SWEETHEART (2)

Song Rec': Something Super Sweet — Rory Webley.

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C A S T I E L

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Getting flirtatious looks and gestures from women was just another part of my daily routine. But being kissed by a stranger and paid off for my "services"? That was unexpected. And then seeing the culprit in the parking lot of my workplace? Now that was intriguing.

I spent the entire night turning over my thoughts while staring at the stack of five-pound notes—the three hundred pounds she'd handed me.

The fact that I didn't know this woman frustrated me even more. So much so that, in a moment of rage, I shattered a glass trying to make sense of it all. Who was she?

I hadn't kissed anyone in years. I barely had time for childish romantic entanglements bound to end in heartbreak. Yet, she had somehow awakened something in me—something that made me want more of her. But I pushed it away. The only "more" I wanted was compensation for my broken glass and, frankly, for her harassing my lips.

"This isn't happening," I heard her whisper as she turned to face me. The little girl she'd been taking pictures of clung to her leg. I had never seen her before—maybe she was the new student everyone had been talking about.

"What a surprise," the woman giggled nervously.

"Indeed. First, you kiss me, run away, and now you're following me. Who are you? Some kind of deranged reporter?"

I couldn't believe a child was involved in this nonsense. What did this woman want, bringing a kid into it?

Her face scrunched up in irritation. "Following you? Oh, please. I wouldn't do that in a million years. If anything, it's obvious you're the one stalking me. Get over it—it was just a kiss, sweetheart." She hissed, mimicking my pronunciation of the last word, "What more do you want? A hug? A night in bed?"

"I wouldn't mind." I shrugged.

If she wanted to play games, I could play, too.

Her cheeks flushed as she hurriedly covered the little girl's ears. "Reese, wait for me in the car, okay?" The girl nodded, brushing past me on her way to a black SUV.

I watched her leave, her small, chubby feet padding across the grass. She looked so much like the woman—same gray, cat-like eyes, same hair color. Was she her niece?

"Disgusting pervert! Seriously? In bed?" The woman's sharp voice snapped me back to reality.

"Says the person who kissed me and ran off."

She let out a deep sigh, rubbing her forehead in exasperation. "Look, I understand you're upset about what happened. I would be, too, if I were in your shoes. Send me your account details, and I'll wire you two million. Just stay away from me and this school."

A slow smile crept across my lips. "I can't do that."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Do you want my blood or something? Are you—?"

"I work here," I said, holding up my ID.

Her hand flew to her mouth as she read it. "Oh dear," she murmured.

"And I don't need your money," I added. "But I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other since your niece—"

"Daughter," she interrupted. "She's my daughter."

"Oh." I glanced at the girl in the car, then back at her. Was that guy in the café her husband? Divorced, maybe? Had I just stumbled into some messy love triangle? Either way, the damage was done, and I had no desire to get any more involved.

"That's… good then. Do you still want help with the—"

"Oh! Ms. Loughton!" I heard Bradley call out as he walked toward us with his usual bright smile.

"Good morning, Mr. McKenna. Please, just call me Elspeth," she greeted as he approached.

Elspeth Loughton? The estranged daughter of that punk. It all made sense now—the crazy monetary offers, the expensive brands she wore with her kid, the flashy cars. Just like her pathetic father, she thought money could fix everything.

I glared at her, my fists slowly tightening as I struggled to put it all together.

"Castiel, Castiel," I heard Bradley call, tapping my arm lightly. Only then did I realize he had been talking to me.

"Yes?" I uttered.

"I was just telling Elspeth here that you'll take good care of her daughter, Reese since she's in your class."

Like me, she didn't seem pleased to hear the news, and I didn't care either.

"Fine. If you'll excuse me, I have work to do." I turned to leave.

I bet the girl would be as spoiled as her mother. Look at her, all dressed in Burberry and Hermes, just like the other pampered kids in school.

However, I'd keep personal relations out of this. After all, she knew nothing of the sins of her grandfather and her mother. I had barely made it away when Bradley called me back.

"Why don't you take Reese to the classroom, Castiel? I'll give Elspeth a tour."

I halted and tilted my head, raising an eyebrow.

"Can't I do it myself?" Elspeth offered. "Or let my driver do it?" She suggested, pointing to a man around fifty who was strolling toward us.

"I understand that you don't want to let her go, but you have to start training Reese to get used to school without your presence. Don't worry; I'll make sure we stop by the class during the tour," Bradley assured her, and she reluctantly accepted.

Why don't I have a say in this? In a few minutes, I was walking with the little girl to the classroom while her mother and Bradley took another route to see the playground.

"Sweetheart, would you hold my hand, please?" The girl squeaked, and my eyes brimmed with shock.

"No, no. I'm not sweetheart; I'm Mr. Stepanov." I corrected her, and she stopped in her tracks.

She looked up at me with a very innocent gaze. "But you told my mummy you're sweetheart, and she called you sweetheart too."

I crouched down to her level, determined to clear the air. "That was a mistake."

"It's okay if your name is awkward. My name is Reese, and I don't know what it means."

I let out a sigh. For some odd reason, her words were comforting to hear, as if my name were actually "Sweetheart" and I needed therapy. She looked like a stress-relief plushie, pronouncing the word awkward as "awkwod".

"Fine, let's get you in class." I stood up and honored her request to hold her hand.

When we got to the classroom, I felt Reese's grip tighten. She was nervous.

"Hey, I know you're scared, but you can do this. Okay? I'll be here if you need me," I reassured her.

Reese lifted her head to meet my gaze with a heartwarming smile. "Thank you, Sweetheart."

"Anytime, kiddo." I whispered before opening the classroom door and letting her walk in first, but she refused to let go.

I stood with her through the introduction process with Ms. Daisy, the teacher.

Finally, we parted ways when she went to her assigned seat. I packed up my things and left to have my first class with Year 5 students, unable to re-enter the classroom until school dismissed.

I walked in to see Ms. Daisy also packing up to leave.

"The new girl isn't what I expected her to be," she commented as I slipped my iPad into my bag.

"What do you mean?" I questioned.

"The girl's very slow; she wasn't keeping up with the class, kept scribbling in her books all day long. Her mother knew this and still enrolled her this late."

"You can't just blame them, can you?" I countered, shocked at myself for defending them.

"Well, someone has to take the blame before they put it on the teacher. Did you see the woman? Dressed like she was walking a red carpet or something. Not surprising for a single mother," she scoffed.

I shot her a glare. "And what's wrong with that? As a teacher, you shouldn't say useless things like this. If the girl already knew it all, she wouldn't be sent to school, and her mother doesn't need fashion lessons. Just do your job for once and leave the gossip."

"I… umm… err… I didn't mean it that way."

"Have a nice day, Daisy." I huffed, grabbing my bag and carrying my gray sweater.

When I stepped out, I bumped into a woman carrying Reese in her arms; she seemed to be fast asleep.

"Where are you taking her?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "So what they say is true. Castiel Stepanov, you actually teach here?"

I rolled my eyes. "That didn't answer my question."

"Oh, I'm Heather Loughton. I'm her auntie. My sister's very busy; she asked me to pick her up." She chuckled.

Heather Loughton? I recognized that name and face. She was the daughter they declared the heiress a few years ago.

I wasn't in the mood to converse with her; her aura felt sickening. But if Elspeth trusted her with Reese, who was I to argue?

I reached out to Reese, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face while she continued to sleep. Just then, my phone rang, and I walked past them, conversing with Harrison.