Page 81 of Molly's Mr. Wrong
Would she have rolled over? Fought?
She hadn’t been a fighter then. Hadn’t really taken control of her own existence. She coexisted, until Blake had forced her to become a solo act with his egregious behavior. She was stronger now. In control.
Except when she wasn’t—like while making love to Finn.
But what a great way to lose control.
As Sunday passed, Molly thought less about Finn and more about her future. Yes, she was alone and probably overthinking, but she had a difficult time living with unfinished business and she wanted the meeting over, conclusions drawn. She wanted to get on with her professional life, which was essentially her anchor.
Molly needed that anchor.
On Monday morning she dressed carefully in a navy suit with a pin-striped blouse. An outfit that screamed “I’m a professional, good at what I do. Don’t question me.”
It also shouted “boring” with its at-the-knee skirt and matched jacket.
Good. Boring was dependable. Boring was trustworthy.
Trust me...your son is behaving like an entitled egomaniac.
Words she could not say.
* * *
ITWASTHEDAYof Molly’s big meeting and Finn hoped that she’d get hold of him afterward, tell him how it went. They had class that night, but for the rest of the semester, he was going to be just another student. He probably wouldn’t stop by office hours, either. Molly’s job was important to her and more than that, it was what kept her in the Eagle Valley, and Finn wanted her in the valley. He wanted a shot at helping her move past guy-mess.
She hadn’t been able to tell him that she trusted him, but she had to trust him to a point or she wouldn’t have made love to him. Molly wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of person, and, funny thing, neither was he anymore.
It felt good to admit that.
Now if he could just figure out what to do with his life. Try to muscle through the teaching degree? Try something else? Now that Jolie was back at the store part-time, they needed him even less. Chase was beginning to fill his hours and Finn knew he needed to find a job that made him feel that he was actually doing something.
He’d thought about Molly’s suggestion to try the metal-art thing, wondered if she’d suggested it because she knew that he’d never succeed in his current goal. That would bite. It wasn’t possible to make a steady living doing artsy shit, but maybe he could fabricate.
Again, he wanted more.
But what?
At the moment, he needed a beer because he was getting tired of being uncertain about every damned thing in his life except for the fact that he could stay at the feed store forever.
At least if he fabricated metal, he’d have a specialization.
* * *
THEDEAN’SSMALLOFFICEwas packed to capacity by the time Molly arrived for her meeting. The dean stood and introduced an unsmiling couple as Mr. and Mrs. Simon. They were in their midforties, Molly estimated as she extended her hand to both and received cool handshakes in return, both blond with angular Scandinavian features that, combined with their elevated noses, gave them a distinctly snooty look—exactly what she expected after dealing with their offspring. Mr. Simon was dressed more formally than the dean, with slacks and a jacket. Mrs. Simon wore a suit that looked very much like Molly’s.
“We’re here today because Mr. and Mrs. Simon have issue with Jonas’s grades.”
“And his treatment.” Mrs. Simon’s mouth closed tight once the few words had escaped.
“As far as treatment goes, we have a his-word-against-hers situation.”
“He has a log.”
Somehow Molly kept her mouth from falling open. Jonas had kept a log? “Amazing.” The word slipped out, bringing the attention of everyone in the room squarely onto her, as if it hadn’t been there before. The dean caught her eye then and Molly got the message loud and clear. He didn’t want to get into the log, and she didn’t blame him. That could be a messy affair, especially since she wasn’t going to allow herself to be steamrollered—unless she had to in order to keep her job. She had her pride, but she also had bills.
“I’ll be happy to go over the grades with you,” Molly said pleasantly. “I have copies of his work here.” She indicated the folder she held in her lap.
“We have copies,” Mrs. Simon said in a clipped voice. She turned to the dean. “What we would like is for these papers to be graded, blind, by another instructor. Then we can compare those marks to the marks of Ms. Adamson.”
