The Reluctant Heiress

The moment he’d walked in, the growing panic she’d felt had actually lessened. It had all reasserted itself, but just knowing he could handle the ropes she’d probably hang herself with was huge.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I know you’re just doing your job, but I appreciate you taking care of…everything.”

“Not a problem. Can you think of anything else you need tonight?”

“Just the ability to make myself invisible,” she muttered. “Either that or a transporter.”

“A transporter?”

“You know. One of those things that scrambles your molecules and moves you at light speed from one place to another.” She wouldn’t need a driver then.

“I thought a woman did that with the twitch of her nose.”

She met the hint of a smile in his eyes. “We obviously hang out with different types and age groups.” She tipped her head, gave a small shrug. “Since I don’t imagine you have an invisibility cloak or transporter with you, I guess your work here is done for now.”

The small smile she offered was guarded, a faint shadow of the sunshine-bright expression he’d glimpsed in the brief seconds yesterday before she’d realized who he was.

He should have felt relieved to get any smile from her at all. And he might have, had it not been for the strain behind it. Even with her lush mouth curved at the corners and a glint of light revealing the flecks of bronze and gold in her deep-brown eyes, she looked defeated somehow. Defeated, and a little lost.

He pulled his glance, his brow furrowing. “Is there anyone you want here with you tonight? A relative? A girlfriend?”

She shook her head, her mop of soft-looking curls swaying against her shoulders. The lock she’d pushed behind her ear sprang free to brush her cheek. “I’m my only family. And I’m not sure I’d be good company for any of my friends tonight.” She might try to reach Stacy again later. But she really didn’t feel like spending the whole evening talking about what she’d rather not think about at all. “I’m fine.”

The hell she was, he thought. “Then I’ll let Schroeder know what time to be at your door.”

“Thanks,” she murmured.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured back, and nudged the hair from her cheek.

His fingertips grazed her skin as he tucked the long curl behind her ear. The softness of it had barely registered when he realized that the motion had curved his hand at the side of her face—and that she had gone as still as he had himself.

His eyes caught hers. He had just breached a professional line he would never have crossed had he thought for a second about what he was doing. But he hadn’t thought, and that wasn’t like him at all.

Feeling the warmth of her skin penetrate his palm, he slowly pulled back his hand. As he did, she touched her fingertips to her cheek as if to hold in that small, unexpected contact.

It took a lot to unnerve him. What he had just done certainly had. But the thought that she might actually be feeling as lost as she looked just then unnerved him even more.

“I’ll meet you here after school tomorrow.” He had thought about asking if she wanted to work on her statement for the press. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he decided she’d dealt with enough for now. Not comfortable with how bad he felt for her, distance seemed like a better idea, anyway. “We can work on your statement then.”

Jillian quickly lowered her hand, gave him a nod. Judging from the six feet of silent space he’d put between them, what he’d just done had caught him as off guard as it had her.

She curled her fingers into her palm, thinking of the unexpected tenderness in his touch, hoping he didn’t realize how the simple gesture had affected her. “I’d rather you figure out a way for me to avoid having to give one.”

“I’ll call if I come up with anything.” Taking another step back, he gave her a guarded smile. “In the meantime, I’ll see you here about four.”

She’d barely given him a nod before he let himself out the front door.

Almost immediately, she heard a car door slam. Then another. Reporters were no doubt scrambling to see if they couldn’t get something from him after all.

The room suddenly seemed too quiet. Automatically she moved to the remote control for the television, raised the volume on Dr. Phil. She would lose herself in someone else’s problems for a while. Then, she’d go through her closet and sort out the stickers she’d stashed there, the ones for all the holidays and those that said Good Job! and MuchImproved! Anything to avoid wondering why she hadn’t felt so alone until he’d touched her, or why she hadn’t pulled back first herself.

By eleven o’clock the next morning, her only thoughts of Ben were to wonder what influence he had with the National Guard. Thomas Jefferson Elementary school was a zoo. Isolated in the library, Jillian hadn’t been aware of the worst of it until Jan Nguyn, one of the third-grade teachers, rushed in to tell her that Roland, one of the janitors, had just chased a guy with a camera out of the girls’ room in Hall C. And that a reporter was wandering around Hall D looking for her.

Within seconds of that breathless announcement, Jillian heard the school secretary page her to the principal’s office.

Dr. Geraldine Webster was the principal who’d hired Jillian fresh from student teaching eight years ago. Considering what Jillian had heard from other teachers in other schools, the sixtyish PhD with the stylish gray bob and a penchant for pantsuits and brightly rimmed bifocals was a teacher’s dream. She championed her staff to the school board. She went to battle for them when necessary, commiserated with them when her hands were tied and truly seemed to hear their complaints and suggestions. She was fair and forthright and with few exceptions, most notably, Yvonne Bliss, the staff thought she could walk on water.

It was because Jillian knew the woman to be as rational as she was reasonable that she didn’t bother to point out that the mob scene of reporters and paparazzi in the schoolyard was hardly her fault. As she entered the woman’s office with its walls of filing cabinets, diplomas, certificates and commendations, she felt certain Dr. Webster already knew that.

“Dr. Webster,” she began, coming up behind one of the visitors’ chairs facing the principal’s file-stacked desk, “I just heard about the paparazzo and the reporter.” She’d all but run to the woman’s office after making sure the hall she’d had to use was clear. “I’m so sorry this is happening.”

“I am, too, Miss Hadley.” Concern added a few more creases to the woman’s rounded face. “As chaotic as it is here, I can only imagine what the situation has been like for you at home.

“Of course, I’ve called the police,” she continued. “Coach Gunderson is looking for the reporter now and will ask him to leave the building or face arrest. Roland said he thinks he can identify the man he chased out. Apparently, he has rather distinctive red hair. But even if he’s arrested for trespassing, he is only one part of the problem. I’ve had teachers tell me reporters have practically accosted them in the parking lot. I’m sure they would have been followed were we not keeping the doors so they could only be opened from the inside. As it is, three reporters came here wanting a copy of your employee file.” She gave a snort of disbelief. “As if I’m going to hand over confidential information just because someone flashes a badge identifying them as press.

“I asked them to leave,” she continued. Despite her displeasure with how easily her normally quiet little school had been invaded, she still looked most sympathetic. “Roland is checking all of the doors to see which one they came through and will lock it so no one else can get in. I’ve asked the police to arrest anyone on the property who isn’t here on official school business.”

The law didn’t allow anyone inside the school without permission. Except for special events, even parents had to be cleared by the office to access any area where students might be. It didn’t matter that the students wouldn’t be there until classes began the coming week. Rules were rules, especially where school security was concerned. Even though the kids weren’t there, the disruption to the other teachers clearly couldn’t be tolerated.

“Which brings me to why I asked you here. Please,” she said, walking around the front of her desk to lean against it, “sit down.”

Jillian would have much preferred to stand. At the request from her principal, however, she lowered herself into one of the chairs. Dr. Webster took the one beside her.

“Miss Hadley. Jillian,” she amended, personal concern slipping into her voice. “You know that it’s always been my policy not to pry into the personal life of a staff member as long as a person’s personal life didn’t call her integrity into question or affect her effectiveness as a teacher. I’m not going to pry now, either,” she assured her. “Your situation is…unique…to stay the least. I can only imagine the changes you’re dealing with right now.”

“None of which will affect my ability to teach,” Jillian insisted. “Except for that,” she said, motioning beyond the office walls, “nothing has changed.

“I hate all of this, Dr. Webster. I never dreamed anything like this would happen, and the last thing I want is all that out there. I just need time to figure out what I can say that will get them to back off.”

“I’m afraid there isn’t anything you can say. And your life has changed,” she pointed out mildly, “whether you can see that now or not.

“I understand that you need time,” she assured her. “But I don’t have time to give you. This isn’t a situation that will resolve itself anytime soon. I have four hundred students and a staff I need to think about. I have schedules that need to be maintained. First and foremost, I have an environment that I have to make sure is as secure as possible for all concerned. This building is old. It’s open and accessible to anyone who thinks his purpose is more important than ours and our rules.”

Genuine distress flashed through her eyes.

“We could address the immediate problem of security with city police on the grounds for a few days. But that’s only a temporary fix. We can’t have the students’ routine disrupted by reporters and cameras, so anything long-term would have to be with private security. Even if there was money in the budget for such an expense, that isn’t the sort of environment we want for our students.”

She kept saying “we.” That could only mean she’d already conferred with the school district’s superintendent.

“I need you to take a leave of absence,” she finally said.

For a moment, Jillian found it hard to breathe. “For how long?” she all but whispered.

“At least this school year. As I said, this situation won’t resolve itself quickly. I’ve requested interviewees to fill your position. I’m sorry, Jillian. You either take the leave or I’ll have to let you go.”

Jillian had ridden to school in the back of the gray SUV with the tinted windows that had followed her there yesterday morning. Schroeder, who epitomized the blond version of the strong, silent type, had delivered her to the main door while his equally watchful and silent colleague, Jackson, who’d followed them in his sedan, escorted her inside. Behind them had trailed the swarm of paparazzi who’d lined her sidewalk to snap pictures of her as she’d ducked into the SUV.

Now that same caravan along with an assortment of vehicles belonging to the reporters and paparazzi who’d been waiting at the school jockeyed for position behind Schroeder as he drove the SUV from the parking lot.