His face falls. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“I overheard a girl from this school say something to her that disturbed me greatly.”

“What was that?”

“She said that Willow’s mother probably killed herself to get away from Willow.”

“Dear God,” he mutters. “When was this?”

“At the weekend.”

He frowns. “In school grounds?”

“No. During football practice, at the playing field.”

His face falls. “Unfortunately we’re unable to do anything about weekend activities.”

“I know. But I wanted to speak to the school counsellor and see if she has noticed anything going on here at school.”

“Yes, of course.” He scribbles a phone number on the back of a business card. “Call that number on Monday morning and make an appointment to see him. He’s very helpful.”

I smile and take the card. “Thank you.” I glance at the name.

Steven Asquith

“I’m sorry I can’t help more, but I will send out an email today to all of her teachers and ask them to call you, if you like?”

“That would be fantastic.” I smile.

"That way we can tackle it at the grassroots level."

“Perfect.”

“Shall I schedule a meeting for this time next week so we can update each other on any of our findings?”

I smile gratefully. “That would be great, thank you. I’m sure you can understand that this is a sensitive issue. I don’t want Willow to suffer any more unnecessary stress.”

“Of course.” We both stand and he shakes my hand. “Have a great weekend and we will meet again next week.”

I head out of the office feeling a little better that we are at least starting to get to the bottom of it, but then I stop dead in my tracks.

The blonde bitch—the one who asked me to buy her coffee, also known as the bully's mother—is behind the reception desk. She's wearing a white dress and black high heel pumps, dolled up like mutton with a full face of makeup. She doesn't see me, and she turns and walks down the corridor in the opposite direction.

I stand for a moment, watching her walk away.

I approach the reception window. “Excuse me, can you please tell me what that woman’s name is?”

The young girl on reception looks around. “I’m sorry, who?”

“The woman in the white dress who was just here.”

“Oh, that’s Tiffany Edwards.”

“What’s she doing here?” I ask, my eyes glued to the back of this Tiffany Edwards.

“What isn’t she doing here?” The girl laughs, and I can tell she’s not into the politics of the school. “She volunteers here.”

“Volunteers?” I ask.

“She practically runs the school.”

“Does she?” I fume.

“Yes.” The girl looks around to see if her colleagues can hear us gossiping. “You don’t want to get on the wrong side of her, that’s for sure,” she whispers.

“And why is that?”

“She knows everybody.”

I glare at Tiffany Edwards’ perfect little behind as it disappears, and my blood begins to boil.

“Tell me… where do I sign up to volunteer I ask.

“Really?” The girl winces. She leans forward so she can say something the others won’t hear. “They can be brutal in there.”

I smile sweetly. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

I drive down the road when my email pings on my phone. I glance over at it.

From: Julian.

To: Bree.

I narrow my eyes and pull over to park the car. I glance up and see a coffee shop. Before I open the email, I decide to make my way inside. I order a coffee and take a seat, eventually opening the email.

From: Julian.

To: Bree.

Julian Masters

Requests the company of

Bree Johnson

Occasion: Situation inspection.

Date: 31st May

Time: 1pm

Place: Room 612: Rosewood London

Dress code: Secretary

I narrow my eyes. Of all the nerve.

Is his fucking girlfriend busy?

I type back.

From: Bree

To: Julian

Bree wishes to inform you that she is busy washing her hair and will not be attending the secretarial conference.

Yours Sincerely,

Bree

I smirk and hit send. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

A reply bounces back immediately.

From: Julian

To: Bree

What?

A prompt reply is required.

Julian.

I narrow my eyes. Conceited prick.

I type.

From: Bree

To: Julian

I am not interested in a rematch. Find another candidate.

Yours Sincerely,

Bree.

My phone instantly rings, the name Mr. Masters lighting up the screen.

Shit.

“Hello,” I answer.

“What do you mean you’re not interested?”

“It means what it means. I’m not interested.”

“You enjoyed yourself the other night. I know you did.”

“Not as much as you, it seems.”

He stays silent, and I smirk as I imagine his angry face.

“Don’t play games with me.” He growls.

“I’m not.”

“Is this about Bernadette?”

“Are you deaf, dumb, or just plain stupid?” I snap. “Of course this is about Bernadette.”

“I broke up with her last night.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s not you.”

I bite my bottom lip as I listen.

“Meet with me today, give me another chance. I won’t be so hard on you, I promise.”

I give him the chance to talk me into it. “Why should I?”

“Because you’re all I’ve fucking thought about since Friday night and I’m slipping into a lust-induced stupor here.”

I smile. “On a scale of one to ten, how badly do you want to see me?”

“Are you coming or not?” he snaps, unwilling to play my games.

“Yes, Julian, I will come.” “Good.” He sighs, relieved. “I’ll… I’ll see you then.”

I hang up and smile. Well, well, well. I do believe I just gained the upper hand.

I sit and stare out the window. I wonder… what the hell does a secretary wear?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I STAND outside the door marked number 612. My heart is hammering wildly in my chest. I'm wearing a black skirt, a white business shirt, and one of his ties wrapped around my neck. My hair is up in a bun, and I'm even wearing tortoiseshell glasses to complete my secretarial look.

Underneath, though, I’m wearing my white suspender belt and lacy underwear, with black sheer stockings hugging my legs. I guess I’m a slutty secretary—the kind you have long lunches with. I did end up charging this outfit to his credit card. I felt guilty at first, but screw it, he did say that’s what it was for.

What are you doing here, Brielle? I ask myself.

I didn’t like the way I felt the other night when I got home, but the masochist in me wants to see him again, and I know this is the only way it’s going to happen. I’ve been thinking about him constantly. I hate that every time he’s in the room with me I can feel his body talking to mine. I’m in a constant state of arousal, and I feel like I was a little boring the other night. I was so overwhelmed with his power, I became a shrinking violet.

I want to blow his mind tonight. I want to leave him begging for more, and then some.

And I’ll do what any slutty secretary would do: I’ll fuck him out of my system once and for all.

This is it. It’s the last time. One for the road.

Just fuck him, blow his fucking mind, and then leave. No strings, no feelings, and no bullshit. I can do this.

I want to really play the part, but I can’t imagine myself saying any of the filthy shit I’ve been thinking of saying. This man makes me feel so naughty.