Richard smiled. “I’ve been raving to our new Spanish teacher here about the dedication of our faculty and staff. Thank you for giving witness to that. Zeke, meet Will Fischer, Ivy Hill’s director of security. Will, this is Zeke Martinez, who’ll be filling in for Teresa while she recovers.”

Zeke took the hand the other man extended as Richard introduced him with his new name, returning the security chief’s lukewarm squeeze as they exchanged conventional pleasantries.

“How’s Teresa doing?” Will directed the question to Richard.

“The infection is finally under control, but it set her rehab back by weeks.” Richard shook his head. “A car accident, broken bones, surgery, and then an infection. Not her best Christmas. We’re lucky to have found someone with Zeke’s credentials on such short notice.”

Not to mention his pedigree—essential for a school like this.

Richard was too discreet to put that into words, but they both knew Zeke had been a perfect fit on many levels for the position.

“I consider myself the fortunate one.” Zeke slipped his hands into the Brioni trousers that spelled class—and breeding.

For all he knew, his clothes alone had landed him this job.

But his credentials were also impeccable.

At this stage, though, whatever qualification—or combination of qualifications—had secured the position was irrelevant.

He was in.

That was all that mattered.

“How did you hear about the job, anyway?” Will squinted at him, a hint of wariness in his demeanor.

Hmm.

Perhaps not everyone was as convinced as the school president that the new Spanish teacher was here through a lucky coincidence—nor as happy about his presence.

Then again, security types tended to be suspicious.

“A combination of circumstances and connections.” He maintained an easy, conversational tone. “My mother has a friend in St. Louis who knows the injured teacher, and she mentioned the accident—and Ivy Hill—to her in a phone conversation a couple of weeks ago while I was visiting. It seemed like a good fit during my own recovery from a messy Jeep crash.”

“You’re not from this area?”

“No. Nor from the States these days. I grew up in Denver, but my father returned to Spain after my parents divorced. I joined his extreme adventure firm nine years ago—but the accident has temporarily sidelined me.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Taking people kayaking or hang gliding is a far cry from teaching.”

“My undergraduate degree is in secondary education. I taught for a few years in Spain at a private boys’ school before joining my father’s firm. It will be a pleasant change of pace to return to my roots for a few weeks—or however long Ivy Hill requires my services.”

Richard flashed him a silent apology. “I’ve thoroughly vetted Zeke’s credentials, Will, and the board is delighted he accepted the interim position. Finding a qualified Spanish teacher on such short notice was a godsend.”