Tutor by Day, Stepmom in Her Dreams

She ordered me around like she owned the place.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Get out of my house!”

I couldn’t stand having someone like her in my home for even a second longer. I was ready to throw her out immediately.

But instead of leaving, she pulled out her phone.

“Look closely—this is a message from your dad himself. It clearly says I’m to be your private tutor!”

She shoved the phone in my face.

The message said exactly what she claimed, and the number was indeed registered under one of my dad’s phones—though it was one he rarely used.

The problem was, at this very moment, Dad should still be with Mom on the Alaska wilderness expedition.

Forget whether there was even cell service out there—

Even if there were, Dad would never just make such a decision without first asking me what happened.

“Oh, enough with the lip, little girl. Stop wasting my time and sit down for class!”

Brooks curled her lip, momentarily slipping back into something like “normal.”

I gave a cold snort and walked toward my desk, but I’d already made up my mind.

If I was certain Dad didn’t send that text, then who did—and how did they get hold of his number?

Since it would be another week before I could contact him, I decided I’d just tolerate her until then.

“Hey, I’m thirsty. Can’t you get me a glass of water?”

I had barely taken a few steps when Brooks started her nonsense again.

The irritation I’d just managed to tamp down flared right back up.

“If you’re going to be a tutor, at least act like one. You’re not a guest here—you’re here to do a job. You don’t get to ask me to do anything for you.”

I fixed her with a frosty glare.

Even if I’d decided to bide my time and watch what crazy stunt she’d pull next, I’d never said I’d pamper her like some doting relative.

“What’s that supposed to mean, you brat?”

“Are you looking down on me as your teacher?”

Her temper flared instantly. She slammed her palm onto the table and jabbed a finger toward my face.

“Don’t you know what it means to respect your teachers? Even if you compare me to a service worker, I’m still your teacher!”

“What, a teacher comes to your house to give you lessons and can’t even get a glass of water?”

Her face twisted with rage.

I frowned—this woman was seriously unwell, jumping to conclusions before I could finish a sentence.

“If you acted like a normal teacher, I’d show you plenty of respect. But do you?”

I stared her down and shot the question back at her.

“You—!” Brooks was so angry she could barely breathe.

Before we could start yelling again, Linda, who had been silently watching, stepped forward.

“Sorry, Ms. Brooks. Our Miss Hayes has always been very straightforward. Please don’t take it personally.”

“And as for serving refreshments, that’s my job, so this is on me.”

I frowned. If she wanted to smooth things over, fine—but why was she making it sound like I was at fault?

Brooks, however, tilted her chin up smugly. “Good. Be smart about it, or you won’t even keep your job as a housekeeper.”

I was stunned.

“Excuse me? What right do you have to fire anyone in my house?”

I was seriously done with this woman.

We hadn’t even started the lesson and I was already about to explode.

But to my question, Brooks only gave a strange little smile.

“Heh… you’ll understand soon enough.”