Instead, she let Beverly assume her sexual misconduct was with another student, knowing it would result in her own expulsion. Four years at Le Moyne, and she gave up her high school diploma. A Le Moyne diploma. One that her father sacrificed everything for her to receive.
And she walked away from it.
To protect me.
I’ll rectify that right now.
“That’s me.” I tap the video screen.
Beverly blinks. “Mr. Marceaux—”
“Surely you figured that out based on the substantial size of the cock.” I grin. “I can pull it out if you need proof.”
She looks like she’s going to throw up, but beneath the disgust, there isn’t a hint of shock. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I don’t believe for a minute you intend to ruin your career and go to jail for that…that…” She winces at my murderous glare. “Girl.”
The evidence of how deep I will go for Ivory is rotting at the bottom of a Louisiana swamp.
I pull the phone from my pocket and call her.
Beverly stretches an arm across the desk. “What are you doing?”
“Emeric.” The sound of Ivory’s tear-soaked voice makes my chest cave in.
I press the phone tighter to my ear. “Where are you?”
“Sitting in the parking lot.” Her tone rises an octave. “Oh God, Emeric. I wanted to call you, but I was afraid you would be with the dean and—”
“I’m with her now.” I smile at the sight of Beverly viciously grinding her jaw. “Come back inside.”
“But I’m—”
“You’re not expelled. Go directly to her office.” I end the call.
Beverly jerks forward, hands fisted on the desk and eyes hard and tapered. “I’m going to turn you in to the authorities.”
Except she hasn’t made the call yet.
Because she still needs my referral for Prescott. And because misconduct between a student and teacher would be bad publicity for Le Moyne.
“Let’s get to the point, Beverly.” I set the phone on my knee and drum my fingers against it. “It’s clear you pulled this video out of your arsenal to get rid of Ivory. Tell me why you chose today, of all days, to do it.”
She straightens and draws in a deep breath. “I received a disturbing call last night.” An angry flush rises up her neck. “You took her to Leopold. For an audition.”
My assumptions were right about her double-dealing connections. “Who called you?”
“Someone who has access to the admittance records. The Leopold faculty is all in a buzz about the young virtuoso from Le Moyne. Yet not one person there has mentioned Prescott’s name.”
I’m going to go out on a limb here. “Prescott set up that camera and gave it to you months ago. You didn’t want to use it because you didn’t want the scandal. Now you’re panicking, because you realized I have no intention of pushing your worthless son past the auditions.”
One, he’s not good enough for Leopold. Two, I’ve drawn attention to myself after Ivory’s audition. The Leopold faculty would question why I didn’t bring Prescott for an audition as well. Someone would dig, and it would lead to my mom’s involvement.
Beverly called me in so she could deliver Ivory’s unfortunate news herself and gloat over having the upper hand. She expected me to let Ivory take the fall alone and push Prescott through to keep my job.
Now, in a weak grasp at straws, she’s threatening to call the authorities. Except the video doesn’t implicate me.
She’s got nothing.
I pull the tablet closer and launch a browser. “Ivory will graduate from Le Moyne, and you will treat her with the utmost respect.”
“No!” Beverly glares at me so hard I think her eyeballs might burst. “I want her out of my school.”
Logging onto a cloud storage platform, I access the account I set up in the event Beverly decides to be a bitch.
Kicking Ivory out of school? Definitely a bitch.
I cue up the first video and turn the tablet, rather enjoying the symbolic turning of tables.
Beverly snatches it from my hand. As she stares at the screen, her fingers clench around the plastic casing.
A fist knocks softly on the door.
I leave Beverly to watch her husband pile drive Deb’s ass and open the door. I’m met with huge brown eyes, red-rimmed and swollen.
Ivory silently steps in. I shut the door, tangle our fingers together, and guide her to one of the chairs in front of Beverly’s desk.
We sit side by side, hand in hand. She moves her gaze from our fingers to Beverly then to my face, her eyebrows lifting in question.
I would love to kiss her, but that might be pushing it. “Beverly was just about to tell you to return to class.”
Beverly looks up from the screen, her complexion a sheet of white. She doesn’t cry or rage or freeze up. I suspect she already knew her husband cheated. But given her strong need to maintain an image that captivates and impresses everyone around her, she wouldn’t want anyone to know her marriage is a steaming pile of shit.