I nod my consent and slide a sheet of paper toward him after I rip it off with shaky hands, my face on fire. What in the world possessed me to say that out loud? I’m usually the epitome of a southern lady in situations like this, and that was not ladylike behavior.
What happens over the next few minutes is a blur. I’m lost in my own mortification. I can’t believe I made such a mistake. I’m always in perfect control of my reactions. But Reed Pendergraft irritates the shit out of me.
Reed is passing out stapled, multi-page handouts. “In the papers I’m giving you, I’ve listed the tasks that need to be done, the dates they need to be done by, and a blank spot so we can determine who will complete each task.”
We flip through the sheets in silence. The only sound is the rustle of papers and the air conditioning kicking in. Reed is amazingly thorough with every detail of putting together a fashion show, and I wonder where he acquired this kind of knowledge.
After we read the sheets, Reed lists the duties, and we sign up for specific jobs. I might be impressed with Reed’s organizational skills if he weren’t so controlling.
“Excuse me, Mr. Pendergraft .” I stress his last name, hoping that calling attention to it will show him the ridiculousness of his formality. “But I was under the impression that this was a committee, not a Marxist takeover.”
Lexi’s shoulders shake and she finds her lap fascinating.
Reed leans forward. “Ms. Hunter, when I am in charge, I am in charge. If you don’t like it, you may leave.”
He’s issued a challenge, and I’ll be damned if I back down. “This isn’t one of your classes, where you can boss your students around to feed your monstrous ego. How many souls are sacrificed each day to appease your thirst for fear and cowering? You don’t scare me. In fact, I can assure you, Mr. Pendergraft. I’m not going anywhere.”
We have a momentary stare-off, and I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. I’m not Scarlett, and I’m used to attention, although it’s usually positive. Not because I’m in the middle of some asshole’s pissing contest. So I hold my gaze and ignore the unwavering contempt plastered on his face.
Finally, his back stiffens, and he turns his irritation to the rest of the group. “Does anyone else have an issue with the way I’m running the committee?”
I wait for Greg to speak up since he had no problem standing up to me, but the asshole remains silent. I wonder if I’m being unfair. Reed has an intimidating presence, and Greg strikes me as a non-discriminating bully. Bullies back down when threatened by bigger bullies.
The next thirty minutes pass quickly, and my list of grievances against Reed Pendergraft continues to grow. He’s a stuck-up Northern snob who looks down on all things Southern, both the region and the university. What the hell is he doing in Tennessee? From what little I know about the math department from Scarlett, Southern University doesn’t even rank in the top twenty universities.
So what’s Reed Pendergraft doing here?
Reed announces that we’ll have another committee meeting on Wednesday at four, and if we can’t make it due to other commitments, we can quit right now. When everyone remains silent, he reminds us that our assignments are due then. “That’s it for today, everyone may go. Ms. Hunter, I need you to stay.”
Lexi remains in her chair as everyone gets up to leave. I’m tempted to go with them, but I’m curious why Reed has asked me to stay. If it’s to chastise me again, let him have his fun. I stood up to bigger, meaner bullies than him in high school, and I had much more to lose then. The last members leave the room, and Lexi’s gaze shifts from Reed to me and then back again.
Reed taps the end of his remaining papers on the table. “Lexi, you may go.”
“No way.” She remains in her seat, and Reed sighs. She must have him wrapped around her little finger. It’s nice to know that bossy Reed is controlled by someone, but their relationship confuses me.
“Whatever you have to say, I have a right to hear,” she says.
Interesting change in dynamics. Maybe Lexi is suddenly the jealous type, and she wants to make sure nothing inappropriate happens behind the closed door.
Reed shoots her a scowl, then turns, his cold brown eyes staring at me. “Ms. Hunter.”
I return his stiff tone. “Mr. Pendergraft.”
Irritation flickers in his eyes.
I’ve gotten a reaction from him, and a thrill races down my spine. I’m surprised how much I’m enjoying this exchange.
“Ms. Hunter, I can’t have you disrupting the meeting with your fascist comments.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Fascist? Which part of me objecting to your hostile takeover is fascist?
Do you understand that you have invaded our program? For years the show has been run by the design department, and this year we’ve had the business department thrown at us. We’re expected to give them equal say. I had my doubts this would work until we all introduced ourselves, and I decided this plan was actually brilliant.”
I point my finger at him. “But then you show up and act like you’re a dictator. I’m willing to work with the other members as a committee—and excuse me if I’m wrong, because I’ve been led to believe that a committee is a democracy—but you came in and bullied the members into silence.
Everyone in this room is scared to death to contradict you.”
I stand, picking up my notepad and purse. “So if that’s your management style, Mr. Pendergraft , no thank you. Good luck with that.”