by Shelly Bell
She rolled her eyes, reminding him again of just how young she was. “Yes, I really want to help. So what do you need?”
“Your initial business plan was pretty good. Is it real or did you just do it for your assignment?” Actually, her outline for a bakery had blown him away. While other students had chosen big businesses with the goal of going public on the stock market, Isabella had kept it simple, her goal to add a café that would serve breakfast and lunch to busy people who only had an hour lunch break. He’d learned more about the way her mind worked with that business plan than he had in all the times they’d spoken.
Instead of glowing from his compliment, she narrowed her eyes, distrusting. “That depends on why you want to know.”
For the first time, he got the sense she wasn’t as innocent as she first appeared. It was as if she’d morphed from a college freshman to an experienced businesswoman and damn, it was sexy as hell. “I’m looking for someone to test out my products. My company invents, designs, and installs state-of-the-art smart kitchens for professionals.”
She nodded, a serious expression on her face. “Give me an example.”
He loved this part of his business, the excitement of the sale. “Let’s say you run a bakery. To start, you can give voice commands that would control the ovens and mixers.”
She sat back in her chair and folded her arms. “Impressive, but not a huge time-saver. What else?”
Like a real businesswoman, she was playing hardball, seemingly unimpressed. At this point, he couldn’t determine if it was all an act or not.
He got up and walked the couple of steps to hand her one of his company’s brochures. “Those are the basics that come with our system. Now let’s say you want to pour, measure, and add the ingredients to the mixer. We can create both the software and hardware to meet your needs.”
“Automating is nothing new. Food manufacturers do it now.”
He leaned on the corner of her desk. “But not small kitchens. Restaurants, bakeries, bars . . . we can design it so you can run almost everything with your voice. I take it from your business plan that you’re familiar with bakeries?”
“I’ve worked at my family’s bakery since I was twelve.”
“That’s why you smelled of vanilla.” Of course, that didn’t explain why she still did. “Would you be interested in helping me design a system for a bakery? I need to create a few demos for my partner, Ryder, to design software for.”
“Ryder, the owner of the house where we . . . met?” A hint of her innocence returned, her cheeks staining with a blush. The dichotomy between her innocent schoolgirl and her savvy businesswoman personas intrigued him, and the Dom in him wanted to dig deeper and find out what made her tick.
“The same one. He does the software and I do the hardware.”
“Who does the sales?” she asked, looking through the brochure.
“Both of us. Or it was both of us until I took this job. Now he’s doing most of that work.”
“Does he mind that you left?”
“We’ve been friends since college. We met here, actually, in Macroeconomics with Dean Lancaster, who was then simply Professor Lancaster.” Memories of that time in his life were bittersweet. “Ryder understands how much I owe Lancaster.”
Isabella got quiet. “Why do you owe him?”
He paused, uncomfortable discussing the past. But if she was going to work with him, she’d learn it soon enough. “The first week of school, I got news that both my parents had died.”
She gasped, covering her heart with her palm. “That’s horrible. A car crash?”
“No.” He shook his head, his jaw tightening and his hands clenching and unclenching into fists. If only it had been that simple. As always, he forced his thoughts away from their unresolved murders. “What happened isn’t important. But I went off the deep end. Instead of flunking me, he gave me a chance to prove myself. Even though we’d just met, Ryder stood by me when others who’d known me much longer didn’t.”
She leaned across her desk and took his hand. “He sounds like a good friend.”
“He is,” he said, squeezing her dainty hand, noting how right it felt in his. She made him want to master her, to teach her about pleasure and pain, domination and submission. His cock twitched at the thought of her spread out on his desk, her pussy glistening with her arousal. He coughed and shifted, his hardening cock becoming a distraction from their conversation. “Anyway, what do you think? Is that something you might be interested in working on this semester?”
Her gaze fell between his legs. “Yeah. I’d like that.” She swallowed hard and moistened her lips. Her arousal was tangible, calling to him like a siren’s song.
The air around them heated, the tension between them growing tauter with each passing second. Suddenly standing, he found himself edging closer to her, watching the pulse in her neck throb. Her lips parted and her eyes dilated just as they had during their night together.
The knock came only a second before the door creaked open, breaking the spell he and Isabella had been under.
“Professor Kelley?” That little shit, Jordan Barrington, walked through the door like he owned the damn university.
Tristan knew his type well. He’d partied with some just like him when he’d gone to school here before he’d given up his wild ways and found BDSM. Guys like Barrington thought the world owed them a favor just because they had money. They bought their way through school and through life. Call it a hunch, but Tristan would bet his left nut that Barrington had some girl write his business plan outline for him. Unfortunately, there was no way to prove it.
Jordan stopped in front of Isabella’s desk and flashed a smile that made Tristan want to bash his teeth in. “Hey, Izzy. I thought maybe we could catch a bite to eat before the party tonight.”
Son of a bitch. No way could she go out with a predator like Barrington. He only wanted one thing from her, and once he had it, he’d throw her out like yesterday’s garbage.
Isabella slid a glance to him before looking up at Jordan. “I’ve got to make the cake pops. Maybe another time?”
Tristan realized he had curled his fingers into tight fists as everything in him screamed to order her not to go out with that kid tonight. But he didn’t have that right. Not as her boss. Not as her friend. Not as her lover. And certainly not as her Dom. She was free to make her own choices and her own mistakes. He had to afford her the same opportunity as every other freshman to experience the consequences of her decisions, even if the Dom in him wanted to protect her from them.
Jordan’s smile didn’t falter at Isabella’s rejection. “Sure. I’ll just pick you up at ten like we planned.” He turned his attention to Tristan, almost as if he hadn’t noticed he was in the room until now. “I’d like to go over my business plan with you. See where I can make improvements. This class is important to me.”
Kiss ass. “Mr. Barrington, I gave you an A.”
“Yeah, but my father says there’s no such thing as perfection. There’s always room for improvement. And if I’m going to someday become CEO of my family’s multi-million dollar, tier-one automotive supply company, then I have to be the best,” he said, no doubt for Isabella’s benefit. “Everything I do has ramifications on my future. Izzy understands what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
“I . . . uh . . .” she said, appearing flustered as she gathered up her things. “I’m going to go start the research on that project we discussed, Professor Kelley.” She gave Jordan a little wave and a tight smile. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Jordan’s gaze was glued to Isabella’s ass as she fled the room.
Tristan might not be able to prevent tonight’s date from occurring, but he certainly had the means to make Jordan squirm. “I’m glad you came to my office, Mr. Barrington. Tell me, how did you come up with your idea for your business plan?”
And as Jordan hemmed and hawed, Tristan suppressed his grin.
Sometimes, it came in handy being a sadi
st.
Chapter 5
Isabella pulled open the door of her dorm room, already second guessing her decision to go out with Jordan. The last time she’d ignored her intuition, she’d almost died. But Jordan wasn’t Tony, and he hadn’t done anything to warrant the unease spreading through her.
It didn’t help that since she’d gotten Tony’s note, she’d felt as though someone was watching her every time she walked across campus to her classes. She was probably being silly. After all, she’d spoken to the Assistant District Attorney who’d been in charge of her case, and he assured her that although Tony had been released from the hospital, he was calling in to his probation officer, and with the exception of the note, honoring the terms of the Personal Protection Order. He promised to speak to the probation officer about the note, but didn’t seem too concerned about it. As long as Tony stayed far, far away, she could handle the occasional written contact from him. She just wouldn’t read it.
When Jordan arrived to pick her up, she darted into the hallway rather than invite him inside. Cat had left already, and Isabella didn’t feel comfortable being alone in her dorm room with him.
She definitely noticed the way his gaze raked over her from top to bottom. While she was flattered, she hoped he remembered she was going with him as a friend. Not a date.
“Wow, you look beautiful.” He took the container filled with cake pops she’d baked for tonight’s party from her hands and lifted it to his nose. “And man, this smells good. Or is that you?”
They proceeded down the stairs to the lobby of the dorm, passing a few giggling girls on the way, all of them ogling Jordan. “No, I’m sure it’s the cake pops. Although, I do end up smelling like whatever I bake. The curse of being a baker.”
“I’d call it a blessing,” he said as they walked outside and headed toward the parking lot. “Can I have one or do I need to pay a dollar?”
She’d shared her plan to sell the cake pops during class when she’d agreed to go with him to the frat party. But she hadn’t given him the full picture of her new venture. “No, of course you can have one. Although you might want to wait until we get to your house. They’re spiked, if you know what I mean.”
“Seriously?” He led her to his car, a silver Porsche Boxster, and opened the passenger door for her. “You made pot cakes?”
“I meant alcohol, although there isn’t enough to intoxicate you.” Annoyed by Jordan’s assumption, she slid inside the car and took the cake pops, setting them on her lap. “Well, I guess if you ate the whole batch.”
He got into the driver’s seat and started the car. “That’s awesome. I heard a guy say he could make suckers with THC.”
“Why would anyone want to eat that?”
“Can’t you imagine it?” Tires screeching, Jordan peeled out of the parking lot, just barely missing some students walking toward the dorm. “You’re walking around campus with a fucking lollipop in your mouth and no one knows you’re totally getting baked? Now if you made those, I’d invest. We’d make a killing.”
“That’s illegal.”
He smiled at her, not watching the road. “It’s only illegal if you get caught.”
“No, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal no matter what.” She sighed, reconsidering her decision to go with him to this party. “I’m not interested in getting people buzzed on anything other than sugar. The alcohol simply gives the cake some of the flavor mimicking alcoholic drinks. I made bushwackers, buttery nipples, blow jobs, and orgasms.”
“Fuck, Izzy, you’re making me hard with the names of those desserts.” He shifted in his seat. “Are you seriously gonna go around the party asking guys to buy your blow jobs?”
Tony had always called her Izzy. She couldn’t stand it. “Well, not exactly like that, but yeah. I thought the names would get everyone’s attention.”
“Uh, yeah. Of course they will. But I’ve got to tell you, I know these guys, and the idea of you . . .” He shook his head then grabbed her hand. “How ‘bout I just buy the whole lot from you, then we can spend the rest of the night having fun?”
A chill passed through her. His touch just made it that much clearer that she wasn’t attracted to him. “It’s one-hundred and fifty bucks for it all.”
He chuckled as he turned onto the street of fraternity and sorority houses. “That’s it? Hell, that’s less than what I spend on a typical Friday night anyway.”
She took a deep breath, controlling her temper. “Unlike you, I don’t come from money. I have to work for everything.”
“Izzy, I’m sorry.” He parked on the side of the road and shut off the engine. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s okay that you’re poor. I’m just trying to protect you from a bunch of horny guys.”
Uncomfortable, she removed her seatbelt, ready to put some space between them. “It’s not your job to do that.”
He angled his body toward her, his gaze dropping to her lips, sending a clear signal he was about to kiss her. “But I want it to be. I thought maybe you and I could—”
“I just got out of a relationship, and I’m not ready to start a new one,” she blurted out.
His jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed for just a second before his face relaxed into a friendly smile. “Relationship? Who’s talking about a relationship? I just thought we could have a good time together. Let me write you a check for the whole batch. And before you say no, think of it as me treating the guys.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “If they’re free, they’re more likely to eat them and rave about them later to their friends. Pure marketing strategy.”
Maybe she had misjudged him, prejudiced by his similarity to Tony. If she accepted his offer to buy the entire lot of cake pops, she’d have a little time to kick back and enjoy herself tonight without worrying so much about making money. “Okay. I made flyers with my cell number, so they can call for orders.”
“That’s great, babe,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. “Almost like it’s a real business. Let’s go in and I’ll introduce you to the right people.” He jumped out of the car before she could voice her retort.
Screw him. She’d use him to buy her cake pops and introduce her to his friends, and hopefully, she’d go home tonight with a few new business contacts.
Carrying the cake pops herself, she got out of the car and went with him up the drive to the house. A few people sat on the porch smoking, and Jordan gave them a curt nod as he snaked his arm around her waist and led her through the door of the frat house as if displaying his ownership of her. But rather than embarrass him by shrugging him off, she clenched her teeth and bared it.
The thumping bass of rap music vibrated against her chest and the cloying smell of pot hung in the hazy air. Lucky for her, that meant there’d be plenty of people with the munchies.
Jordan led her through the kitchen and down the stairs to the basement. A knot of tension formed in her belly, and it wasn’t the good kind like she’d experienced the last time a man had taken her to a basement.
Funny, she had been more comfortable entering a BDSM dungeon than the basement of a frat house filled with people her own age doing what people her age did in college.
A few guys sat on an S-shaped couch and played Call of Duty while the nearby girls tried to get their attention by gyrating to the music and grinding on one another. And of course, there was a keg that no frat party would be complete without.
So cliché. She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Clichés were clichés for a reason. She’d just hoped for something different. Not that she expected college students to forego beer for coffee and video games for political and philosophical discussions. Just like high school, she didn’t fit in with the rest of the students.
She set the container of cake pops on the bar by the keg, catching the attention of a guy filling his cup with beer. “Why hello, Little Red. On your way to grandma’s house with some treats?”
“Don’t be an asshat, Brett,” Jordan said. “This is Isabella. We take Intro to Business togeth
er. She’s got her own little business.” He turned to her. “What are you calling it?”
“Dirty Ice. I specialize in sexy desserts.”
Brett’s gaze dropped to her chest. “Like bachelor party titty cakes?”
She pasted on the fakest smile she could muster, not that he was looking at it, and handed him one of the treats. “Sure.”
“Awesome.”
Spotting the confections, a couple of the grinding girls stopped their dancing and ran over. “Those are so cute! What’s the calorie count on them?” asked one of them, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder.
Jordan left her to go to the keg, talking to another girl as he filled his cup. Was it crazy she hoped he’d hook up with the chick and leave her alone?
“Same as a shot of vodka,” Isabella said, lying through her teeth. It was at least twice the amount of calories as a shot of vodka, but judging by the girl’s jutting hip bones, she could use the extra calories.
The blonde licked her lips. “I’ll take two.”
Choosing two different flavors, the girl immediately devoured one, her eyes practically rolling back in her head. “Oh, my God. You should totally sell these.”
Isabella picked up one of her flyers and held it out for her. “Actually, I am—”
“Have a drink,” Jordan said as the girls walked off without the flyer, shoving a cup of rank smelling beer under her nose.
She took the cup and placed it on the bar behind her. “No, I’m good.”
“Izzy, we’re at a party.” He threw an arm around her and pulled her to his side. “Loosen up.”
So much for him hooking up with someone else. She shirked out of his hold. “I don’t drink and I really hate being called Izzy.”
“Fine.” His eyes flashed dark as he picked up the cup and lifted it to her lips. “Isabella. One drink won’t hurt.”
A chill passed through her. He was way too fixated on getting her to accept the drink. She’d heard the horror stories about guys slipping ruffies into girls’ drinks. “I realize that, but I choose not to drink alcohol or do drugs. It’s my choice, and I’d appreciate you not passing judgment on it.”
