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I look at Sebastian and back at Callie, who looks like she doesn't want to be apart from her father for another second. How can he not see that these strange tantrums are all just a ploy to get his attention? I’d been able to figure that out quickly even when I wasn't spending so much time with the little girl. I can't help but think I have to let him know.
Mr. Beatles, on the other hand, is looking like he is literally only existing to stroke the billionaire's ego and water down Callie's worsening behavior.
“I think I need to talk to you for a minute," I tell him in the softest tone.
“So talk.” He retorts.
I gaze at him, shocked at his directness.
“I can't do it in front of the child.”
Mr. Vaughn looks at me a bit reluctantly and even the principal looks at me like I have just committed the most heinous crime. A minute later, he is on his feet, his long legs already carrying him toward the door.
“Daddy!” Callie cries out as she runs toward him. “Don't leave.” She begs the moment she reaches him, her tiny hands wrapping themselves around her father's legs.
“I'm not leaving, princess.” He assures her as he bends over to kiss her on the head. “I'm just going to have a little chit-chat with your teacher. You wait here and I'll be back in a jiffy.”
“You promise?” Callie asks.
Mr. Vaughn nods.
“Pinky promise?” She insists.
“I cross my heart promise.” He pledges.
Satisfied with his answer, the little girl steps aside and I move with him out the door, but not before giving Callie a reassuring smile.
I follow Mr. Vaughn to a sitting area reserved for teachers. Mr. Vaughn does not appear to want to sit, and I can't help but allow my eyes to run over his form. I can tell that he keeps fit from the way he fills out his tuxedo. I think back to the scene from earlier and wonder just how many times he has broken the promise he has made to his little girl.
“Whatever reason you have to make me come out here had better be worth it.”
“The fact that this issue concerns the well-being of your daughter is important enough. Or don't you think so?” I shoot back.
“Out with it, Miss Sullivan.” Mr. Vaughn scowls. I can feel the beginnings of anger.
What is wrong with this man? If he could forget a name as simple as Donovan, how the hell had he managed to raise estates and make millions off them? Or is he trying to show me how unimportant he thinks I am?
“Mr. Vaughn, my last name is Donovan. If you are finding it too difficult to remember, I suggest you go with my first name, Paislee.”
“Can we please focus on why you brought me out here on a Friday morning?”
“Not until you learn to call me by my name and not Sullivan or whatever it is you have been referring to me as.”
I can see the shock on his face like he has never had someone speak to him like that. Well, serves him right for being rude and thoughtless.
“Paislee, can you continue now? I do not have all the time in the world to trade words with you, even though that appears to be your favorite pastime.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“I want to discuss with you the probability that Callie may have autism. Which is, in fact, what I considered improper to say in her presence.”
“Autism?” He questions with confusion, which gives me pause. “You're diagnosing my daughter with autism?” He asks, eyes flashing with anger.
My eyes widen, and I quickly scramble to explain.
“I am not claiming that she is autistic, Mr. Vaughn. I'm not qualified to do that. I am merely stating the possibility as she has been showing symptoms of someone who could very well be autistic.”
“And so now you are assuming she has it?”
