Boss On A Leash: A Single Dad Billionaire Romance, Kara Hart [free ebook reader for iphone .TXT] 📗

“Sorting information to use against my daughter,” I say. “Without any sort of representation. Do you realize I could have your ass in court for this if you’re wrong?”

The man opens his mouth.

“But I didn’t do anything,” Sammy interrupts.

Before the Dean can get another word in, I speak. “Where’s the other kid?”

Dr. Berman leans back in his leather chair. “We’re taking cases one at a time.”

He must know he doesn’t have any power in this negotiation because he’s using police terminology like he’s a detective. Next, he’ll tell us they’re bringing in a forensic team to analyze the other girl’s tissue sample or DNA.

When you donate close to a hundred thousand dollars to the school, you buy your way into receiving special treatment. Sammy’s safe. Thing is, I’m not too keen on the kids here, and the new leadership just plain sucks. Most of them are spoiled little bastards, young and old. I want Sammy to grow up with a better understanding of the world.

In a way, I want her to grow up less like me.

“Is the other girl hurt?” I ask.

Berman taps his fingers against his desk, rhythmically before answering. “She attacked an older boy in her class who has been held back a year. We were told by two reputable sources that Sammy pushed him over.”

Sammy’s getting worked up. The more this Berman guy talks, the more she squirms in her chair. She has stayed silent this whole time, but eventually something gives. “He pushed me, daddy,” Sammy yells.

“The boy was older than her?” I ask.

“Well, yes.”

“What did the teacher say?”

Dr. Berman coughs, nervously. “She was facing the white board at the time.”

“Jesus. This is a new low,” I say, standing.

Even if it’s protocol, Berman must know how wrong this sounds. He’s cautiously waving his hands, trying to calm my nerves with gentle motions, but I’m not a child. It’s not working. I’m a man with lawyers who’d kill for a lawsuit like this.

“Mr. Wylan. Please, sit down. We know how hard it’s been for you, and I’m sorry if you’ve lost a little control,” he says. “But we are just stating the facts as we received them.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, I feel my heart turn to flames. There’s a lot you can say to me about my kid before I react. You can tell me she’s not studying hard enough, or that she isn’t sharing her toys with the other children. But when you imply I’m doing a bad job at parenting by saying I’m losing control, I’m going to lose my shit.

He doesn’t know what we’ve had to go through to make this work. No one does.

My eyes are glued to his. If humans still lived amongst the wilderness, I’d lunge at him and tear his face off. “What did you say?” I ask.

“We just want to make sure everything is working at home.”

I got Sammy when she was two years old. I say “got,” but what I really mean is the authorities put her in my hand. They asked me one thing that night. “Are you ready to be a better man?”

It wasn’t a good night. Most nights weren’t back then, but this day was particularly bad. It was winter, sometime around Christmas because I still remember the lights around the houses glowing behind the firetrucks near my sister’s house. At the time, I didn’t have any presents under my tree. She was my gift.

Turns out, I was readier to be a better man than I thought. But the thing about parenting is that it never really stops. You’re chasing goal post after goal post, floundering through PTA meetings and neighborhood get-togethers that seem to pop up monthly. Raising a little girl on your own is tough. It’s even harder when the kid isn’t your own.

She still doesn’t know. I’ve tried to tell her, but she doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s either that she still doesn’t understand or she knows all too well. I feel like I dodged a bullet today, but really, it’s just another reminder that there’s a lot more to do to be that better man I keep saying I’ve become. A dog isn’t going to cut it. I need more ammunition.

I take my little darling’s hand, and I smell the watermelon kids shampoo as I kiss the top of her head. “C’mon, baby. We’re going home,” I say.

She peers up at me, a warm smile shaping her face. “I’m not in trouble?”

I stare at the bald man. “No. We’re free to go.”

Th dean stands. “Mr. Wylan, you can’t just leave. We have strict guidelines the kids and their parents agree to follow. There’s still four periods left in Sammy’s day.”

Nice. I don’t give a shit.

Ignoring Dr. Berman’s stammering protests, I push the door open. Back in grade school, I was sent to the principal’s office on a weekly basis. The difference is I was a bad kid. I know my child is good.

Stepping into the hall, I look forward and see a shadow approaching the entrance. It grows bigger, forming the shape of a woman. Usually, I’d ignore something as mundane as this, but as the front doors give way to sunlight, I recognize the mouth, the nose, the glasses that magnify those beautiful almond-shaped eyes.

It’s her. The woman from the gas station.

What in God’s name is she doing here? Is she following me? She’s going to shame me forever.

I turn back around, racing through Dr. Berman’s office. He nearly falls over trying to stop me. “Mr. Wylan? Sir, what on Earth are you doing?”

Shit. What am I doing?

“Well. We’re going to talk about this,” I say, shutting the door. “And I mean, we’re going to really talk and hash it out. As far as I’m concerned, this could take hours.”

I’m trying to pass the time.

The woman’s shadow is growing bigger near the office door.

“But—”

There’s a thin knock. For a second, I pause and eye the door as if she might try