Actually, it would, but she didn’t have to know that. “Nope,” he lied. “And I have it on good authority that a few people will be let go at the end of the semester to keep the budget running. And no iPads or musical instruments for the children. Poor, poor children.” He shook his head. “All deprived of a better education because of the self-centered needs of one teacher.”
Violet’s hands clenched at her sides. She looked ready to spit nails. Or attack him. He didn’t care which. Either was better than the cold indifference she’d served him yesterday. He could take a fiery, feisty Violet who hated him. He couldn’t do anything with a woman who pretended he didn’t exist. “So basically I’m being blackmailed to go with you and chirp historical facts in your ear?”
“Yep,” Jonathan said lazily. “You going to do it?”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Violet ground out.
“You do. But think of all the children who would suffer if you chose selfishly.”
“Mr. Lyons,” Principal Esparza cut in, a frown on her lined face. “I really don’t know that this is appropriate after all—”
“It’s all right, Betty,” Violet said, and her voice sounded tired. “I figured he was going to try something like this the moment I saw him this morning. I’ll go with him. It’s fine. Just be sure you get that money in writing, and make sure the contract’s ironclad.” She looked over at Jonathan, clearly seething. “When do we leave, oh, philanthropic one?”
He couldn’t quite hide his triumphant grin. “Tomorrow.”
—
That evening, Jonathan couldn’t keep his mind off of a certain schoolteacher.
Tomorrow. Violet would be his again, starting tomorrow. He lounged in the backseat of the Lyons sedan as his driver headed to his hotel, a pleased smile on his face.
Oh, sure, she didn’t want to be at his side, but she’d come around eventually. She’d always been prickly at first meetings. He remembered the first time she’d met him, back when she’d had those long, beautiful braids and a tart mouth. At nineteen, she’d had no patience for fools, and he’d definitely been a foolish boy, utterly giddy just to be in her presence. She’d been snippy to him then, too. It was clear that Violet wore a suit of armor around her heart, and she didn’t let anyone get near.
She reminded him of one of his friends, Hunter, though he’d worn his scars on the outside. And so he’d decided to befriend Violet, because she was gorgeous and smart, and, hell, he’d been a horny nineteen-year-old. It had taken him about a week to get her to open up and let her defenses down, and then Violet had been a warm, teasing, delicious girl.
He remembered the way she smiled, as if she knew a secret no one else did.
She’d been giving that smile to another man earlier today, the one who sat next to her in the meeting. Jonathan’s hand clenched his phone, fury bolting through him. Violet had said she wasn’t married. That didn’t mean she wasn’t seeing someone. Jealousy snaked through him. If she wasn’t married, she was still fair game. He’d simply have to seduce her back to softness, back to smiling at him like that.
He wanted her. Pure and simple. He’d always wanted Violet. He’d never stopped.
The car pulled up in front of the hotel and Jonathan got out, still lost in thought. To think that he was in Detroit several times a year for auto industry meetings, and had never known that his Violet was right under his nose, teaching at a local school.
Fate worked in mysterious ways.
Jonathan headed up to his familiar hotel room. He tended to be in Detroit a lot for business, and though it probably would have been fiscally wiser to purchase a residence here, he stayed in the Townsend because he couldn’t be bothered with setting down roots. He didn’t want a house. Not if it meant coming home and finding it empty and hollow.
As he entered the suite, he noticed things were set out the way he liked, without having to ask. He was here often enough that his assistant simply faxed his schedule to the manager of the hotel, who made sure that Jonathan’s every need was met before he had to ask, and he was paid handsomely for it. Thus he had extra pillows, bottles of his favorite water at the bedside, and bath sheets instead of a robe.
He also had a hooker in his bed. As usual.
The woman sat up as he entered the room and tugged off his tie. Jonathan barely glanced at her. He didn’t have to. He knew what she’d look like. All the girls he got had a profile: Short. Dark haired. Jonathan didn’t like romantic entanglements. He hadn’t had a girlfriend since, well, since Violet. It was so much easier to pay someone for a quick f**k and then have them leave.
She sauntered over to him, dressed in nothing but thigh-highs and a corset. Her tits were huge and probably fake, but she had a pretty face. “Hello there,” she purred, coming over to help him unbutton his shirt. “My name is Sally,” she told him in a low, sultry voice. “And my safe word is ‘Kitty.’ I’m open for anything you might want to do.”
And she reached for his cock.
He stopped her, grasping her wrist. “I’m tired tonight, Sally.”
She looked surprised, and then hurt. “Oh. Do you . . . um, do you want me to call the agency and ask them to send someone else?”
“I don’t want anyone tonight,” he said gently. Well, he did want a particular someone, but she was probably sticking pins into a voodoo doll of him at the moment. The thought of f**king Sally instead of Violet was displeasing, like wearing brown shoes with a black suit. There wouldn’t be repercussions, but it just didn’t feel right.
The girl in front of him bit her bright red lip. “Oh.”
Sally still looked hurt, and he felt like an ass. He’d never turned down a girl before, and the agency had sent over just what he liked. She’d probably been filled with stories about how if she made him happy, he’d start asking for her on a regular basis, and he tipped well.
Jonathan guessed that Sally was probably more upset about the money than about not getting his dick. So he pulled out his wallet and began to flip hundred-dollar bills out of his money clip.
She put up a hand, trying to stop him. “Oh, Mr. Lyons, the agency pays me—”
“I know. And I want you to tell them that I was very pleased with your services tonight. Very pleased.” He pulled a total of two grand out of his clip and offered it to her. “My driver’s downstairs. Tell them at the front desk that you have his services for the rest of the evening. And I’d love for you to go shopping, on me. It’s my way of apology.” He waved the money at her.