The Librarian Principle (21 page)

“Ms. Harper.” Ryder cleared his throat.

“Sir?”

His eyes flashed briefly. “I thought you had a question, my mistake.”

Liese realized she’d been twirling a piece of hair around her finger. She’d also been staring at Ryder’s crotch. She felt as transparent as a jellyfish—except her emotions were on display for everyone to see rather than her insides.

Ryder sped through the agenda, his tension palpable, at least to Liese. He seemed to stiffen each time he looked over at her and her comrades. His physical response sparked her guilt—a sort of panic merged with an unsettling need to fix things between them, even though he’d been the one to screw things up. In spite of knowing what would probably be wisest, considering the situation, Liese found herself more uncertain about how to handle Ryder than ever.

When Ryder called for any additional business, Blake raised his hand. Reclined in his chair as usual, he balanced precariously on two legs with his arms crossed behind his head, one suspended in air, the picture of ease.

Ryder gave him a tight-lipped smile. “The floor is yours, Stone.” He leaned against the table behind him, posture relaxed, a contradiction to the way his hands gripped the edge.

Blake let his chair settle on all four legs and slowly got to his feet. Too lazy to hold up his own weight, he grabbed the back of Liese’s chair and leaned on it. Liese didn’t hear much of what he said, the buzz of anxiety far too prominent in her ears. At some point he fell into a huge diatribe about her gracious involvement in the school’s upcoming production. By the end of his gushy monologue, Liese wanted to crawl under the table.

Ryder dismissed everyone shortly thereafter, and Liese packed her things, desperate to escape her colleagues. They all wanted the dirt on her ride home with their illustrious principal. But she pushed back her chair to find Ryder barricading her only exit.

“I’d like to see you in my office, Ms. Harper.”

“Of course, Mr. Whitehall.”

“Immediately.” He spun on his heel, turning toward the door.

“Jesus, what the hell is his problem?” Blake griped.

“Looks like I’ll be seeing you all tomorrow.” Liese sighed. And she thought
she
had trouble keeping a lid on her emotions. Ryder looked like he was about to blow. If he continued to act this way, he would inevitably expose them—all the more reason to make sure there was nothing left to expose. No matter how much he’d disliked Blake before, his current attitude toward him bordered on hostile.

The main office was deserted. She dropped her things in her mailbox and knocked on Ryder’s half-open door, much harder than she’d intended. On the third loud rap, the door swung open, and he motioned for her to step inside.

He slammed the door behind her and locked it. “Do you mind telling me why the
fuck
you’re lying to me?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” she shot back. “How can I lie when I haven’t even spoken to you?” Liese folded her arms across her chest, mostly to prevent launching a physical attack that had nothing to do with the ever-present sexual energy in the room.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Liese,” Ryder whispered angrily. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing?”

“What I’m
doing
? What does that even mean?” A hot rush of ire surged through her.

“Fucking Blake and his fucking hands all over you—touching you. That’s what I mean,” he seethed, his eyes alight with fury. “I would have thought after Friday—” He stopped, closed his eyes, and inhaled. When he opened them the rage had diminished, tempered with hurt and confusion.

“Honestly? I barely remember Friday evening, apart from when you told me you wanted to . . . what was it you said? I’m sure it had something to do with you being inside me.” Liese exhaled heavily as the memory came back to her in vivid flashes: his mouth close to her ear, the words burning through her mind and her body. They’d been in her front hallway.

Ryder’s face turned a shade of red usually reserved for the primary color wheel. “Well, I . . . I—” His hands waved around in the air before he shoved them into his pockets. “Is that the only part you remember?”

Liese blinked at him. “No,” she replied defiantly.

“For the love of . . .” Ryder sighed. “What else do you remember?”

“You undressed me.”

“Oh, no. You undressed yourself despite my request that you remain clothed.” His eyes swept over her, as if recalling the event. “I was kind enough to find you something to sleep in.”

“I sleep naked.”

“Oh, I remember.” He took a step closer. “However I didn’t feel it would be in my best interest to have you so exposed in your condition. Particularly while I was trying to put you to bed. You are incredibly difficult to resist when you’re clothed, let alone when you’re naked and willing.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “And you were very, very willing.”

She scoffed to hide her indignity. “I highly doubt that.”

“You were quite insistent that I stay and get naked along with you.” He paused as his eyes searched hers. “I didn’t think it prudent, though, considering your state of intoxication, no matter how badly I wanted to accommodate your request.”

Liese opened her mouth, but only a squeaky, embarrassed sound came out. Being turned on wasn’t going to help her resolve to keep their relationship professional.

“I also didn’t think you’d appreciate waking up on your bathroom floor, which is where you originally intended to go to bed.”

“Oh my God.” Another memory broke free, screaming its way into her consciousness. Ryder had lifted her onto the bathroom vanity and reached behind her for something, her toothbrush possibly? She couldn’t recall exactly, having been too fixated on his proximity at the time. She’d grabbed his tie and yanked him forward, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt and the buckle of his belt. He had been gentle but persistent when he’d clasped her hands in his, lips moving over her temple to press against her forehead. More images surfaced, and her mind settled on one where she’d been on her knees in front of the vanity, her hands on Ryder’s belt. She’d tried to blow him in her bathroom?

“Did I—” Horrified, she choked on the words. “Did we—”

“I didn’t let anything happen. But you were quite entertaining when you weren’t scaring the hell out of me. I can’t imagine how much you drank to achieve that state.” He remained serious, but hurt lingered behind his eyes.

“More than I should have, obviously,” Liese admitted, eyeing him as he rubbed the back of his neck, looking lost. “A lot of the evening is foggy.”

“How much of it?” he prodded.

“I don’t know . . . most of it? I have snippets, bits of memories, but nothing solid.” That she’d blacked out scared the crap out of her. She didn’t like that she’d lost control.

“I’m sorry. I know this is my fault.” Ryder’s voice was soft, meek almost. He bowed his head.

Liese didn’t want to feel sorry for him, but damn it, she did. She clung to the fading wisps of anger that remained, determined to make him understand why they’d reached such a critical mass. “You ignored me all week and then pulled that garbage about wanting to see me. Showing up at the bar? Not the best move, I’m afraid. How did you think I would react?”

His shoulders slumped. “I knew I’d made a mistake. I thought I could fix it.” He lifted his head. “You told me there wasn’t anything going on between you and Blake.”

“There isn’t.”

“I’m not blind. I saw his arm around you at the bar and the staff meeting. That’s not nothing.”

“He’s a drama teacher; he’s touchy with everyone.” Liese’s defenses came up. She would be having a conversation with Blake about boundaries, though. Ultimately, she could see why Ryder had the wrong impression of their relationship.

“Maybe he wouldn’t be so touchy if someone broke his fucking fingers.”

“Ryder!”

“What? Think about it: how would you feel if I went around touching every woman in the building the way he touches you? Does that seem professional to you?”

“You mean the way you’re always touching me? Or didn’t you realize you do that?” She knew she was being unfair. Ryder rarely touched her in public, and when he did, it was fleeting at best, nothing like slinging his arm over her shoulder.

Even before the tension between them had come to a head, he’d kept his physical contact limited to infuriatingly innocent brushes. But backing down meant owning that maybe, just maybe she’d let Blake get away with his friendliness because she’d wanted to make Ryder jealous. It had worked, but at what cost? Their conversation was going nowhere fast.

“I—what? Damn it, this isn’t want I wanted,” Ryder said. “I don’t want to argue.”

“Well, that’s difficult when you accuse me of
fucking
lying to you, isn’t it?” she said, mocking his earlier question.

Ryder sighed in frustration. “This is why I don’t do this.”

“Do what?” Even angry, Liese felt her stomach sink, and she grew irritated with herself all over again. She wasn’t supposed to want to do it anymore either.

The abrasive strains of dance music filled the room, startling them both. Ryder felt around in his pockets, mumbling profanity. Liese had never heard him swear so much, not even when they’d had sex.

He pulled his phone out of his breast pocket and touched the screen before putting it to his ear. “How many times have I told you not to change my damn ringtone? It’s embarrassing.” His face reddened, and he turned away.

That he’d answered the phone in the middle of what she’d thought was an important conversation stunned her, but not as much as the harsh way he spoke to the person on the other end.

“Tiffany? Tiff? Sweetheart, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s been a difficult day. Of course not, sweetie . . . It’s okay. I’m not angry with you, just tell me what happened, and I’ll see if I can deal with it,” he murmured. He scrubbed a hand over his face as he paced toward his desk.

Liese’s shock deepened. Who was this soft man who practically cooed into the phone over some woman named Tiffany? A cold, sick feeling settled in her stomach. Not once had she entertained the idea that Ryder might be involved with anyone else, but the way he spoke to “Tiffany” left little room for doubt.

Liese struggled with the door to unlock it. She bolted from his office, not stopping when she heard him call her name. Dashing down the hall, she burst into the library, went to her office and threw her jacket on, hastening to grab her purse and vacate the building as quickly as possible. She made a mad dash for the side exit in hopes of avoiding any further confrontations with Ryder. Forget telling him they’d be keeping things professional. He could just figure it out.

Once home, she tried Marissa, but got voicemail. She put away her things from school, but no matter what else she did to occupy herself, she kept returning to the events of the past week and how badly they’d gone wrong. Sometime close to eight o’clock, Liese poured a glass of wine. She needed to unwind, and a bath was the perfect way. She waited while the tub filled and sipped her drink. Absently swirling a finger in the rising water, she tried to come up with a valid explanation for the phone call from this Tiffany person. It made sense that Ryder thought he saw signs of a relationship with Blake if he had another one of his own on the back burner.

Liese slipped into the hot water. Submerged completely, with only her nose and mouth remaining above the surface, she didn’t catch the muffled ring of her phone, or the sound of a car pulling into her driveway.