Resisting the Mistress
Silently praying that he did not hear her, I cleared my throat to divert their attention to me.
“Class, he’s not a visitor. He’s our president,” I corrected them, resulting in mixed reactions.
A sheepish smile crept across Carla’s face as she stood up. Turning her face to Mr. Agrezor, she then closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“For what?” he asked, confused.
Carla rubbed the back of her neck and looked at me. I signaled her to take a seat, and she obeyed. Mr. Agrezor sat on the vacant chair in the first row, dark brows furrowed as he watched me doing nothing at the front.
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