Head of the Class Read online

  Head of the Class

  Cyndi Weatherhead

  [email protected]

  Head of the Class

  Copyright June 2013 Cyndi Weatherhead

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Cyndi Weatherhead.

  Cover Artist: Tom Hebberling

  This e-book is a work of fiction. Though it might refer to historical events and actual places might be mentioned, the names, characters, places and incidents are either made up by the author or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or locales is completely coincidental.

  CHAPTER

  1

  CAJA McPherson tossed back the dregs of her exquisitely dry double martini. Damn! Nothing ruined an absolutely divine steak dinner like a marriage proposal. Of course, she might have been tempted to consider his offer if the cheap bastard had coughed up the cash for a decent ring. The last one had presented her with five full carats of canary yellow enchantment. Nothing tempted a girl like fancy diamonds, even when the presenter lacked almost any other redeeming characteristic. She sighed inwardly as she studied Julian’s offering. Goodness knows, even if she’d been considering it, this pitiful piece of jewelry wouldn’t come close to sealing the deal. Caja had a fairly good idea of Julian’s net worth, and the ring currently residing in a small velvet box atop his sweaty palm didn’t even come close to attaining the DeBeers recommendation. Three months salary my ass! She took a deep breath while she contemplated ordering another martini. Rejecting a marriage proposal required a blood alcohol level well above the legal limit, and right now hers wouldn’t concern even the most vigilant temperance advocate. Fortunately, the whole evening didn’t have to be a bust. She had a good supply of batteries for her vibrator and some brand new porn she’d picked up at Pleasures boutique that afternoon. After a string of clueless men, an evening of self-pleasure suddenly had an almost overwhelming appeal.

  She considered waiting until she had finished her steak. God save her from men who couldn’t be bothered to wait until after the meal to propose. Or better yet, choose a more private, spectator-free location. Nothing annoyed Caja more than men who made a production with a public proposal. Why the hell didn’t they just go on American Idol or something if they just wanted to make a spectacle of themselves? Any man who didn’t have enough sense to keep his business private deserved whatever he got.

  Caja groaned inwardly, as she studied Julian’s eager expression. Oh well, she probably ate too much red meat anyway. Might as well get this over with.

  She took a deep breath. “Julian, please put the ring away,” she said softly.

  “But...” he looked puzzled, but carefully slipped the box back into his inside coat pocket.

  “Have you forgotten that conversation we had when we first hooked up?” Did he have a head injury or what? A fuck buddy stayed a fuck buddy. Why did these men have such a hard time understanding that?

  Julian grinned at her. “We’ve had lots of conversations, baby . Any one in particular you’re referring to?”

  Caja gritted her teeth, she really hated endearments of any kind. “The one where we talked about keeping things light and casual, you know, a friends with benefits type arrangement.”

  Julian’s face fell. “Yeah, but we’ve been seeing one another for while now. That talk was a long time ago. I thought -- ”

  Caja cut him off. “I know, I know.” She nodded. “It’s all my fault.” Experience had taught her that accepting the blame made these things go much easier, and faster. “I suspected that maybe you were getting attached, but I’ve been so busy with the new location and all, I just haven’t been paying attention.” Might as well slip some truth in there. “Please understand, I never meant to hurt you Julian. I see now that we just want different things.” Another step in getting rid of a fuck buddy gone bad, soothe his fragile ego.

  She tuned out his protestations and remonstrations, only paying attention enough to nod at the appropriate moments during his soliloquy. Damn! Another one down in flames. She really should write a book called The Fuck Buddy’s Complete Guide. Surely she couldn’t be the only woman in the world having a problem with men wanting to turn a perfectly good friends with benefits arrangement into something more. More! That was the problem with men. Always wanting more.

  Julian finally wound down, and Caja immediately took advantage of the opportunity to escape. After a quick goodbye, she finally exited the restaurant with a sigh of relief. At least he hadn’t made a scene. His predecessor had embarrassed her by weeping uncontrollably when she declined his proposal. What the hell was the world coming to? What did a girl have to do to find a guy who just wanted to get laid?

  * * * * *

  Caja posed that question to Kit, her able assistant, the next morning. Though it was Saturday, Caja, owner of Brickhouse Fitness Center, worked every day her center was open, which meant she worked every day of the week. Her office suite was relatively large with Kit’s office occupying the open and airy reception area. Caja leaned against Kit’s desk while the other woman synchronized her phone.

  Kit’s eye roll made Caja want to hit her, hard. “You know what I think of these so-called “arrangements” of yours. So why on earth are you asking me about them?”

  Caja pursed her lips, contemplating her oh so proper assistant. Kit’s tall, willowy frame was a perfect foil for Caja’s much smaller, but wiry figure. Unlike her employer, Kit personified ladylike elegance. Right now Kit was wearing a soft pink linen suit with taupe heels and hose. Hose! Caja was pretty sure she’d never worn a pair in her life. Kit wore them every day , even when it was ninety degrees out with matching humidity.

  Because of the nature of her business, Caja tended to wear coordinated workout attire in sophisticated hues that she had altered to fit her petite dimensions. In stark contrast to Kit today she was wearing a pair of khaki cargo pants with a matching khaki and navy jacket. Despite their differences they’d managed to stay together for almost ten years. Caja knew that Brickhouse would crumble down to its foundation without her assistant, but damn she got on her nerves sometimes. Caja pushed back her hair and began rummaging through Kit’s desk top for a rubber band to pull it back into a ponytail. No matter how many hair bands or clips she bought she never had one when she needed it. Kit smacked Caja’s hand, opened her desk drawer and handed Caja an elastic band in almost one continuous motion.

  Caja took the band and pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail at the crown of her head. She preferred an updo because it was less likely to get caught under her when she was working out on the floor, but she seldom took the time to twist her long hair into one. “I’m a busy woman Kit. You know that, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still have needs. What’s wrong with finding somebody to scratch the itch every now and then? No harm, no foul. I just don’t understand why I can’t find a guy who just wants to have sex. Good old-fashioned, no-strings-attached sex. Why do I keep meeting these sensitive men who are oh so in touch with their feelings? Why can’t I meet a heartless bastard who just wants to get his rocks off? Why are those kind of men so hard to find these days?”

  Kit continued downloading appointments to Caja’s iPhone, her lips pursed in response to Caja’s crude language. “I think you had one of those. At least you did until he tried to steal your company and slept with every woman who walked by in a Brickhouse t-shirt and some Jimmy Choos.”

  Caja gave a short bark of humorless laughter as she recalled her ex-fiancée. “Yeah, that boy did have a thing for shoes, didn’t he? And we gave out a lo
t of shirts that first year. I’m amazed he could walk after all that action. I’ll bet I’m the only woman in America whose man cut out on her because of her taste in footwear.” She laughed again, this time with actual humor, which surprised her. It had been a long time coming, but maybe she was finally over that rat bastard. “And they weren’t even cute shoes.” She shook her head mournfully.

  Mark had done a number on her she wouldn’t soon forget, but at least she’d learned something from the experience. She’d met him shortly after she’d opened Brickhouse. Smart, credentialed and confident to the point of arrogance, he had literally bowled her over. He was ten years older and already established at one of the most prestigious law firms in the city. She had foolishly relied on him for wisdom and support, and had taken his advice to heart, even down to the way she dressed, though she’d never agreed to wear the stiletto heels he preferred, deciding they were impractical in a fitness center. One day, just a few weeks before their wedding, she found him banging a paralegal on the sofa in his office, the girl’s emerald green Jimmy Choos waving high in the air. Even worse, Caja had actually come to his office to confront him about her discovery that he’d been undermining her with her investors. He’d been angling to have her removed as CEO of the company it had taken her years to build. It had taken every bit of her determination to regain the board’s trust, but she’d saved her company. She still couldn’t believe that she’d considered changing for him, even if only for a brief moment.

  “How would you know?” Kit asked pointedly looking at Caja’s Nike-shorn feet. “Do you even own anything that doesn’t have Nike on the label?” Caja’s proclivity for casual attire had been a bone of contention between the two of them for the length of their friendship. According to Kit , warm-up suits were to be worn only when one engaged in working-out. And given that she refused to do anything that might generate sweat, she saw no need to wear one, ever. She even frowned at business casual, leaving Caja to wonder how she’d ever wound up working in a fitness center.

  Caja raised the logo on her navy hoodie. “It’s Adidas, okay? Besides, I’ll have you know that Nike has now hooked up with Cole-Haan,” she replied defensively. “I saw it on Oprah.”

  Kit raised her brows. “And just how many pairs of Cole-Haan shoes do you own?”

  Caja looked down at her watch, then up at the board they kept her private clientele schedule on. She knew when to cut and run. “Where does the time go? Damn, I’ve got an appointment with Laila Schroeder in five minutes. Gotta go, see ya.” She said as she rushed toward the door. She paused right before going through and turned back to look at Kit. “By the way, Julie asked about you again today.” She watched in amusement as her friend’s honey brown complexion took on a decidedly ruddy hue.

  “Julie? Julie who?”

  “Stop playing Kit, you know who,” Caja said, as she walked out the door smiling.

  * * * * *

  “Come on Laila, you can do it. Just a few more.” Caja shouted over the loud music as Laila ground out a few more deadlifts.

  “Do you have any idea,” Laila panted as she lowered the weight bar down to ankle height once again, “Just how hard these things are?”

  Caja nodded sympathetically as she watched her client’s form carefully, noting when she tired and ending the repetitions. “Come on, it’s time for your favorite part, Laila. Stretching.”

  Laila followed her to the mat, as Caja changed the music on the iPod to a slow, steady tempo.

  They began their stretching routine with some languorous neck rolls.

  “You don’t know how much I appreciate you, Caja. I know I bitch all the time, but I’d be a dead woman if it wasn’t for you , ” Laila said. She’d once weighed nearly three hundred pounds. Like all of Caja’s private clients , she’d come with a doctor’s recommendation for lifestyle changes, and had now lost almost a hundred pounds.

  Caja shook her head firmly. “Laila, I just showed you what to do. You did all the hard work and I’m so proud of you.”

  Laila followed Caja’s movement, as they both bent forward at the waist, their legs spread apart, touching the floor in a hamstring stretch. “I just know I was too embarrassed to go to any other gym in town. But here, I don’t have a whole gym full of skinny women making fun of me.”

  Caja grunted in agreement. She did the private sessions for that very reason. Though she’d never been overweight herself , she could empathize with these women and their fear of being laughed at because of their size. After the clients reached a more comfortable weight, the private sessions ended and they worked out in the public part of the gym. Of course, the arrangement wasn’t totally altruistic. Having the private lessons did great things for Brickhouse’s bottom line as well.

  The work out room fell silent for a moment. Laila only began talking again while they finished their cool-down. “Oh my goodness, I almost forgot. Remember I told you about my brother Michael, the teacher?”

  Caja nodded. Laila adored her younger brother and talked about him incessantly.

  “Well, he needs someone to talk to his students for Career Day. I told him I had the perfect person...You!” Laila said, her rather high-pitched voice rising in her excitement.

  “Me?” Caja frowned. “I thought he taught elementary school kids . Isn’t that a little young for a Career Day?”

  Laila shrugged. “I never thought about that. I guess they do start them rather young, huh?” She paused, a frown marring her pretty face as she contemplated that thought. Laila was Samoan and her heritage showed in her honey brown skin and in the oval shape of her eyes. Then, she waved her hands as if dismissing the conundrum. “Caja, will you do it? You’re the perfect person. I mean; you’re a self-made woman with your own business and all. You were Miss Fitness America. You’ve built Brickhouse from the ground up. Now it’s the most popular gym in Huntsville. You were a Georgia Gym Dawg, and you almost went to the Olympics -- ”

  Caja cut off her exuberant client’s babbling recitation of her resume before she reached an octave only dogs could hear. Laila Schroeder was one of her favorite clients, but she did tend to be long-winded. A little of her piercing voice went a long way. “Seriously, if I ever need a PR person I’ll be sure to call you. Of course I’ll do it. Tell you what, why don’t you hit the showers, and on your way out you can tell Kit to put it on my schedule, okay?”

  Laila nodded enthusiastically as she practically bounced off the floor.

  Caja shook her head at Laila’s retreating form. In a practiced motion, she turned to reach into her oversized tote bag for her phone to check her schedule, then remembered at the last minute that she’d left it downstairs when she escaped from Kit. Surprised that she’d walked off without it, she immediately started toward Kit’s office to retrieve it. She couldn’t help smiling to herself as she contemplated the hissy-fit Kit would throw at being asked to pry yet another appointment into her outrageously overburdened schedule.

  * * * * *

  Caja reapplied lip balm to her suddenly dry lips shortly after she pulled into the parking lot of Buttercup Elementary School. Over the years public speaking had pretty much become second nature to her. After a long athletic career, and a second act as a business owner, she could handle it almost by rote. However, she had never really interacted with children all that much. Her brothers were both married, but neither had produced offspring yet. Like her, most of her friends were in their mid-thirties and already had children, but with her busy schedule she was seldom around them. Fortunately, she’d gathered important insight from very brief exposure. From what she’d seen, they could be a tough audience and were the best bullshit detectors in the world. As she stepped out of her small SUV , she pulled herself up to her full five feet two inches of height, and took a deep breath. At the very least, the kids would all be smaller than she -- at least she hoped so. That alone had to give her some type of advantage.

  After checking in at the front desk and receiving a visitor’s badge, she followed directions to Mr.
Faletolu’s classroom. Though the school seemed rather cramped to her, its serpentine corridors were disorienting to the point that she had to ask directions again from a passing teacher in the hallway. She hadn’t been in an elementary school since fifth grade. Except for the familiar dull beige walls the place didn’t seem the least bit familiar. Beige? She wondered who thought that would spark children’s imaginations? Had the hallways always been this cramped? Seriously, she’d seen wider balance beams. Caja paused for a moment, taking another deep breath before opening the classroom door.

  Good grief! Caja thought. Who in the name of divine hotness is that? For the first time in her life she beheld a man who literally took her breath away. Michael Faletolu, and that’s who it had to be, after all, it was his classroom, she’d double-checked the name on the door, was the polar opposite of his short, plump sister. For one thing the man was freaking huge. H e was at least six two or three maybe a bit more and for another he was unbelievably fit. He had the rounded muscles of a true hard body. Somebody who worked out for strength and pleasure, not for show. A fact that not even the pale blue polo and crisply pressed chinos he wore could conceal. The breadth of his shoulders strained the fabric of the lightweight shirt, while his sleekly muscled arms were shown off to their best advantage by the short sleeves. He looked nothing like she’d imagined Laila’s younger brother, the elementary school teacher, would look. She’d envisioned a narrow-shouldered geek with a speech impediment. Not this multiple orgasm standing before her.

  She stood motionless, mesmerized by his sparkling root beer brown eyes as he made his way over to greet her. The inky black hair he wore pulled back into a ponytail stood out as the only resemblance between he and his sister. Laila had told her during her intake interview that her hair was her favorite physical attribute, and her mane was lovely, but Caja had never itched to get her hands on it the way she did with Michael’s. She wondered what he would say if she just gave in to the impulse. His entire physique bulged with muscle, and while she’d never been particularly drawn to the muscle-bound type, and had always avoided men more than six inches taller than she , at that moment Caja had a major change of heart. With very little effort, Michael Faletolu could pretty much get her to do anything he wanted to all six plus feet of him.