Pulling my phone from my pocket, I call him, but he doesn’t answer. I try again, but this time it cuts off.Bastard.I stab at his name to try a third time. If he thinks I’m giving up this easily . . . It goes straight to voicemail.
Fuck.A growl of frustration sounds in my throat as I turn and stalk back inside, all but jogging up the stairs to Doug’s office. His door is open, but I stagger to a halt in the doorway, my mouth falling open.
There’s crap everywhere. Papers, pens—his fucking laptop and tablet—all strewn across the floor. The filing cabinet is on its side, huge dents in the metal casing, and a large brown stain marks the far wall.
“Shit,” I breathe.
My phone vibrates in my hand and my heart leaps, but it’s not Doug. It’s the generic number for Franklin West.
“Hello?” I say, stepping into the office and peering down at the pool where the team is still swimming the laps I asked for.
“Hello, Coach Masters. This is Anika Prothero, President West’s assistant. President West would like you to come over to Franklin West Hall immediately, please.”
My blood runs cold. “Sure. I’m on my way.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Shoving a hand through my hair, my heart slams against my chest so hard I’m sure it must be visible from the outside. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that someone’s found out about us. If Doug’s been asked to clear his office, I can only assume that I’m next.
Fuck.
My stomach rolls, nausea coming in waves, as I shakily make my way back down the narrow staircase. I can’t just walk out on practice, though, so I head to the locker rooms, making my way back out to the pool.
Joy sees me first, swimming to the side and climbing out. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure,” I lie. “I’ve been called into a meeting. It’s probably about the end of season meet. Can you and Aldo take charge of practice until I get back?”
The fact that she swallows my lie, not even questioning me for a second, turns my stomach further. But it wouldn’t be the first time.
Forcing a smile to my face, I head back through the locker rooms to make my way across campus. I can already see the disappointment on Mom’s face when I’m forced to come home. My sisters will tell her they knew it would happen all along.
But that’s not the worst part. Not by far. Heading back to Montana is bad enough, but it means leaving Aldo and Joy. I’d say Doug, too, but fuck knows what destructive spiral he’s launched himself into. He’s nothing if not predictable.
By the time I reach the door to President West’s office, I’m completely resigned to my fate.
“Thank you for coming so promptly,” West says, gesturing at one of the empty seats around the table as I step inside the meeting room. “I know you were in the middle of practice.”
Megan from HR and Hannah the provost are also seated at the table, and I give them a tight smile they don’t return. My eyes fall to the blank pages in front of them, and I try to remember to breathe as I sit down.
“No problem,” I say, giving a solemn smile. “How can I be of service?”
It’s the first time I’ve seen Elizabeth West face to face since joining Franklin West. She’s quite attractive for a lady in her sixties, with her short silver-white hair in soft waves and dark pink staining her lips. Her suit looks like it cost more than I make in a month and her whole aura screams ‘power’.
“Mr. Masters,” West says, adjusting her dark-rimmed glasses. “I’m not going to beat around the proverbial bush. We’ve just relieved Doug McMann of his duties here at Franklin West.”
Even though I knew it was coming, the room still sways a little, and I force myself to hold eye contact, keeping my expression neutral. I’m not sure whether they’re expecting me to ask why, but I’m not going to give them anything, so I press my lips together and wait.
Megan from HR turns over the pieces of paper and slides them toward me. My heart stumbles as I realize they’re photographs of us at the wedding. Who the hell would do this?
“Where did these come from?” I ask, the words slipping from my lips before I can suck them back in.
West tilts her head, raising her eyebrows at me as though I’ve been called to the principal’s office in high school. “Does it really matter? As the season ends on Thursday, we’d like you to stay on and see out the end of the week.”
“Because you’re still on your probationary period,” Megan adds softly, “the university has decided not to make your contract permanent.”
No shit.
“I expect you to have your office cleared out by noon Friday,” West says. “This is all very disappointing, Mr. Masters.”