I chewed my lower lip as tears filled my eyes. “No. I’m not okay.”
“Lisa—”
“The first guy that’s interested me in a few years just so happens to be my professor. I don’t know who the hell he is, other than, apparently, he needs security and doesn’t actually work as a professor year round. Oh, and the best part? I got attacked by some creep who probably saw a picture of me in Victoria’s Secret and thought I was easy, so decided to hop on for a ride. So am I okay?” I laughed bitterly. “No, I’m not okay. I probably won’t ever be okay. There will never be a time in my life when I don’t wake up in the middle of the night freaked out that maybe someone’s in my room. And this probably won’t be the last time some creep thinks he has a right to grope me just because I made money taking my clothes off and walking down a runway. No, Tristan. I’m not okay.”
Except for the sound of the heat coming through the vents, the car was silent.
With a curse, Tristan made such an abrupt turn I almost banged my head against the door. He didn’t say anything, just drove like he was in a car chase with the cops. We went toward East Denny Street then followed it around to Madera Avenue. I knew the houses there were right by the water with killer views and ridiculously expensive zip codes.
The car pulled up to a modern-looking house with four stories. It had huge windows and the look of a beach house; you know, if a beach house cost a few million and had a security gate in front of it. When we pulled through the gates, he stopped the car and sighed.
“I can handle a lot of things…” Tristan glanced over at me. “…but knowing you’ll be scared tonight is not one of them. So, I’m going to show you to my guest room. I’m going to call Wes and Gabe, make sure they know you’re safe, and tomorrow I’ll take you back to school.”
“Would that be before or after class?” I tilted my head mockingly.
“Before.” He grinned. “You know how I feel about students being late.”
I nodded and broke eye contact. “Will you get fired because of me?”
“Of course not.” He shrugged it off completely. “Because, Lisa, there is no you and me… I don’t know how else to say it. You’re beautiful… but you’re not my beautiful.”
What did that mean? Rejection hit me square in the chest. It was hard to breathe, but I was able to nod, too embarrassed to argue my case, to throw myself across the console and explain to him that he made me want again, made me desire. That his kiss healed things I never knew had needed healing. But instead, I was brave.
I was so very tired of being that girl.
The brave girl who pretended like everything was fine.
All the while, the guilt and fear continued to pile onto my shoulders, making me slump under the pressure. I couldn’t help but feel like I deserved it. I’d had my part in the past, and now I was dealing with the consequences. Apparently, not being happy in any sort of relationship was one of them, because I highly doubted I’d have that same reaction with any other guy.
“Pajamas?” I asked, trying to distract myself from wallowing.
Tristan smiled. I felt it all the way to my toes, almost looked away, but tried to hold his gaze. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”
“Well, at least I know you won’t seduce me!” I opened the door and slammed it behind me then adjusted my dress, only to feel Tristan’s hands on my hips and his lips on my ear.
“I don’t believe I ever made that promise.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Come on,” I pleaded from the hospital bed. “It will make me feel better.”
“But it’s wrong.” She shook her head. “Tay, that’s so wrong. Why would I do that? To anyone!”
“I’m bored,” I huffed.
She hesitated, and I used that hesitation like a pro. I knew she would cave; she’d do my bidding. Eventually she nodded, and I told her the details of who the target was and how she was going to shame him — the video would go viral like my videos usually did, and I’d once again have the upper hand. I controlled her, and I needed her to remember that even though she weakened me, I still had control. And she was mine. Forever. She was mine. —The Journal of Taylor B.
Tristan
THE LIGHTS TURNED on automatically once we entered the house. It felt weird, bringing a woman home, since I typically didn’t do that type of thing — too afraid of the scandal it would cost the family. I’d always dated women my family approved of, women who ran in the same circles and knew how important image was. If we met, we met at hotels owned by my father. If we were going to the same room, I had a drink in the lobby while she took the elevator. Ten minutes later I’d follow, and we’d repeat a similar process the next time. My security tailed anyone suspicious, and it was an enjoyable time for everyone.
Nothing scandalous. Nothing improper. And less-than-stellar sex. After all, what’s so scandalous and arousing about planned sex and meetings? About hooking up with a woman I’d known since childhood?
Speaking of, I glanced down at my phone and grimaced. Seven missed calls. She could wait; he could wait; they could all wait. They knew I was taking a break, and that meant from everything, them included. I’d done my family duty by attending the benefit, and now… now I was going to try to pretend I didn’t have one of the sexiest women alive alone in my house.
“Wow.” Lisa performed a slow pirouette. “You have four floors?”