Tell Me to Stop
Charlotte Byrd
Contents
About Charlotte Byrd
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1. When the check arrives…
2. When I make a decision…
3. When I go to the bank…
4. When I’m surprised…
5. When I do it…
6. When I get an invitation…
7. When I read the letter…
8. When I get ready…
9. When she surprises me…
10. While we wait…
11. When we get ready…
12. When I wait…
13. When she interrupts me…
14. When I meet him…
15. When I see her…
16. When we spend the day together…
17. When I meet him at the gazebo…
18. When he asks me…
19. When I remember…
20. When I try to forget…
21. When we leave…
22. When she refuses…
WEEKS LATER…
23. When I wait…
TODAY…
24. When I see her again…
25. When I find out…
26. When I try to figure out something…
27. When she pushes me…
28. When I see him again…
29. When I ask for help…
30. When I wait…
31. When I make the call…
32. When I hand over the money…
33. When they come…
34. When we talk…
35. When he startles me…
36. When I go back…
37. When we play a game…
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About Charlotte Byrd
Copyright © 2019 by Charlotte Byrd, LLC.
All rights reserved.
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Cover Design: Charlotte Byrd
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a word of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Visit my website at www.charlotte-byrd.com
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Identifiers
•Tell Me to Stop (Hardcover): 978-1-63225-052-0
•Tell Me to Stop (Paperback): 978-1-63225-051-3
•Tell Me to Stop (eBook): 978-1-63225-050-6
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About Tell Me to Stop
I owe him a debt. The kind money can’t repay.
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He wants something else: me, for one year.
But I don’t even know who he is…
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365 days and nights doing everything he wants…except that.
* * *
“I’m not going to sleep with you,” I say categorically.
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He laughs.
* * *
“I’m going to make you a promise,” his eyes challenge mine. “Before our time is up, you’ll beg me for it.”
Praise for Charlotte Byrd
“Extremely captivating, sexy, steamy, intriguing, and intense!” ★★★★★
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“Addictive and impossible to put down.” ★★★★★
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“I can’t get enough of the turmoil, lust, love, drama, and secrets!” ★★★★★
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“Fast-paced romantic suspense filled with twists and turns, danger, betrayal, and so much more.” ★★★★★
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“Decadent, delicious, & dangerously addictive!” - Amazon Review ★★★★★
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“Titillation so masterfully woven, no reader can resist its pull. A MUST-BUY!” - Bobbi Koe, Amazon Review ★★★★★
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“Captivating!” - Crystal Jones, Amazon Review ★★★★★
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“Sexy, secretive, pulsating chemistry…” - Mrs. K, Amazon Reviewer ★★★★★
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“Charlotte Byrd is a brilliant writer. I've read loads and I've laughed and cried. She writes a balanced book with brilliant characters. Well done!” -Amazon Review ★★★★★
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“Hot, steamy, and a great storyline.” - Christine Reese ★★★★★
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“My oh my....Charlotte has made me a fan for life.” - JJ, Amazon Reviewer ★★★★★
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“Wow. Just wow. Charlotte Byrd leaves me speechless and humble… It definitely kept me on the edge of my seat. Once you pick it up, you won't put it down.” - Amazon Review ★★★★★
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“ Intrigue, lust, and great characters...what more could you ask for?!” - Dragonfly Lady ★★★★★
About Charlotte Byrd
Charlotte Byrd is the bestselling author of many contemporary romance novels. She lives in Southern California with her husband, son, and a crazy toy Australian Shepherd. She loves books, hot weather and crystal blue waters.
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Also by Charlotte Byrd
All books are available at ALL major retailers! If you can’t find it, please email me at [email protected]
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Tell me Series
Tell Me to Stop
Tell Me to Go
Tell Me to Stay
Tell Me to Run
Tell Me to Fight
Tell Me to Lie
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Tangled Series
Tangled up in Ice
Tangled up in Pain
Tangled up in Lace
Tangled up in Hate
Tangled up in Love
* * *
Black Series
Black Edge
Black Rules
Black Bounds
Black Contract
Black Limit
Lavish Trilogy
Lavish Lies
Lavish Betrayal
Lavish Obsession
Standalone Novels
Debt
Offer
Unknown
Dressing Mr. Dalton
1
When the check arrives…
“What are you doing with that thing?” my roommate, Sydney, asks, walking by my room.
I’m sitting on my bed with my hand wrapped around my knees staring at the envelope that came in the mail a few days ago. My name and address are handwritten in careful capital script and it doesn’t have a return address.
I showed it to her when it first arrived and she made fun of me for wanting to actually deposit that ridiculous check, her words not mine.
“I was thinking that this person must’ve dropped it off in our mailbox directly because there’s not even a stamp from the post office on this thing,” I point out.
Sydney shakes her head and walks out of my sightline for a moment to change into her sweats. When I walk out into our living room, I see her boots neatly put away right next to mine in the foyer. The rain droplets skid off her coat and onto the floor where they make a little puddle, which she quickly cleans up.
I met Sydney Catalano at Wellesley College, but we didn’t get really close until our second semester of senior year. She was a double major in biology and chemistry and we met in a required anthropology class that we both put off until we couldn’t put it off anymore.
I don’t know if it’s the case with all biology majors, but Sydney is a very neat and meticulous person who always cleans up after herself, and often after me as well. Though I’m not much of a housekeeper, I take out the garbage and kill spiders to try to be a good roommate.
I pull out last night’s Vietnamese takeout from the fridge and warm it up on the stove. We each pile as much as we want onto the plates, leaving the rest on the skillet, before sitting down to eat together around the kitchen island.
“So…what are you going to do?” she asks, tying up her silky black hair in a loose bun while inhaling her food.
My eyes meander over to the envelope, lying flat in between our two plates. Sydney reaches over her food and pulls out the check.
“Olive, this is a joke, okay? This isn’t real,” she says with a full mouth.
I stare at the numbers in the square box. They are written in the same block script as my address on the envelope.
$167,699.
The amount is written out right under my name and signed with an illegible signature. There is no identifying information anywhere else on the check to give me a glimpse into who it might be from.
“But what if it is?” I ask.
“Why would someone send you a check for this amount and not say who it is or why they’re giving you this money?” she asks.
I shrug my shoulders. Of course, I don’t have an answer.
“The thing is… I looked up the total amount of my student loans today at work,” I say, taking a sip of my water.
“Okay.” Sydney nods.
I put down my fork and turn my body toward her.
“What?” She rolls her eyes. “C’mon, the suspense is killing me.”
I shake my head. “No, never mind. It doesn’t matter,” I say, getting up.
She pleads for me to go on and explain but I just take my plate to the sink and wash it. If she thinks that this whole thing is a joke then I don’t have to tell her a thing.
“Olive, I’m sorry.” Sydney puts her hand on my shoulder. “I don’t mean to not be supportive. I just don’t want you to get hurt. Or in trouble.”
I hold up the check to her face.
“You see this number?” I ask, pointing to the amount. She nods. “This is the exact amount that I owe. Down to the penny.”
The words surprise her. She exhales slowly and takes a step away from me.
“Really?” she whispers under her breath, taking the check and looking at it more closely.
I nod.
“I had to make a payment today so I looked up the amount, just for the hell of it. Just to make myself feel a little worse about everything,” I joke. “But then, the total looked familiar. I realized that I’d seen these numbers somewhere before. I just wasn’t sure where. Then when I got home, I saw the envelope on my desk and…there it was. The exact amount that I owe in student loans.”
Sydney sits back down, stunned by my revelation. I’ve had about an hour to process this but I’m no less astonished.
“The check arrived a few days ago. So, after you make this payment, you’ll owe a little less, right?”
I nod, not sure as to where she is going with this.
“Most of it is going to interest, but yeah, I guess it will be a little less. But the check arrived before this payment was officially due. So, when it came, this is the exact amount of my debt.”
We spend the evening talking about the possibilities of what I should do, which basically boil down into two camps.
One, I tear up the check and forget all about it.
Two, I deposit the money, or at least try to.
There is the very real possibility that the check is a fake or some sort of fraud, though whom it is defrauding I have no idea. Still, depositing it is definitely a risk.
“There’s something else you should consider,” Sydney says. “What happens if you deposit the check and it is real?”
2
When I make a decision…
I stare at her for a moment trying to figure out what exactly would be the problem with that situation.
“Why would someone do this? Why would they just give you this gift out of the blue?” she asks.
“I have no idea. I’m still convinced that it’s a fake,” I say nonchalantly.
“And that’s why you want to deposit it?” she asks, calling my bluff.
“Okay, I have no idea. If it’s real and it’s a gift…I have no idea who has this kind of money or why they would rain it on me.”
“We are operating from the position that if this is real, it must be a gift,” Sydney says, narrowing her eyes. “But what if it’s not a present at all?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if it’s just replacing one debt with another? What if this person wants something from you? Wants you to do something for them?”
I take a deep breath. I try to think of all the possibilities of what someone could want from me. The only thing that comes to mind is my job.
“You’re a content specialist at a big company,” Sydney says, always staying a few steps ahead of me. “What if this is some sort of corporate sabotage?”
I consider that for a moment, but quickly dismiss it. “I don’t have any access to anything,” I say. “I don’t do anything with data or anything that anyone would be interested in.”
“I guess,” Sydney agrees. “Except that you might be the perfect person to do favors for them from the inside.”
Now, it’s my turn to roll my eyes. Sydney is someone who spends sixty hours a day cooped in a lab running tissue samples and the rest of the time watching way too many crime and investigation shows.
A few days ago, I applied for a raise and that application required me to submit an updated resume. As a result, I updated my resume and job responsibilities to include ‘determining item selection and design for interim formative assessments; writing, reviewing, and revising items aligned to standards including traditional and innovative item types; developing analysis and scoring guides for schools; researching and analyzing items released by the assessment consortia.’
But what does this all really mean?
“I write math test questions for an educational company,” I say. “This check has nothing to do with my job.”
“Okay, fine,” Sydney concedes, but not really. She just shrugs her shoulders and gives up, leaving behind a seedling of doubt.
What if she’s right?
Why would someone send me this check?
What if this does have something to do with my job? And if so, what?
“I’m not agreeing to anything by depositing this check. There’s nothing in the memo line. They can’t make me do anything illegal,” I say.
“Yes, technically, they can’t,” Sydney agrees. “But people who have this much money to send to strangers…they may not be the most upstanding of citizens.”
“So,
what do I do?” I ask, staring at the check. “What would you do?”
“I don’t know, but then again, I don’t owe as much as you do.”
“You don’t owe anything,” I correct her.
Sydney’s mother is from a wealthy Chinese family and they had no issues paying fifty thousand dollars a year for her tuition and room and board. I, on the other hand, wasn’t as lucky. Despite majoring in mathematics, the best job I could find was this content specialist position that pays fifty-four thousand dollars a year.
Given that Boston is not the cheapest place in the world to live and that our rent is twenty-five hundred a month plus utilities, I will probably be in my fifties before I pay off all of my student debt.
Tell Me to Stop Page 1
