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Evan
P.S. I can still taste you on my tongue.
Heat rushes to my cheeks and through my entire body. I glance around nervously, making sure no one is peeking over my shoulder. No one is, of course—it’s just my own paranoia. But Evan Kohl is a god on this campus, and if anyone catches wind of him kissing me—and continuing to pursue me—there’ll be no end to the questions and snotty comments.
A file is attached to the email, but I don’t dare open it. What would be the point? I already know what it is, anyway. If the subject line hasn’t tipped me off, the file name, Mistress Contract certainly would. Hello, Captain Obvious.
I itch to grab my laptop from my backpack and open the attachment. Instead, I turn off my phone and drop it into my bag. No good would come from opening that file, and the sooner I forget about it, the better.
I sail through the next two lectures, managing to keep my thoughts focused on my subjects and not the enigmatic Mr. Kohl.
When I get back to the house, three of my housemates, Sam, Avery and Cassie, are all sitting in the living room, studying. Sam looks up and pulls out her earbuds as I walk through the door.
“Hey, how was class?”
I blow out a breath. “Great, until I got an email from Kohl,” I say. “That guy just doesn’t give up. I’m beginning to understand why he graduated high school at fourteen.”
Avery and Cassie immediately perk up.
“Whoa, wait, is this the sexy billionaire you were telling us about?” Cassie asks Sam. There are absolutely no secrets in this house—one downside to sharing a house with five other girls.
Sam ignores her. “Holy shit. He emailed you? About what?”
I drop my backpack next to the door and plop down onto the couch. “He emailed me the mistress contract.” I can’t keep the disgust out of my voice.
Cassie’s hazel eyes widen. “Did you open it?”
“Why would I? There’s no way I’m going to be Kohl’s mistress.” God, every time I think of the word, I want to gag.
Sam jumps up and joins me on the couch. “Open it. I’m dying to see what it says. Maybe he’ll give you a Jag or a yacht!”
I roll my eyes. “It doesn’t matter. There’s no way in hell I’m doing it.”
“Never say never, girlfriend. Come on…we can at least read the contract. What’s the harm in that? He doesn’t even need to know. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
I huff. She has a point. Reading it doesn’t commit me to anything. I don’t have to sign it. Besides, I know Sam will pester me until she gets a look. And to be honest, I’m more than a little curious. I may as well get it over with…
With a pointed eye roll, I grab my bag and pull my laptop out, then open it. Sam sits up with a shriek and claps her hands. Avery and Cassie join us on the couch, crowding around me. I shoot them a dirty look while I wait for the connection to kick in and the email to download.
“Jeez, you’d think it was you getting the contract or something. Ugh. I don’t even know if I can read this out loud. It might make me want to vomit.”
“Let me do it, then!” Sam holds out her arms making grabby-hands, and with a resigned sigh, I pass her the laptop. She bends over it, focusing on opening the file. Then she scans it quickly, her eyes sliding down the screen.
“Okay so…a lot of legalese. ‘This agreement is entered into by Evan William Kohl, hereinafter referred to as ‘the contractor,’ and Madeline Elizabeth Swanson, hereinafter referred to as ‘the mistress.’”
Her eyes goggle and already I’m feeling nauseous. “Ugh, don’t go on with that…”
But Sam isn’t even paying attention, her eyes skimming down the page, absorbing it all, her face, in turn, alight with curiosity, surprise or even glee. “Holy shit, Maddy…he’s thought of everything.”
That really doesn’t surprise me. I fold my arms tightly against my chest and tilt my head at her without verbally asking the question.
“He’ll provide housing—full rent at a house he owns near campus, a car, an account for clothing and other living expenses as well as covering the cost of schooling and all supplies for the duration of the agreement.”
My stomach drops. I start running calculations in my head at how much that would possibly be. For that cost, he could get a high-class call girl to blow him every day of the week and twice on Tuesdays.
“Jeezus, he could just spend that money on prostitutes and save himself the trouble,” I mutter.
Cassie laughs. “Apparently he doesn’t want a prostitute. He wants you.”
