CHAPTER TWELVE

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I arrived at Inseparable Youths fresh-faced, imposingly glamourous band ready to face obstreperous teenage carnage

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I arrived at Inseparable Youths fresh-faced, imposingly glamourous band ready to face obstreperous teenage carnage. Unlocking the hub's main door, I disarmed the security alarm and, bearing various takeaway coffees and a selection of warm pastries, headed to the unoccupied staffroom.

After a gratifying leave of absence, industrious punctuality and reliability seemed fair. I had to make up for time lost, prove to Matthew and the others how much I cared to be here, which should be effortlessly authentic and relatively straightforward. No other profession appealed despite limitless opportunities. I may sound a shade egotistical, but I married a well-connected man, and for that purpose alone, I had endless career options and choices. If I desired to start a fashion line or cook up a business venture, Liam had the capital and influential power to effectuate. I am uninterested in entrepreneurship or managing employees, though. I genuinely enjoy getting my hands dirty, working for minimum wage alongside like-minded people and, if nothing else, keeping myself grounded. It's too easy for high-net-worth individuals to forget where they came from, especially parvenus and nouveau riche people like me.

I arranged beverages onto the kitchen counter, selected a two-sugared latte, snagged the magnetic clipboard from off the fridge freezer and read this month's schedule to bring me up to speed.

• Sports day.

• Be creative.

• Bookclub.

• Mentoring.

• Cake decorating.

• Team building.

• Sponsored hike.

• Spring fair.

• Issue based activities.

• Parent's evening.

• Restore the environment.

• Universal resources.

• Apprenticeship program (16+ only).

Well, that's certainly an eventful calendar.

"Afternoon." Eating a sugar-glazed doughnut, Matthew, impeccably stylish, entered the staff room. "I received your email last night but didn't expect you in until sometime next week." He cherry-picked Americano, popped the lid off and blew over the rim. When he dunked said doughnut into the coffee, sopping sweet dough, I gulped acidic vomit. "Jet lag?"

I shake my head. "No."

Once we met the Suits in Mahé and boarded the private jet at Seychelles international airport, I slept for our flight duration. Liam, the disappointing sod, refused to wake me up. Not even for aircraft lavatory sex—so much for joining the mile-high club.

It was nearing nine p.m. when we landed in London, Heathrow, last night. The Manor welcomed our safe return. We didn't converse, eat, unpack or bathe. We fell into bed, fully clothed, and kept our heads down without disturbance until the crack of dawn.

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