It’s hard to pretend I’m not bothered by Trent. The alternative, however, is letting him win. So, as I walk through the barren hall, I think of a time before. Before I lost my smile. Before the year I turned ten, when my sister moved us into yet another mansion. Before I met the boyfriend, Tony, who owned it. Before I realized he was beyond scary.
Okay, way to not think of depressing shit, Payton.
I shake my head and brush away my memories.
No place for them—here, now, or ever.
“You’re late.” I hear from behind me.
Turning, I see Trent standing at the other side of the hall.
He starts to walk toward me until we are inches apart.
I didn’t expect him here. Doesn’t he work?
I certainly didn’t expect him to be dressed in casual clothes.
It’s four thirty on a workday.
Yet here he is, standing in gym shorts and a T-shirt.
I take him in.
I might not be able to see his chest, but I don’t need to in order to know his body is insane.
I can see that he is lean but cut, even with the shirt on.
Look away.
Don’t allow him to catch you staring.
I lift my gaze from his chest, and of course, my perusal didn’t go unnoticed.
“Enjoying the view?”
“Nope. Don’t bank on making a dime on starring in postcards, honey,” I fire back.
“The lady doth protest too much.” Jeez, what’s up with everyone and Shakespeare.
First Heather, now him. Is this some cosmic joke implying that my life is a tragedy?
“I wish your vocabulary matched your manners, Aldridge.”
“You have drool on your mouth.”
I almost lift my hand to swipe at my jaw. Almost. But thank God, I don’t. I would never hear the end of it if I did.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“Is that any way to talk to me, your generous benefactor?”
I stand quietly.
Generous, my ass. The money isn’t even his.
Trent continues, “I’m here to inform you that your first assignment is approaching. The books are in my library. On the desk. Remember, you will be telling the staff and me everything valuable you have learned from the stack of books in one month.”
Stack?
As in multiple?
Dread builds in my stomach. I don’t let him see it, pretending to be unaffected by his tyrant behavior.
“Thanks! Got it,” I say in an overly sunshiny manner, turning away from him, bound for my room.
“I’m not finished with you.” His voice doesn’t raise, yet it manages to boom through the hallway.
I stop in my tracks. Afraid of what he will say next. Afraid of whatever way he’s found to torture me this time.
“You need to clean my gym,” he demands.
“Anything else, sir?” I spit out.
He grins, and again, I feel a pang of excitement when I can make him do that.
“Don’t be late tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“You’re not to ask questions, Payton. You’re to listen. Do you understand?” He speaks to me as if I’m a child.
I’m pissed off. So pissed off, it’s hard to focus.
I nod, not trusting myself with words, but that’s apparently not good enough.
His right eyebrow lifts. “Words.”
“Yes,” I bite out slowly, as sarcastically as possible.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I understand.” My mouth is tight enough to make the words come out in a rigid tone that barely escapes the barrier of my teeth.
“That will do. Even though I did enjoy that last sir you used. I expect you not to be late tomorrow. I know you spent time with your friend today after class ended.”
“How do you know that?”
“Your phone.”
“My phone . . . ?”
The most genuine smile I’ve ever seen on him graces his face. Of course, it’s at my expense. “When I turned the phone back on, I installed a Find My Phone app.”
“You tracked me?”
“Are you surprised?”
My face must reflect horror because he laughs, and it makes me angrier.
I throw my hands in the air. “Are you insane?”
“Probably certifiable, but that’s your problem, not mine.”
“You’re tracking me, asshole?”
“We’ve established this already.” He gives me a look that suggests I am the biggest idiot on earth.
If he were a preteen, I would have expected him to roll his eyes at me.
But lucky for me, he’s a grown-ass man because instead of dragging this conversation out any longer, he walks past where I’m standing and motions for me to follow him. Then I’m being led down another hallway and a hidden set of stairs.
How large is this place?
On the bottom level, a full gym covers an open floor plan. Boxing ring and all.
“Clean all the towels.” The command rolls off his tongue, so easy for him.
He’s getting used to ordering me around.
A part of me dares to challenge him, but I know it won’t be any use. It’ll only make things worse.
“Okay.”
Translation: Screw you, jackass.
“And all the surfaces need to be wiped down.”
With my spit? Don’t mind if I do.
“Got it.”
“Sweep, vacuum, mop, then hand clean the floors. I’m a fan of the four-step method.”