Rather than going casual, I spend twenty minutes on my eyes alone, creating a dark gold smoky eye and eyeliner sharp enough to stab Everett with. I put a deep berry red color on my lips and change into the most expensive yellow dress I own.

  By the time it’s seven o'clock, I'm dressed for anything but breakfast. Perfect.

  I head downstairs with my head held high, striding into the dining room to sit across the table from Everett.

  He looks up, examining silently for a long time. I can't read his expression, and I don't meet his eyes for too long. Knowing him, he'll probably be pissed, but that's what I want.

  If he wants to make every meal such a big thing, then I can give him that.

  Finally, Everett clears his throat and says, “What are you wearing?”

  “Exactly what you wanted,” I reply, nonchalantly. When Everett’s butler Davis comes out with breakfast on that little cart of his, I hold my breath. Is Everett going to be pissed? Will I miss yet another meal?

  Instead, the man across the table simply smiles and shakes his head. “I must have forgotten what an utter smartass you are,” he replies, sitting back so that Davis can place a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him. Next to that, he places a bowl full of fruit salad.

  “I'm hurt that you would forget that about me,” I say, trying my best to mimic the way he acts, like nothing bothers him and everything is mildly obnoxious.

  Davis places food in front of me as well, and it takes everything I have not to bury my face in it. I'm ravenous, and that's enough for me to drop this entire petty act I have going on here.

  Once we're alone again, Everett spears a few chunks of scrambled eggs and says, “I feel like we need to talk about last night.”

  I don't say anything. I pick at my bowl of fruit, almost distracted with how sweet it all tastes. I want to bathe in this stuff, it’s so good.

  “First, I want to say that if you ever find yourself hungry at night, the kitchen is open to you. All I ask is that you wash any dishes you use afterwards. Second, there's the dress code situation.”

  That brings me out of my food-induced daze. “‘Situation’ is a nice way of saying it.”

  “Is it not accurate? What would you call it?”

  “Honestly, I would call it your power trip.” I know I'm walking the line, and my stomach growls, as if it's warning me to shut up before I fuck everything up and miss a second meal.

  “I'm sorry if you don't agree with the rules I've set, but they're not going to change. The way I was raised, you get dressed up for every meal. It’s tradition.”

  “Well,” I say, “Your tradition is bad, and you were a jerk for the way you reacted last night.”

  I hold my breath, prepared for another explosion. Everett's forehead wrinkles, and he looks like he's about to give me the reaction I've predicted. Instead, he calmly says,

  “Maybe I was. This is new to you, and I can't expect you to adapt right away. All I can say is that I hope you understand now that these rules have a purpose and I have a reason for putting them in place.”

  It's nowhere near an apology, but my stomach hurts too much for me to hold out for anything better. Besides, did I really think a man like Everett would ever really show remorse? That must've been a foreign word to someone who could buy their way out of any mistake and spend a little more to get on someone's good side. People like him rarely knew what the word conscientious meant. This was about as close as I would get to that.

  “I'm sorry I cursed at you last night.”

  I'm not just saying that, either. Mom always said not to speak out of anger, because all it took was one angry thought to ruin years of happiness. She'd been on the receiving end just as many times as she'd delivered that relationship-shattering blow.

  “We both played a part in the mess last night,” he says, waving it off. “This has been a rocky start, but I'm willing to try again, if you are?”

  The petty, childish side of me wants to tell him to shove it, but with everything going on now that I know why I'm here and that Mom essentially sold me off for the price of a new car, there are much bigger fish to fry.

  “Okay.” I chew a piece of bacon slowly and meet his gaze again. “Let's try again.”

  Over breakfast, I learn a lot more about Everett. When he was with Mom, he was always busy with work and I was busy trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, so we rarely saw each other. It's nice getting to learn more about him and what he does. I've always loved art, and finding out that he owns a gallery and sells expensive pieces to clients intrigues me.

  He asks about me, and I feel slightly embarrassed because I'm not anywhere near as interesting as him. I talk a lot about my friends, Erica and Whitney, and all the messes we've gotten into. For the first time since I've been here, I actually hear Everett laugh. It's nice, deep and rich, and it makes my stomach flutter much more than it should.

  After breakfast, I return to my room and spend a bit of time studying. It’s much easier to focus now that my stomach isn’t growling uncontrollably. My professor loves to spring surprise exams on us, and I want to make sure I’m well-versed in our lesson just in case he thinks he can pull a fast one.

  By the time I finish, it’s almost eleven. Lunch will be ready soon, so I head to the closet for something else that’s acceptable. After the stunt in my dressier gown, I changed back into my PJs, and this time, I decide on a classy pair of black pants and a dark red blouse decorated with roses. The blouse exposes my shoulders, which is one of my favorite parts about it.

  On my bed, my phone vibrates, and I hurry to see who the text is from. Whitney wants to know if I’m free to hang out soon. Everyone is going out to the club, and they’re asking me to join. Whitney knows one of the bartenders there, and as long as we don’t get too sloppy, he’ll serve us for free.

  I’m excited at the idea, but then I remember Everett. He’s basically my prison guard now that I’m staying with him, and I imagine if he reacted that badly about what I wore to dinner, he might be even more upset if I snuck out and got wasted with my best friends.

  Rather than answering Whitney right then and there, I head downstairs. In the foyer, I bump into Davis.

  “Afternoon, Ms. Westwood,” he says stuffily and without any warmth. Clearly he isn’t my biggest fan around these halls.

  “Davis, do you know where Everett is?”

  “Mr. Grisham is in his room right now, but—”

  “Awesome. Thanks!” I hurry off before he can finish his sentence, searching through the first floor until I find Everett’s bedroom.

  I knock a few times, but no one answers. “Everett?” I call, unsure if he can hear me or if he’s just ignoring me. When he doesn’t respond to more knocks, I try the knob. To my surprise, it twists. I open the door and take a tentative step inside.

  His bedroom is as sparsely decorated as I would’ve imagined. He has a large bed, probably a California king, against the wall facing the door, a small writing desk off in the corner, a few bookshelves and two arm chairs in a tiny nook in the room, and a large fur rug in front of the fireplace. The walls are dark wood, and the lighting is low, creating a mysterious atmosphere that I think absolutely suits him.

  Unfortunately, Everett himself is nowhere to be found. Curiously, I walk through the room, stopping in the closet. Suit jackets of various colors and cuts line one rack, followed by matching pants underneath it. On the other side are his more casual clothes. I hope to find a few graphic tees that give him a little more personality, but unfortunately, most of what he wears varies between white button up shirts, sweaters, and solid colored t-shirts.

  “God, is he always so boring?” I ask to myself.

  “Is who so boring?” Everett asks from behind me.

  My heart skips a beat, and I spin around to see Everett step out of the bathroom, the steam framing him like a scene from a movie. Even more startling than his sudden presence is his nudity. He steps into the bedroom, naked as the day he was born, his eyes trained on me.

  I swallow hard and try not to let curiosity get the better of me. “I… I…” The words won’t come out, not with him approaching me like this. And against all my attempts to keep my eyes up, I can’t help but glance down at what hangs between his legs. Everett’s cock is long and thick, even without him being hard. Even more surprising is the thick patch of hair above it. I would’ve taken him for a clean-shaven kind of guy. Everything else about him is so neat, prim, and proper.

  “Might I ask what you’re doing in my room, Lane?” Everett continues his walk towards me, but it feels more like a slow crawl. I shift on my feet and drop my eyes, studying the lush carpet instead.

  “I wanted to ask you about going out this weekend.”

  I feel Everett’s body heat wash over me when he’s close enough, and despite my embarrassment of getting caught, I can’t help but shiver just a little. I imagine reaching my hands out and brushing my fingertips over his hard body, feeling that muscle against me. It’s enough to make me internally groan at the thought.

  Everett slips past me and opens a drawer to remove a pair of black boxer briefs. I watch as he steps into his underwear, overcome with a mixture of relief and slight disappointment. When he turns around to face me, he still wears that disinterested face.

  “Where are you going?”

  “My friends and I were just going to go to a little bar. Play pool, catch up, that sort of thing.”

  He thinks for a moment, then says, “You can only go if you’re home by ten.”

  My face contorts and I almost laugh. Is he serious? “Ten? The bars don’t even get interesting until at least eleven, Everett! That’s ridiculous.”

  “Ten o’clock, or you don’t go at all.”

  I can feel that petulant, disobedient itch inside me come to life, and I know how momentarily amazing it would feel to throw a fit and curse him out. He’s basically kidnapped me, and now he’s telling me that I can’t even see my friends and spend time with them without him still being in control of me.

  “Can we at least do eleven?” I give him my best puppy-dog eyes, but he seems frustratingly unaffected.

  “Ten.” Everett reaches around me for a white shirt.

  Clearly, he’s not budging. Rather than arguing with him, I bite my tongue and hold back the evil glare I feel bubbling up inside me. Mom always said when I was upset, all it took was one look to show it.

  “Fine,” I say, forcing a smile. This close, I can smell his woodsy cologne and what I assume to be aftershave. Why is everything about him so goddamn perfect? “I’ll be home by ten, Daddy.”

  I surprise both of us with that one. I meant it sarcastically, as in Everett’s acting like a completely overbearing and unfair father, but from the way his eyes widen, I can tell he’s taken it another way. For just a moment, I see his tough-guy schtick crack, and underneath that, I can see him for what he is. He’s a man, complete with his own weaknesses and vices, and I think he’s just shown me one of them.

  Without saying another word, I smile and head back to my room, putting this newfound information into a mental cabinet for later. Just in case.

  5

  Everett

  M aybe I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. Maybe I overestimated my ability to stay impartial to Lane. I’ve tried my best to remind myself that I’m only looking out for her until her mother’s situation settles down, but since that afternoon in the closet two weeks ago, I’ve felt the air change around us.

  Daddy.

  Hearing her call me that, joking or not, shouldn’t have affected me the way it did. It shouldn’t have stirred something inside of me awake, especially considering I’d done so well to keep it asleep. But the simple fact is that it did, and since then, I’ve replayed it over and over again.

  I’ve recalled the way her lips formed the word, tongue bouncing against the roof of her mouth with both syllables. The look in her eyes as she said it, satisfied with the way I reacted to hearing it. And even more powerful than either of those images, the way she strutted out of the room, practically gloating.

  She knew exactly what she’d done in that moment. I’m only thankful she wasn’t looking down, otherwise she might’ve seen my cock twitch beneath my underwear.

  I need to clear my head. I need to make sure that I’m thinking straight, otherwise I might cross a line and do something that would make this entire scenario that much more complicated. And at the moment, complicated is the very last thing I need.

  Rather than stewing on what my reaction meant and whether I’m strong enough to fight off my desires, I decide to try and do a bit of work from home. In my office, I skim through my emails for any that need immediate responses. After touching base with a few tentative clients, my cellphone rings.

  Justine.

  Speaking of complicated.

  Though I’m annoyed just at the sight of her name, I’m also relieved that she’s finally getting back to me. I tried to get in contact with her earlier, to no avail. Three calls is my limit, and when she didn’t answer the third, I decided she was more than likely busy keeping her ex from killing her.

  “Yes, Justine?” I say, struggling to keep the irritation from my voice. Talking to her, it comes naturally.

  “Sorry I’ve missed your calls. I’ve just… I’ve been busy.”

  “You seemed more than ready to talk when you wanted money.”

  She sighs with exhaustion. “I know. I’m still trying to calm Derek down, though. He’s pissed at me for disappearing and the fact that he had to threaten me to get it back.”

  “Why not do what you always do and convince him with sex?” I can’t help the bitterness.

  When we were together, she always used sex to convince me to do something for her. At first, I found it exciting to have someone with as high a sex drive as me, but it quickly became tiresome. Her sensuality became an annoyance, and then, the thought of sleeping with her turned me off entirely. After that, I discovered the truth about her relationship with Derek, and that was the final straw.

  “How much longer will you be watching Lane?” she asks.

  “As long as Derek is still a problem. It really depends on what you do.”

  “He’s just really mad,” she mumbles. “I tried to explain to him why I left in the first place, but he wasn’t interested. He—uh… He put his hands on me.”

  Hearing that makes my skin prickle. Justine isn’t my favorite person by any means, but something about a man harming a woman instantly boils my blood and makes me see red, no matter who that woman is. Justine may be a lot of things, but she’s certainly not deserving of that.

  “You need to leave him,” I say, rolling a pen back and forth on my desk. “I know you have a hard time doing that, but this affects your daughter, Justine. Stop beating around the bush. Give him the money and tell him that he’s going to need to let the past go.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” she says.

  “What?”

  “You let our past go like it meant nothing to you.”

  Not this again. I internally groan. “Justine, can we please not do this right now? I’m not in the mood to deal with you and your finger-pointing. You didn’t cheat on me because I stopped loving you. You cheated on me because you stopped loving me.”

  “You’re such an asshole,” she mutters.

  “Maybe. But at least I was faithful. Figure your shit out, Justine. Get your life together. When you do that, I’ll let Lane go back with you.”

  “She’s my daughter, Everett. You’re not her parent.”

  “I’m the only one willing to do the fucking job and look after her.”

  I can feel myself getting angry, and I try to relax. This always happens when I talk to her. That’s why I stopped. Justine is the kind of person that hates when anyone else suggests they can do something better than she herself can do, especially when it comes to looking after Lane. Unfortunately for her, I have the means and the desire to actually protect Lane.

  Even after the Daddy incident in the closet.

  Truthfully, the best thing to do would probably be to let Lane go back to her mother sooner rather than later. She’s been good the past few weeks, but I know she misses Justine, and more than that, she’s getting restless. She quit her job and accepted the daily allowance I gave her, but I can tell she’s bored. She reads voraciously, always with her nose in a book, and she’ll occasionally bring it to dinner if I don’t tell her to leave them in the library. Getting back to her normal life would be good, but…

  Sometimes I wonder what would happen if she stayed here for good. Having her company has been surprisingly pleasant considering the start we had. My only concern is that I won’t be able to hold back this thing inside me that wants to press Lane against the wall and have her call me that name one more time. Slowly, with that same look in her eyes.

  “I have to go,” Justine says suddenly.

  Before I can reply, she ends the call. Typical, flaky Justine again. I don’t know why I ever expect her to have matured since the last time we talked. Maybe Justine’s not the one that’s insane. Maybe I’ve lost my mind.

  —

  There’s a rhythmic thudding somewhere in the house that rouses me from my sleep. Blinking a few times, I think it’s my imagination, but the persistent noise says it isn’t. Groggily, I sit up and check the time. Almost two in the morning. Whoever is making this noise is going to be in for it for waking me up so early.

  Rubbing my eyes, I begin searching through the house, trying to locate it. Down the hall of the west wing of the house, I find the location, and my stomach sinks.

  The music is coming from the room I never enter. With dread in my stomach, I twist open the knob to find Lane sitting on a stool, bobbing her head and singing as she paints on a large easel in the center of the room.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I demand. She jumps and spins around, looking at me.

 

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