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“I gave you a job.”
“That I’m kicking ass at.”
“I took you to Paris.”
I look down to hide the blush on my cheeks.
“I thanked you for that.”
He adjusts himself, smoothing the wrinkles in the front of his slacks.
“Sometimes I do things just for personal satisfaction,” he comments, and I snort, refusing to believe it.
I try lowering my voice so that Parker doesn’t overhear us, which is impossible since we’re all in the same car. I wish he had kept the divider up.
“I’m telling you now. What happened in Paris isn’t going to happen again if you come with me to the gallery and work the room.”
The look he shoots me screams dark confidence, and he leans forward, his lips brushing against my ear, making my lower abdomen tighten.
“Trust me, you’ll be begging me to fuck you by the time the exhibition is over.”
His arrogance should piss me off, but all it’s doing is turning me on harder.
“You overestimate yourself,” I counter, feeling unbearably hot, my clothes feeling tighter around me.
He chuckles and hands me back the tickets. “You have some time to decide, but don’t take too long. My calendar fills up fast.”
I tuck the tickets back into my bag, refusing to respond. Other students will have their parents there, pridefully gushing with each other over their work. It would be nice to have someone, too.
“What were you even doing at the university today?” I ask him since it suddenly occurs to me that his presence was unexpected.
“I was dealing with some business matters,” he replies. “You’re lucky I was there.”
“What business would the owner of The Blue Whiskey have at a fine arts college?” I stare at him. “And I would have eventually kneed Ricky in the balls. Nobody was around, so I might have gotten away with it.”
His slight smile vanishes.
“Next time somebody tries to come after you at school, defend yourself violently and worry about the consequences later. And if you can’t defend yourself, you call me or Lars or Parker. But if I ever see another bruise on you, which has not been made by my hand on your ass, you won’t be able to stop me a second time.”
My cheeks feel hot, and keeping my voice steady is a physical struggle. “First of all, I keep telling you I don’t plan to jeopardize my scholarship. I can’t hit anyone. They have a zero-tolerance policy for violence."
“And what about those kids touching you?”
“Let me rephrase that. The school has a zero-tolerance policy for violence you can prove.”
“What if I can guarantee that your scholarship will not be taken away from you and they will not kick you out of school?”
I hesitate to answer. “I don’t... I don’t think you can do that.”
“Can’t I?” He responds in an amused voice, his hand reaching out to curl a strand of my hair around his finger in a possessive move. “I keep having to remind you of who I am. I have enough influence to protect your scholarship and your position there. And even if you lose your scholarship, I can create another solely for you.”
My jaw drops at his casual statement, and I struggle to retain my composure.
“Yes, but–”
“So, next time, either put them in their place, or I’ll do it for you.”
He yanks at the strand of hair wrapped around his finger, which forces me to lean in closer. My eyes meet his, and even as his piercing gray gaze robs me of my breath, I wonder what I’ve gotten myself into.
