Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 129001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
“No,” I said swiftly, “She can stay here. We’ll—”
I stopped abruptly because I had his attention again and it was the first thing on him I was able to read.
I was right, I wasn’t able to ignore it.
Against my will, the edges of the puzzle were slowly lining up.
Though, that was the easiest part.
But the way I had his attention now meant two of the thousands of pieces that made him came together and landed inside the frame.
This was his daughter, and some stranger did not contradict his authority.
In fact, no one did.
Perhaps in anything, not just his daughter.
I’d been wrong earlier.
I did not want to fuck him.
I wanted him to fuck me.
“Please, just five minutes of your time,” I pushed.
His body language adjusted minutely, which I took as the answer, yes.
I glanced briefly at Celeste, who hurriedly moved back to the boxes, a ploy to show her father how much help she was being, and that she was not up here having fun with the rich and famous lady who’d moved in next door. Instead, although she chose it, it was an extension of her punishment.
I took him to the small study, a room I’d be making a reading room.
It was at the current juncture my favorite room in the house, regardless it was a shambles.
I’d selected a chair that would behoove anyone to describe it as merely a chair. It wasn’t a loveseat. It wasn’t a chaise. It wasn’t a small couch.
It was a miracle, as it managed to be all four.
There were lamps sitting around that I had not placed, a table beside the chair, and in the boxes I had yet to unpack, a plethora of pillows, a chunky throw, candles and a tray to put on the chair so I had somewhere on the expanse of the seat to set drinks or plates or other if the table was out of reach.
I decided in that second, once the bookshelves were done, to set up this room.
I did not close the door when I turned to him.
“First, I’m Delphine Larue.”
“I know who you are.”
Of course he did.
And of course his voice was a deep, rough rumble.
“And you?” I asked.
From my question, I received my first expression from him.
Surprise.
He thought I knew who he was.
I didn’t, even if I partially did.
Still, introductions were in order.
“Cade Bohannan.”
His name was uttered in grunts, and they were not dulcet by any stretch of the imagination.
“May I ask…Celeste has been suspended for a week?”
His chin jerked up.
I had to be sure she wasn’t making light of things.
Therefore, I went on, “For cursing at her teacher?”
Another chin jerk.
Lord, how he could make that movement both ludicrously attractive and faintly annoying, I had no idea.
However, I feared the annoying part would increase if he didn’t start using his words.
“Just that?” I pressed on.
“Just that,” he rumbled.
Good.
Words.
“Have you heard of the concept of the Five Voices of Criticism?”
He stared at me a brief moment before crossing his arms on his chest.
I took that as, go on.
I did just that.
“In any creative endeavor, though, I would extend it to any endeavor, if someone says something critical about your work, and that point is made by one voice, it should be ignored. Two voices, the same. Three, four, you see the pattern. The fifth voice makes the same point, that’s when you start paying attention.”
He made no reply or even gave any indication he was listening to me outside the sunglasses staying rooted to me. Sunglasses he was still wearing in a room that had even dimmer light than the great room.
“Obviously, depending on your reach, that five would be multiplied.”
“For instance,” he broke in, “your five would be fifty thousand.”
That was exaggerated, but his message was clear.
“As a for instance, yes,” I agreed softly.
He said nothing further.
“As another for instance, if you were a teacher, and one, or two, or four kids in your class were having trouble with that class…”
He shifted his weight.
I soldiered on.
“That’s obviously to be expected. Kids are kids. A variety of factors would affect how they learn, or if they do—”
“Ms. Larue—”
“Delphine.”
He grew silent again.
“I don’t know how big her class is…”
I let that lie.
Cade Bohannan made no reply.
Even so, I still sensed that now, my message was clear.
Moving on…
“Further, there are vast resources based on even more vast research that are available globally that help us to understand a child’s development, physically, mentally and emotionally. The days where it’s generally understood that the moment a child can coordinate their limbs, they’re sent to a factory to help the family put bread on the table are no longer accepted. At all. You would not set a pack of puppies to guiding a sled, you do not send children in to do adult’s work.”
He studied me silently.
“In other words, you must know this teacher’s behavior is unacceptable. Indeed, even unforgiveable. She should be fired. With what she did to Celeste, she has no business teaching anyone under the age of thirty-five, and even that’s up for debate. She is clearly not fit for the job.”