Tell Me You Love Me: A Novel

by S. Ann Cole

  “You really should let us compensate you for—”

  “Goodbye, Miss Bentley.”

  Before I can get another word out, he gives me a gentle shove over the threshold and slams the door in my face.

  Seven - Kholton

  “I bet it comes with a lasso.”

  The hell did I just agree to?

  “You can come out now!” I call aloud. “I know your ass is still here.”

  Following a deep chuckle, the dipshit materializes from behind the entry stairwell, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Thought you said Serena Bentley was on red. Because, and I quote, ‘she’s a head-fuck’.”

  “You’re the asshole who let her in,” I grouse.

  Brian shrugs, the douchebag. “She said her name was Julie.”

  I glare. “What did I tell you to say to her if she ever came by?”

  He holds his hands up in defense. “Look, man, if you’d seen the determined look on her face, you’d know there’s nothing I could’ve told her that would stop her from bulldozing her way in here.”

  “I noticed.” I shove anxious fingers through my hair. “I just can’t figure out why she’s really here. That tutoring excuse came straight out of her ass.”

  “That’s easy,” Brian offers through a chuckle. “She wants the D.”

  I shoot him a glare before striding past him into the kitchen to grab a bottled water from the fridge. Quaffing almost all its content, I lean back on the counter and stare unseeing across the room.

  I’m not innocent. And I wasn’t just a civilian.

  I knew who she was before I went into that place. Her blind-date who fell in to a manhole and broke his leg? Brian. My no-show blind date? Nonexistent. The reservation mix-ups? All a set up.

  Serena Bentley was supposed to be a job.

  Let me explain.

  I grew up as the first-born heir to a powerful, heartless mogul. A man as cold as an iceberg and as ruthless as a Ninevite. Controlling. Tyrannical. His way or the highway.

  I used to be his “golden boy”, until I dared to defy him. Until I dared to choose my own direction instead of the one he had cut out for me.

  This led to my ostracism. Stripped of my inheritance and ousted from the family. I wasn’t even allowed to use the family name. Think that’s too extreme? That’s because you don’t know my dad.

  Eighteen found me homeless and penniless, unable to continue my studies. Education had always been important to me. It’s the thing that keeps me sane. I love to learn and I love to teach. Getting stripped screwed that up. I had to find a way to pay for school.

  That’s when I met Brian, a dusty kid from the wrong side of the tracks. A grifter, a con, a pickpocket who could lie as easily as he breathed. I was cool with it, as long as it wasn’t drugs.

  He lived in a rundown house with his three brothers and their father, a veteran. To pay the bills, they spent their days stealing, cheating, grifting, and at the end of the day, they’d all convene around a rickety dining table and add up the booty. Whatever bill could be paid was paid the next morning.

  Soon I became the fifth member, making my own contributions. I was a fast learner, but I’ve also always been a big thinker. A risk taker. The petty thefts weren’t going to get me where or what I wanted. I had to reach higher. I had to learn more.

  So I did.

  It wasn’t long before I discovered what I was best at, what would earn me the kind of winnings to get me back in college.

  Sweetheart Cons.

  The first two grand I made, I invested in a perfectly tailored suit. And while the cashier was ringing me up for that, I lifted a 3k Rolex, flirting with her all the while to make sure she stayed distracted.

  I’d been rich once, so I knew what the rich liked, where the rich went, and what rich girls looked for in a man before giving him the time of day. I also knew that most rich wives were bored and sex-deprived, with ever-absent, inattentive husbands. This made them the easiest targets. Plus, if there’s anything I’m better at than lying, it’s fucking.

  My first big stint was with a promiscuous nineteen-year-old who liked her powder. While she was high as a kite one night, my dick buried deep inside her on her millionaire father’s office desk, I got her to reveal the code to his safe, knowing she wouldn’t remember shit the next morning.

  Once she was out cold, I broke into the safe. There wasn’t much cash, but there were over twenty gold bars. I bagged the 60k in cash and four of the gold bars. Steal smart. Never take all or too much. Greed is what gets you caught. Nibble nibble, and you’ll get away every time.

  Each gold bar turned out to be worth over 400k. Suffice it to say, the Cage brothers were speechless.

  I could’ve stopped after that stint, finished up my studies and settled into a decent job. But I liked the rush, the power, the pussy. Next thing I knew, it wasn’t just for my college fees anymore. It became a career.

  It wasn’t until I got my PhDs that I gave up the life. When I did, the brothers did, too. Except for Brian. He had an inherited gambling problem and could never keep a cent.

  Eventually I got a job offer in New York as a Physics Professor and took it. Two years later, I started my own tutoring business, ‘cause I was shit at following rules.

  Fast forward to the present, where I’m living an honest life, making an honest income, when Brian shows up on my doorstep.

  He’s got a job. A big one.

  I’m done with that life, I tell him.

  He needs this, he tells me. Fresh out of rehab, close to broke, and needs to get back on his feet. But he won’t accept direct handouts from me or his brothers. He wants to work for it. The brothers are expanding their Private Investigation company, and this is his last chance to repurchase his shares.

  I’m worn down by him. I agree. He’s my brother. I want to see him do well.

  The big job: Serena Bentley.

  The Payout: A 15% commission of 70 million.

  It was supposed to be an easy job, with me doing what I do best. Hijack, seduce, get the prize, disappear.

  But the moment I walked up to that table and our eyes met, I knew it was going to be anything but easy. Not just because she was abrasive and not at all what I expected, but because I felt struck. I don’t know how to explain it, but it was like an arrow had pierced my heart. I’ve never felt anything like it.

  I’m Kholton Sharpe. I’m as handsome as a king, I stride like a lion, and I fuck like a God. I’m aware of this. Seduction and manipulation are my forte and I never fail at it. Ever.

  Until I walked into that restaurant and met Serena Head-Fuck Bentley.

  It’s not her beauty. It’s not her body. I’ve been studying her for months so her sexual appeal is no surprise to me. She’s shit-hot, yeah, but I’ve banged bigger bombshells than her. Besides, I’m so used to hot fucks at this point that I’ll bang an ugly chick every now and then to kill the boring predictability of it all.

  No woman’s ever got me weak-kneed before. Might get my cock excited, but my knees remain strong and proud.

  It’s none of that physical, superficial stuff. It’s…it’s… something.

  And her eyes… Gosh, her eyes. They have hands of their own. Long, blood-red claws. Claws that dug into me, dragged me in, closer. Closer.

  It pissed me off. I’ve got nothing against redheads. In fact, I have a special thing for redheads. It’s her. I hated how looking at her made me feel. So I made up some bullshit fable about hating redheads.

  I was dubious about going forward with the job. Because, fuck her and her voodoo. Hashtag redhead sorceress.

  But it was the kidnapping that crystallized the decision for me. Whatever shit pit those Bentleys were into, I wanted no part of it. I didn’t even want to do the job to begin with, let alone get a cap in my ass. I’ve got kids to teach. New adults to turn into geniuses. Adults to help turn their lives around. Businesses to stop from sinking. I’ve got a purpose. A life. One I love living.

  And I’ll be damned if I�
�ll lose all that over Sorceress Bentley.

  The most irritating thing is, though it’s been quite a few months, I haven’t been able to get her out of my head. And her father’s persistent visits didn’t help. It’s been a rather confusing and frustrating couple of months for me.

  Now she shows up on my doorstep, with something up her sleeve. I feel owned and I’m not even sure I like her.

  Brian saunters into the kitchen and plucks up an apple from the fruit bowl. “So, since you agreed to tutor her, does that mean the job is back on? Kill two birds with one stone and whatnot?”

  He asks this with nonchalant ease, but I know an affirmative is what he’s hoping for. Although it’s been months since we canceled the job, the client has not yet been able to replace us with anyone as capable. They keep coming back, increasing the commission each time, hoping we’ll bite. Not many grifters are willing to take the risk our client is asking us to.

  “That wasn’t supposed to happen,” I say.

  “Then why’d you agree?”

  “’Cause she’s a head-fuck?”

  Brian shakes his head. “When did you become such a pussy, man?”

  “Pussy is the strongest and most powerful thing you’ll find on a human, so I’ll take that as a compliment.” I take another gulp of water. “It’s her pussy I’m afraid of. I bet it comes with a lasso.”

  Brian laughs, hard. “Look, man, you just got the perfect excuse to be in her house. It doesn’t get any easier than this. Tell me the job is back on.”

  I stare long and hard at the fruit basket on the counter, as if it offends me. He’s my brother. He needs this and I want to help him, like he’s helped me countless times. But Serena Bentley? I’ve no idea why but she scares the shit out of me.

  I start to shake my head no, then hiss out a curse and stab him with a glare.

  He’s already on his feet, cellphone in hand. He knows the answer. Sonuvabitch is going to owe me big for this one.

  “Fine,” I say unnecessarily. “But whatever happens, Serena Bentley and I can never, ever have sex.”

  Brian snorts. “Sure.”

  I glare harder. “I’m serious. Come up with a plan that doesn’t include intimacy or I’m out.”

  With an amused smirk, he salutes me. “Got it.”

  As I stride out of the kitchen and take the stairs up two at a time, I hear him mumble under his breath, “He’s so fucked.”

  Eight - Serena

  Refresh. Refresh, Refresh.

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  Most would describe David Grove’s voice as deep, fluid, and caressing. But for me, his voice is like scraping nails on a chalkboard. I despise him.

  “Uh-huh,” I mumble, distracted. “I went ten-thousand-dollars over budget on the Blue Leaf marketing campaign. Go on.”

  It’s Wednesday. A new week, a new workday, and yet another meeting with David Doucheface.

  Normally, I delight in these meetings with him, watching him get a hard-on from my defiance. He loves it, the pervert. I suspect that’s the reason he gives me shit budgets. He knows I’ll disregard it and that in turn will give him a reason to get me alone in a room with him, shouting at each other.

  This week, however, I’ve been too distracted to entertain him.

  Intently focused on my iPad, my head is bent, fingers tapping the ‘refresh’ icon in my mailbox over and over. I’m anxious. I’m impatient. I’m apprehensive.

  I could scream.

  After visiting Kholton last week, he didn’t email me the next day as he promised. He emailed me two days later. Relieved and excited, I skimmed only the “Fees” section of the contract, then quickly signed it, scanned it, and sent it back to him. Shortly after, I deposited the exorbitant first quarter payments.

  It is quite possible that he’s taking advantage of me with these prices because I can afford it, maybe even to spite me, but I don’t care. I paid the ridiculous sum. It’s only fair, considering I will be taking—stealing—something far more valuable from him.

  But then he didn’t email me back. Not even to acknowledge that he received the signed contract. It has been nothing but silence on his end since and it’s driving me insane.

  “I get the feeling you don’t take me seriously,” David grates on.

  Refresh.

  “You might be the future of this company, Serena, but I am the CFO and I demand your respect.”

  Refresh.

  “Do I need to include Mr. Bentley in our next meeting?”

  Refresh…Refresh.

  Ugh. Screw this.

  With a frustrated grunt, I toss the iPad on the table and watch it skid and spin before it jiggles to a stop at the other end.

  Shifting my gaze, I give the turd my attention. “If you think Daddy can give you a better hard-on than me, then by all means, go ahead.”

  He’s taken aback. “Excuse me?”

  Irrefutably, David’s a catch. A sexy, handsome bachelor with ginger hair, and a smooth, well-groomed ginger-beard hiding an angular jaw. Average height, average build, and perpetually in fitted suits and Clarke Kent glasses. I hear all the whispers, all the women here who crush hard on him. But to me, he’s a nuisance.

  I look him in the eyes. “Don’t pretend you don’t get off on this little power play. You hate that I defy you, but you love that it gets you hard. You let me leave first after our meetings so I don’t see it. Then you hurry to your office, frost your windows, and ask your assistant to hold your calls for the next hour.” I lean forward and offer him a saccharine smile. “What do you do in that hour after our meetings, David?”

  Face instantly pale, he fiddles with his glasses. Clears his throat. “You are being highly inappropriate, Miss Bentley.”

  “Am I? Or is it the truth that’s inappropriate?”

  His mouth opens and closes like a fish on a hook. He splutters, hands clenched into fists on the table. Abruptly, he pushes back his chair and shoves to his feet. “This is unacceptable,” he grounds out. “I’m reporting you to HR.”

  I shrug, knowing he won’t do shit. “Go ahead.”

  He storms out of the room.

  When a chirp whistles from my iPad, I dive onto the table and damn near belly-crawl to the other end to get the device. Sprawled on the conference table, I unlock the tablet.

  An email. From him.

  Miss Bentley,

  Please accept my sincerest apologies for the late response.

  Your signed contract and payments have been received.

  To proceed, I will need an idea of your schedule in order to create a timetable that will be convenient for the both of us. Also, in the contract, you did not indicate your preferred Time Package. Please do so as soon as possible.

  Time Package options extracted from contract:

  Speed Degree:

  5 classes max. per week. [6 months. Weekdays only.]

  (Inclusive of bi-weekly exam preps and job interview training.)

  Autumn Degree:

  3 classes min. per week. [18 months. Weekdays only.]

  (Recommended for students with part-time employment.)

  Mellow Degree:

  2 classes min. per week. [24 months. Any two days of the week.]

  (Recommended for students with full-time employment.)

  Snail Degree:

  1-2 classes per week. [30-36 months. Any day(s) of the week.]

  (Recommended for students on the Pay-Per-Class Plan or those with unpredictable schedules, e.g. stay-at-home moms/temp workers/freelancers).

  Incidentally, I will also need your study location. Please note: I do not conduct studies at my home.

  Attached, please find PDF file with a list of the books/software/supplies you will need for your studies.

  Regards,

  Kholton Sharpe

  Freelance Instructor of Mathematics, Physics, Accounts and Finances

  Financial Adviser

  Krav Maga Instructor

  For credentials, please visit sharpeteaching.n
et

  Gosh. So formal. So professional. As he should be. After all, this is business. But still.

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but it sure as heck wasn’t this kind of rigid formality. For the plans I have, formal won’t work. I want informal. Inappropriate. Indiscretion. In heat. In lust. Inside me.

  Screw formal.

  On all fours, I crawl back to the other end of the table, snatch up my cellphone and start typing out my reply via text rather than email. Step one to killing the formality—no emails. Better yet, WhatsApp.

  Firsts things first, I need to decide on a Time Package. Speed would guarantee more time with him, yet at the same time less time with him, considering the entire thing would be over in a few months. Unless I intend to lay it on thick, this option might not be the best.

  I will need enough time for him to warm up to me. Yet, if I choose Snail, he’ll figure out I’m full of crap and no doubt cancel the contract.

  Mellow is the safest option.

  Hey, Playboy! I just got your email. Phew! For a moment there I thought I’d been scammed. If I hadn’t been so insanely busy I would’ve shown up on your doorstep with the cops by now. Anyway, apology accepted. I’ve been caught up with work so the timing is perfect.

  Regarding the Time Package, I think I’ll go with Mellow. Things do get pretty insane around here and I would hate to have to be canceling classes all the time. I think Mellow is the perfect pace for me.

  Schedule: My lightest days are Wednesdays and Fridays, so any time after 2pm is fine on either day.

  Location: I was actually hoping we could use your place. Truth is, my father has no idea about this arrangement, (I prefer not to let him in on my plan to usurp his CFO as yet) so we most definitely can’t do it at my house. However, I respect your rule. How about I rent a suite at AKA Central Park for the duration of this study?

  Let me know!

  Serena