by Knox, Abby
She pauses, bites one of her juicy lips. “Someone will see us together. Don’t you think that’s weird?”
She’s hesitating. Good. I should have guessed. Teenagers are always hungry. “You are eighteen, are you not?”
“Yes.”
“Then no. I don’t give a shit. It’s just food. And if you want me to go, I’ll go. Just say so.”
Finally she shakes her head and slides into the passenger seat. After she slams the door, she digs a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap out of her beach bag.
“What are you doing?”
“Disguising myself,” she hisses.
“You could always lie down on my lap and hide properly,” I say before I can stop myself.
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
10
Rushmore
“Frozen burritos?”
I must be a huge snob in her eyes, because I physically wince when she tells me what she wants to eat. But here we are, parked in the street in front of her house, because she’d actually prefer going inside rather than going out to a nice restaurant.
“Yes. I want one of those vegan burritos I keep in the freezer,” she says.
“But your parents...”
“My mom won’t be home until tomorrow, and Dad is meeting with a client over dinner. They always go late. So I wouldn’t mind the company.”
I try to sound nice but it comes out rude. “I can’t let you eat that garbage.”
As expected, she bristles. “It’s not garbage and yes, you can let me eat what I want, especially if you want to spend time with me. First order of business: I don’t like fancy restaurants. I like pajamas and trash TV and the frozen foods section of the grocery store.”
My hands grip the steering wheel until the leather squeaks. I could show this woman the world, and she wants to sit around in pajamas eating TV dinners?
“I wasn’t expecting that,” I say. I need to find a way to get her to tell me what she really wants, because I want her to have everything just as much as I want her.
“You know what, Mr. Rushmore? I don’t even know what this is. What exactly do you expect of me?”
I nod thoughtfully for a moment. “I’ve never done this before and you’re right. I need to be crystal clear about what I want and what is expected of you in return. So here are the rules: I’ll give you what you want. And I mean anything. In return, you are not to date anyone else. You are not to touch anyone and nobody is to touch you. I’m the only one allowed to put his hands on you. And I will see you whenever I want, day or night, and vice versa. If there’s anything you need, you come to me. I’ll care of everything.”
“Wow,” she says, biting her lip, giving it some thought. Oh, she needs something. I can tell. “This is a lot.”
I give her my most piercing gaze. “You want out? Say so. I’ll disappear and never bother you again. But if you want in, then we’re all in.”
She twists her lip and knits her brows together.
“One more thing. Gifts are going to flood into your life. Credit cards. Debit cards. Flowers. Clothes. Shoes. Some things won’t be easily missed by your parents. I’m not going to hold back.”
She winces, but she can’t hide the look of excitement. So damn sexy. Greedy little thing. And why shouldn’t she be? She deserves all of it and more.
“You told me you want to be treated like an adult. So it’s up to you to explain to others how all these changes came in your life. You can tell them the truth, or you can refuse to talk, or you can hide it, or you can lie. But I warn you, lying doesn’t end well. You’ll just have to figure it out.”
“Again, this is a lot,” she repeats.
I give her a moment and as she thinks I study her angelic face. After a few moments she sighs and looks up at me. This is it. I’m about to get the boot. I’ve saddled this pure young thing with too much responsibility. But to my surprise and delight, she looks up at me seductively through her lashes.
“What do I call you? Are you my boyfriend? My friend? My sugar daddy?”
I swivel toward her and lift her chin to face me. “Sugar daddy is beneath me. I’m not an old man trying to relive his youth. I’m investing in your future. Simply think of me as your benefactor.”
11
Hunter
His hand slips over mine and the familiar ripple of pleasure vibrates from my toes all the way up to the nape of my neck. Just from simply holding his hand. I can act as sassy as I want with him but the truth is, he’s got me. Hook, line and sinker.
The sun is starting to set and the light streaming in from behind me plays across his face, making his eyes show flecks of green, and casting a gold and silver light across his brow and eyelashes. I knew he was handsome, but in this moment I realize he’s actually…beautiful.
“Do you want to come in?” I offer.
Rushmore looks deep in thought then leans closer to me. He lifts my hand and kisses the back of it. His lips and stubble graze my skin, stirring up anticipation in every pore.
“You’re not ready for that,” he says, his voice low. Gravelly. Vibrating deep between my thighs.
I want to protest. I want to insist that I am ready, but his lips against my skin turn me into a puddle.
“Just…call me when you need anything at all,” he insists.
Can I tell him what I really want is for him to come inside and eat snacks with me? Talk to me? Keep me company?
But no, I don’t think that’s what this relationship is.
“OK,” I say. “There is one thing.”
“Anything. Anything at all. Name it.”
I swallow, knowing this is my first negotiation with him. “If you want me to be on the swim team this year, we need new uniforms. And I want all new swim gear too for all of us. Not just me—freshmen, JV, and varsity. Goggles, caps, the whole thing. Everything needs replaced.”
He takes in a breath to respond but I cut him off by holding up a finger in the air. “And don’t even think of putting your company logo on anything, I know how you corporate types work.”
He smirks at me. “Fair enough. No corporate logos. I was going to say, before you interrupted me, that I’d rather you choose something you want that’s just for you. But I’ll do what you ask.”
He punctuates his declaration with a squeeze of my hand, blinking at me slowly with hooded eyes. A wave of warmth rushes over me.
“Then I should warn you. It’s not just me who is unhappy. Ridley, Hadley, all of them—they’re all going to quit the team. So get ready. You might be spending a lot of money only to be forcing the coach to assemble a whole new varsity team.”
He stares at me for a moment and then a laugh bubbles up. “That’s adorable.”
I shake my head. “I’m dead serious. We’re all quitting. Even Addie, my perfect, compliant best friend. I was just texting her the news before you stopped me on the road. We’re all in. It’s going to be a bloodbath, Mr. Rushmore.”
I don’t know what I did, but something I said makes him bite and then moisten his lips. The brief glimpse of his tongue gives me a shiver. I know what he wants to do with that tongue. Things I’ve never done before. My breathing becomes shallow.
His eyes land on my mouth, and he sort of squints like he’s trying to figure something out. His deepening crow’s feet cause a damp heat to pool in my undies.
“They can try. I won’t let that happen,” he says, offering that familiar regal, satisfied smirk.
“How are you going to do that?”
His smirk turns to a real smile. “You’ve never had a rich relative threaten to cut up your credit cards, have you?” He appears impressed with how not spoiled I am.
“Is it really that easy with Ridley? Can she so easily be bought?” I ask, immediately regretting the question, as his face darkens.
“Sadly, yes. And that’s my fault.” He grinds his jaw. “It’s something we’ve been working on as a family.”
Mr. Rushmore doesn’t realize it, but this
small insight might have just won me over. While his eyes are fixed on something off in the distance, I remove my ball cap and sunglasses.
“What’s your first name? Or should I call you Daddy? Or sir?”
He glowers. “I told you, I’m not your sugar daddy. It’s beneath me. You may call me by my given name, Anthony, when we’re alone together, if you must. But everyone simply calls me Rushmore. Maintains my persona.”
This guy might be an uber powerful executive who sends people cowering under his haughty gaze. But here, with me? He has no idea how fucking adorably dorky he is. I’m officially sold on older men. Well, I’m sold on this particular older man.
I lean over and plant a delicate kiss on his stubbled cheek. “Anthony,” I whisper. He inhales sharply at the touch of my lips. The leather and fresh linen scent of his skin urges me to take more.
The whiskers are rough but nice. I can’t help but think of how they might feel rubbing this way and that over the skin of my neck, my chest, my breast…and my untouched pussy. Oh, jeez. Slow down, girl.
“Thank you,” I murmur against his cheek.
Surprised, he turns to me, his brows knitted together.
“What was that for?”
I reply, “For letting me see the human behind the persona.”
12
Rushmore
When Hunter unexpectedly kissed my cheek, I felt a white-hot urge to bring her close to me. I could have driven her somewhere, anywhere.
But I left her street feeling empty.
It feels off, leaving any space between us at all.
My first order of business is to phone Weston Ford and tell him as my gift to him and the team, he can choose swim uniforms and whatever gear he needs, and send the bill to my assistant.
My second order of business is more of a weapon: the parent group email. With just a few clicks, I email every swim team parent with the good news about Weston Ford. I also address the rumors of a walk out being instigated by my own flesh and blood.
I can’t tell you what to do, but I'll tell you how I’m handling it. Ridley won’t like the idea of having her credit cards cut up.
I mute the replying emails. The last thing I wanted was to get caught up in a massive group email back and forth. I prefer to drop bombs and leave the scene.
Yes, this was a massive amount of manipulation on my part, but the school needs a win. And I need Bianca happy. She’s been complaining about Ridley’s spoiled attitude for years, accusing me of not being tough enough on her. Now that I know what I know—thanks to Hunter—that’s going to change.
I hustle back to the house and park the Range Rover out front, tossing the keys to Smith, the family’s personal driver. He’s outside and looking out of sorts at all our guests’ cars parked haphazardly on the side lawn. When I make my way to the back patio, our butler, Pearce, asks if I’d like something to drink. Good man, that Pearce.
I tell him I’ll take a Pimm’s cup. It’s a bit of a fussy drink but it’s perfect for late summer evenings and I feel like savoring the moment.
“I’ll be on the stairs keeping an eye on our guests, Pearce. Thank you.” He nods and I amble out to the terraced garden again, overlooking Ridley and her friends as they continue to lounge by the pool. The energy of the crowd has changed. I can only assume the chattering is about how they’re going to stage this massive coup.
And then all of the their phones begin to blow up while I watch the scene play out.
Perhaps I shouldn’t enjoy wielding this much control. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so petty. But I can’t help it. I come by it honestly. I wasn’t handed the family business; I earned it by busting my ass, failing, picking myself up, and trying again. I never got a bailout or even a single red cent of startup money from my father.
Whatever control I wield in my world, I’ve earned it.
I hear one of the girls shriek with displeasure at a text she’s just received.
I see Ridley’s shocked face when Hadley shows her the text.
A phone rings, and one of the other girls answers it. Just then Pearce appears next to me with my drink.
I nod at him and say, “Thank you, Pearce.”
He nods. “Will that be all, sir?”
I turn from him and sip my delicious drink, smiling over the scene. “Have Smith bring the kids’ cars around to the front. I have a feeling our guests will be leaving shortly.”
13
Hunter
If I went to bed last night with any doubts, I wake up filled with hope when my day begins with a text from Rushmore.
Good morning, beautiful.
So simple yet it sends a wave of warmth down my spine that settles in my belly.
I don’t text him back immediately. He knows he’s got my attention. No need to make him think I’m pining away, waiting for him to pay attention to me. Besides, there’s something wonderful and powerful knowing that I’ve got a drop dead gorgeous man and powerful CEO waiting around for me to text him back.
I practically waltz through the kitchen, making omelets and coffee in a dream state.
The smell finally rouses Dad from upstairs. He’s already dressed for work.
“Going in early today? When’s Mom coming home?”
He nods and says, “Her plane landed an hour ago. She’s headed straight to a hospital board meeting, so she’ll be home this afternoon.”
“Oh,” I say, slightly defeated. “I was hoping to talk to her about my independent study. I might need you guys to sign off on a couple of things I’m going to try this year.”
He shrugs and makes a satisfied noise while sipping his coffee. “I’m sure whatever you have in mind will be fine. Nice flowers.”
I chew the inside of my lip, waiting for Dad to ask where they came from. But he doesn’t ask.
“I got lots of nice compliments on closing night. Wish you and Mom could have been there.”
Dad pushes one of the omelets onto a plate and takes out a fork.
“Thanks for breakfast, sweetheart. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the show. Those shows are so long and I’m in the middle of discovery for this case, and it’s taking up all my time. But listen, I heard about Weston Ford and I promise you that Mom and I will not be missing a single swim meet this year. It’s exciting, isn’t?”
I’m so over it I’m ready to quit the swim team right then and there, bargain or no bargain with Rushmore. Instead I pivot and blurt out my entire plan for my independent study, because it has nothing to do with swim and everything to do with the future that I want.
“Dad, I’m going to be co-directing the all-school winter musical and making costumes.”
He nods, half interested, as he wolfs down his omelet without even sitting down. Doesn’t want to wrinkle his suit.
I take a deep breath and blurt out the other part of my plan. “And second semester I’m going to find a talent agent and go on auditions.”
Dad cocks his head and sets down his plate. “How is that going to happen?”
“Well, if I can manage to get auditions, I’ll have to fly to LA or New York, mostly. I’m not sure, but I’ve already put my headshots out there.”
“Wait, what? Headshots? Agents? What the hell, Hunter? We talked about how impractical this one-track-mind mentality is.”
My nostrils flare. “No, you and Mom told me that my lifelong dream of acting is impractical. I’m starting to think you don’t believe in me. How could you, when you haven’t been to a single performance I’ve done since middle school?”
He leans his head back and looks at the ceiling, as if he can’t believe we’re having this conversation again. “You know that’s not it. You know why we’re gone all the time.” He gestures around the spacious kitchen. “Do you like having a roof over your head? This is all sponsored by your mother’s speaking fees and my billable hours. We are doing all of this for you.”
So. Damn. Insulting. “I’m not asking you to stop working; I’m just asking you to maybe listen to me.”
“And your mother and I just want you to get a degree—in theater or whatever you want—before you throw yourself into this.”
“Dad, I’m eighteen and I should have been going on auditions in middle school.”
He locks up his attaché with a cold snap. “Don’t even get me started on child actors, and don’t you dare bring that up to your mother.”
“Oh, I won’t, because she’ll drag out her charts and graphs about drug rehab.” I mentally push down the angry lump forming in my throat. “So you and Mom are not going to help me with my independent study. At all.”
Dad shrugs. “You can ask your mom, but I’m sure she’ll say the same thing. Pick some other plan of action because we are not going to pay for our only daughter to jet all over the country unsupervised.”
I shake my head and have to turn away so he can’t see how red my face is. He says goodbye with a promise that we’ll talk about this later.
To my mom, I text, Dad said no to my independent study plan but here it is: I’m getting an agent and I’m going on auditions this year. With or without your help. Broadway, LA, whatever I can get.
The phone call from Mom that follows my declaration isn’t unexpected. In what can barely be called a conversation, she echoes everything Dad said.
And then she deals the final blow: “I am in the middle of a board meeting and had to walk out to call you. Do you realize the things we’re talking about in that room? Life-saving things. Neuroscientific discoveries that could actually change the lives of children with epilepsy. And you want me to pat you on the head and say, ‘Sure, honey, go have fun in Hollywood’ and call it school? I think not. Your first swim practice is this afternoon. I’ll be home when you return from that and we’ll talk some more.”
Like a brat, I hang up on her, but she’s not done. She calls back. I silence my phone and go upstairs to put on my bikini. When I come back downstairs, I delete the entire conversation with my mother.
