The Reluctant Heiress. Christine Flynn

students and a staff I need to think about. I have schedules that need to be maintained. First and foremost, I have an environment that I have to make sure is as secure as possible for all concerned. This building is old. It’s open and accessible to anyone who thinks his purpose is more important than ours and our rules.”

      Genuine distress flashed through her eyes.

      “We could address the immediate problem of security with city police on the grounds for a few days. But that’s only a temporary fix. We can’t have the students’ routine disrupted by reporters and cameras, so anything long-term would have to be with private security. Even if there was money in the budget for such an expense, that isn’t the sort of environment we want for our students.”

      She kept saying “we.” That could only mean she’d already conferred with the school district’s superintendent.

      “I need you to take a leave of absence,” she finally said.

      For a moment, Jillian found it hard to breathe. “For how long?” she all but whispered.

      “At least this school year. As I said, this situation won’t resolve itself quickly. I’ve requested interviewees to fill your position. I’m sorry, Jillian. You either take the leave or I’ll have to let you go.”

      Jillian had ridden to school in the back of the gray SUV with the tinted windows that had followed her there yesterday morning. Schroeder, who epitomized the blond version of the strong, silent type, had delivered her to the main door while his equally watchful and silent colleague, Jackson, who’d followed them in his sedan, escorted her inside. Behind them had trailed the swarm of paparazzi who’d lined her sidewalk to snap pictures of her as she’d ducked into the SUV.

      Now that same caravan along with an assortment of vehicles belonging to the reporters and paparazzi who’d been waiting at the school jockeyed for position behind Schroeder as he drove the SUV from the parking lot.

      Jillian wasn’t with him. She sat in the backseat of the car being driven by the stalwart Jackson, feeling a little sick and lot angry while she waited for Ben to answer his cell phone. With everyone scrambling to follow the vehicle they’d seen her arrive in, they paid little attention to the dark sedan taking the driveway behind the Dumpsters.

      “Schroeder will lead them around long enough for me to get you safely inside your home, Miss Hadley. I’ll have you there in five minutes.”

      She thanked the man she’d yet to see crack a smile. Not that she felt anywhere near like smiling herself. As upset as she was, she didn’t even bother to marvel at how effortlessly the two men had coordinated her escape. All she cared about was that Ben had just answered.

      “I was just put on leave,” she said without greeting, “because I’m William Kendrick’s daughter. My principal doesn’t think the public’s interest in me is going to die down anytime soon so she’s replacing me. She said my presence is a disruption and a security risk to the students because of all the press and paparazzi, and the school district can’t allow the chaos my situation is already causing. Do you have any idea how incredibly unfair and just plain wrong it is that I am now without a job because that man happens to be my father?”

      “Jillian. Calm down. What happened?”

      “I don’t want to calm down.” The very request offended her. “And I just told you what happened. If it weren’t for William, there wouldn’t have been reporters all over the school or a paparazzo lying in wait in the girls’ restroom. I don’t know if the creep was just hiding in there or planning to get a picture of me when I walked in, but teachers don’t even use the students’ restrooms. We have our own in the teachers’ lounge!”

      She couldn’t believe she’d just explained that. But then, she couldn’t believe she didn’t have her job anymore, either.

      She knew she sounded every bit as upset as she felt. She didn’t care. She grasped hard at her anger. She wanted to hold on to it, embrace it, as Stacy would say, because being angry felt infinitely safer than the awful, directionless sensation clawing inside her chest.

      “Jillian.” Once more, Ben spoke her name with infuriating calm. “I’ll meet you at your place. Schroeder said Jackson should have you there in a couple of minutes.”