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“Ever heard of Plutus?”he asks.
“Are you sure you don’t mean Pluto? The Disney dog?” I retort—and he shakes his head, not laughing this time.
I snicker. “Well, then you can only mean that chubby little baby god. I think Demeter, the goddess of agriculture,was his mother?”
My eyes widen with understanding and I suck in a long breath of air. “Oh, wait, is that what this is about? Agriculture, wheat… did you grow up on a farm or something?”
Logan fixates me for a moment, an unreadable expression gracing his handsome face—before he bursts into laughter.
“That’s…,” he begins, before he has to laugh again. “That’s just so… fucking adorable.”
I frown at him. “What is?”
“You are!”he exclaims, violently shaking his head as he finally calms down.
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I’m not even sure whether to feel flattered or disgruntled.
“Well, you could just tell me…,” I argue. “Instead of making fun of me!”
“I’m not!”he insists. “I’m not making fun of you! I’m just… impressed is all.”
My frown deepens. “Very funny.”
His face turns serious, before he replies: “No, I’m serious. I’ve never met anyone who knew of Plutus and Demeter, other than… us.”
“Us?”
“The boys,” he says. “My college friends and I. We all got this tattoo together. But it’s more about Plutus than about his mother. So, not so much about agriculture, but—”
“Wealth,” I cut him off. “Isn’t that what the little boy stands for? Wealth and prosperity?”
“Exactly,” he responds, and a genuine smile stretches across his face. “You are even smarter than I thought you were.”
Now I’m the one releasing a dismissive huff. “Thanks, I guess.”
I don’t know how to take this compliment. He’s not the first person to call me smart, but it’s the first time the praise doesn’t come inareprimanding or even demeaning way. It actually sounds… nice.
“So, will you sign?”he probes, arching his brows. “Now that I told you.”
I nod. “Yes, I’ll sign.”
I didn’t saywhen, though.
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Because it includes a nondisclosure agreement?” I ask. He was very adamant about that part, emphasizing that I would lose everything if I ever violate that part.
“That, and because I want to make sure that you’re on board with this,” he says. “I would hate having to look for someone else.”
His words sting. A lot more than they should.
I should have known better, no, Ididknow better. Yes, we fucked, and yes, things between us feel very intense and weirdly real right now—but they are not. This is all for show, secured with a contract, much like any other job. He’s paying me to be here, very generously. I’m not here because we like each other, but because weneedeach other. He needs me—I need his money.
His money, not him. I should never need—or even want—him. No matter how great the sex between us has been, no matter how nice his compliments feel. He fucked me because he could. Because a man like him can have anyone he wants. I don’t mean anything to him. And if I don’t play along, he’ll go and look for someone else who will. It’s as simple as that.
“You won’t have to,” I tell him. “I’ll sign. I really need the money.”
My voice is cold and distant, signaling that we’re cool. Whatever happens or doesn’t happen between us, will mean as little to me as it does to him. It has to.
