Page 1 of Mr. Principal

Chapter One

I hated him instantly. Granted, I didn't really know him. But everything I knew about him already bothered me, from his cocky walk to his condescending treatment of every employee he’d already met. Word had traveled fast that he was a jerk. He’d only been in the building for a little over an hour but it felt like an eternity since everyone, including myself, was tense and on edge because of his presence. I wondered if he knew he made all of us uncomfortable, but as he approached it was clear from the look of self-satisfaction on his face that yes, he knew he made us uneasy, and he was enjoying it.

I watched him approach and sighed in resignation. I guess I was next. I didn’t even pretend to be working. My shift was ending in ten minutes and it had already been a slow day. And since I was a customer service rep that meant I’d already spent hours on end trying to look busy.

He had squinty eyes, a bulbous nose, and barely perceptible lips. He looked like he drank heavily and slept rarely. His physical appearance didn’t concern me. What concerned me was the way he looked at me with that stupid smirk on his face, as if he knew a cutesy little secret about me that he just couldn’t wait to taunt me about. He was just so creepy, and I could tell he was going to be a pain in my backside, but I smiled tightly as he approached, took a deep breath and tried to fix the expression on my face so that I looked at least a little bit personable.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he would be nice. And then his eyes fixed on my breasts for a moment too long and I groaned. I had a bad habit of giving people the benefit of the doubt and second-guessing my instincts. Terry Baxter, our new store manager, apparently didn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt. And for the record, he was again looking at my boobs. Looked like I was going to be looking for a new job this evening. I was seriously kicking myself for the bad life choices I’d made that had led to me working as a customer service rep at Primrose Grocery Store and Outlet.

I felt a little sad. I’d kind of liked working at Primrose. Everyone was really nice including the previous store manager, Mr. Jeffries, who Terry Baxter was replacing. Mr. Jeffries had been fired for being a little bit tipsy on the job and flashing a customer who had become difficult and refused to leave even though the store was closing. Apparently, the customer had not appreciated seeing our manager’s pale butt cheeks and had contacted our corporate office to complain.

The next day we were all called into the conference room and as expected Mr. Jeffries wasn’t there. Instead, someone from corporate greeted us and informed us that Mr. Jeffries was no longer employed by the company. Then we’d all been forced to sit through training on appropriate employee relations before being informed that a new store manager would be visiting us later in the week. We’d all groaned and vocalized our objections, but corporate’s stooge had said that Primrose Grocery Store didn’t have room in its culture for flashers, yet here I was being ogled by Mr. Jeffries’s replacement. I was angry; I would miss the old manager. Yeah, he’d mooned someone, but he’d always been kind to me. He’d been flexible and understanding and had given me, a single mom with little work experience, a way to provide for my daughter. Flasher or not, to me he had been a saint, a godsend.

“Dana,” said my department manager, a handsome Pakistani man in his late sixties who had worked at Primrose since the store opened nearly forty years ago. “This is Terry Baxter, our new store manager. And Mr. Baxter, this is Dana, our brightest and most punctual customer service rep.”

I was kind of flattered that Mo had said I was punctual. I busted my butt to get to work on time and prided myself on being a morning person. Granted, I was only a morning person after two or three cups of coffee.

Quickly, I forgot about Mo’s compliment as Mr. Baxter’s eyes settled on me. He gave me a creepy little smile before extending his hand. He had fat fingers with a few open sores across his knuckles.

What was he? Some sort of cage fighter at night? Or—oh God—was that herpes? Did people get herpes on their hands?I made a mental note to wash my hands a bajillion times as I let him take my hand in his. I tried to smile back but there was no use. I had the type of face that didn’t hide emotions well. Any barely perceptive person could read my emotions just by glancing at me. And I was sure my face read, “Don't touch me, don't look at me, and please don't speak to me.”

I pulled my hand away since apparently, Mr. Baxter was in no hurry to break contact. Mo didn’t notice. He continued talking while I resisted the urge to wipe my hand on my jeans. I felt icky.

“Mr. Baxter will be around checking in on us from time to time and probably talking a little bit to our customers. He just wants to get a feel for the place and our current operation.”

I nodded, grunted, and reluctantly tried to smile again. Mo noticed my expression and frowned a bit. Apparently, my smile was unconvincing.

“Are you feeling okay, Dana?” he asked. Before I could come up with a plausible excuse for why I couldn’t do anything but frown in Mr. Baxter’s presence, we were interrupted.

“Excuse me for a second,” Mo said tightly as a group of teenagers rowdily entered the store, knocking over a patron. Mr. Baxter and I watched as Mo hurriedly assisted the fallen customer while admonishing the teens who looked on indifferently.

Once Mo was out of earshot, Mr. Baxter laughed. “I barely understood a word that guy said.”

My eyes narrowed. And apparently, Mr. Baxter was also a bigot. Mo spoke perfect English. After all, he had been born and raised in Toledo, Ohio.

“I understand Mo just fine.”

Mr. Baxter made a ‘tssk’ sound and then said, “Immigrants. I don’t know why Primrose hires so many.”

I saw red but managed to control my temper. “Umm... my parents were Croatian immigrants. I’m a first-generation American.”

He wrinkled his nose in confusion. “Croatia? Where’s that? Is that in Russia?” He then apparently grew bored of talking geography and glanced to where Mo was trying to appease the customer who had taken a spill. “That old fart needs to watch where she’s going next time.”

I stiffened. “The teenagers were at fault, not Mrs. Bailey. She’s a pretty loyal customer, by the way. I hope this incident doesn’t make her reconsider shopping here.”

He shrugged. Clearly, he didn’t care about customer loyalty. “Aren’t you sweet, Dana?” he said mockingly. “It's going to be a pleasure to work with you I'm sure.”

His eyes went to travel down my body again. The nerve of the man. He didn’t even try to be subtle.

“My eyes are up here,” I growled. God, he was sleazy. I gave up pretending his sleaziness didn’t bother me. I’d resigned myself to looking for another job anyway as soon as he had approached me.

Mr. Baxter smiled. “I like feisty women.”

“Too bad. I’m not into pervs who abuse their power.” Where had that come from? I was on a roll today. I even surprised myself!

His expression instantly changed. Uh oh, I thought. I’m about to be fired. But I wasn’t going to back down. I’d spent almost the last decade of my life being a doormat. I needed to grow a backbone, starting now.

His thin lips pulled back into a sneer and he looked at me as if I were a disgusting piece of gum stuck to his shoe.