones who struggle and no one notices because they seem to be doing fine on the outside. I know what that feels like. When people look right through you, or worse, laugh because they’ve already decided you’re not worth taking seriously. Safe Harbor is for them. For the kids no one believes in.”

He gazes at me, expression more open, less guarded, than I’ve ever seen it. As if something in my words has gotten through to him.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence hums between us, not tense, but full with something that feels a lot like understanding.