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“I mean, if you don’t want to go to school,” I continue, shrugging as if the situation cannot be helped, “I’m sure you can take online courses . . .”
“No. I want to go in person. Fine,” she mutters, looking utterly defeated.
It’s not as satisfying as I thought it’d be.
“Good.” I nod. “With that settled, there are only a few more things.”
“There’s more?”
“Yes.”
She lets out a long-drawn-out sigh. “What else?”
“I need you to prove you deserve this,” I tell her matter-of-factly.
She bites her lip. “You lost me.”
“I need you to prove that you deserve twenty-two million dollars.”
She frowns. “And how exactly will I be doing that when I didn’t know I had twenty-two million dollars?”
“You need to prove yourself to me. For example, you will need to prove you’re smart.”
Her eyes roll. “I’m in college.”
“Yeah. And that means jack shit to me. Anyone can go to college. That doesn’t mean you’re smart. I need you to prove you won’t squander the money. Prove you are deserving. Going to college and taking classes are only one part of an education. You need to be well-versed in life. Every week, I will expect you to read and study historians and philosophers.”
“Um. Hard pass.” She shakes her head. “I’m not doing that. I already have a full load with my business classes.”
“This isn’t up for negotiation. You will read what I tell you to read, and you will submit a paper on what you learned.”
“This is ridiculous. I’m not doing that.”
“You know where the door is.” I shrug. “Your choice, princess.”
There is no decision to be made. She will do exactly what I want. She knows it, and I know it.
I stare down at her, daring her to argue again.
She lets out a large huff. “Fuck, you need to check your cereal. I’m going to spit in every single one of your dishes.”
“I’ll eat out. The papers you will submit will be your homework.”
“Homework? I’m not five.”
The look I give her suggests otherwise.
“Yep,” I say, popping the P. “You know, that thing teachers give to make sure their kids retained information. By completing the assignment, you’re proving to me that you are, in fact, serious about your education.”
I expect her to refuse, but I am shocked when she says, “Okay.”
She never makes things easy. I’ll give her that.
“There’s more . . .”
“Of course, there is,” she mutters under her breath.
“After four weeks of turning in papers, you will then report your findings and knowledge in front of my staff and me. Consider yourself the guest lecturer here. Once a month. For the next eight months.”
“No. I shouldn’t have to do this weird . . . public speaking thing as well.”
“That’s fine. Say goodbye to the money.” I smile.
“You can’t take the money.” She raises her brow in challenge.
“Watch me.” I move to walk out the door.
“Stop.”
I do.
“Fine. I’ll do it,” she adds. There is no mistaking the bite in her voice. This is the last thing she wants to do.
Good.
I hope she’s uncomfortable.
That’s the whole fucking point.
Little does she know, I’m just getting started.
“I wouldn’t agree yet,” I say, turning back to face her. “There’s more.”
“Just spit it out.”
“I will require you to do volunteer work. It’s mandatory.”
“You win.” She throws her hands up in the air again. Clearly defeated and out of objections.
“You will learn, rather quickly, that I always do.”
I turn, leaving her standing there, still naked. I walk into my office and slam the door.
What the fuck was I thinking when I decided having her under my roof would be a good idea?
Keep an eye on her.
Pressure her to work for me.
And, I don’t fucking know, maybe not pressure me into looking at her naked body. Into spiking my desire to throw her on the bed and lick off the water.
Great. Now my dick is trying to break through my pants.
I’m never getting the image of Payton naked out of my mind.
14
Payton
* * *
Thankfully, Trent turned on my phone because I need to call Heather and check-in. But I’m feeling less than thankful when a horde of messages and voicemails turn the device into a vibrator for a solid minute. There are dozens of missed messages from Erin, accompanied by voicemails I’d rather not listen to.
On the plus side, no phone meant no prank calls.
I wonder if those will start up again, or if like I suspected, they were the workings of Trent Aldridge.
Grabbing my phone, I fire off a text to my best friend.
I’m not up for talking today, but I need her to know I’m okay. So I tell her just that.
Me: A ton of shit went down today. I’m okay, but I’ll fill you in at school.
Heather: But you ARE okay?
I finger my hair, debating whether to tell the truth before settling with a quick answer that won’t worry her.
