Two can play at this game.
And Sebastian might have money, but I have something he doesn't, nothing left to lose.
By the time I reach my dorm room, I've made a decision.
Becca is there, studying at her desk with headphones on. She doesn't look up when I enter, which is a blessing, I am not in the mood to tell her what happened tonight.
I drop my coat, sit on my bed, and open the folder Sebastian's coordinator gave me.
The contract is standard. Five dates, social media documentation, completion required by February 14th. Failure to complete results in return of auction proceeds.
So I can't back out. Can't refuse. Can't even half-ass it without losing the money.
Fine.
I pull out my phone and open a new note. Start making a plan.
Operation: Survive Sebastian Thornhill
Rule 1: Minimum engagement. Polite but distant. Don't give him anything real.
Rule 2: Document everything for social media, but control the narrative. Make it look perfect. Never let anyone see the truth.
Rule 3: No vulnerability. He doesn't get to see me break.
Rule 4: Find his weaknesses. Everyone has them, even heartless assholes.
Rule 5: Get through two weeks and never think about him again.
It's not much of a plan. But it's something.
My phone buzzes again. Another text from Sebastian:Dress warm Thursday and bring skates if you have them.
I stare at the message. The fact that he's being practical, almost considerate makes me irrationally angry. I want him to be cruel. I want him to confirm everything I think about him.
This almost-kindness is more dangerous than any insult.
I don't respond, set my phone aside and pull out my laptop to work on the Victorian Lit paper that's due Friday. Work is familiar. Safe. I lose myself in analysis ofVilletteand the economics of spinsterhood.
Two hours later, my phone buzzes with another text. I ignore it.
Ten minutes after that, another one.
Finally, I check.
The first message:You're not going to respond?
The second:Fine. But you should know I don't bite. Usually.
I type back before I can stop myself:You've been biting for two years. Why stop now?
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
His response:Fair point. See you Thursday, Monroe.
I throw my phone on my bed and go back to my paper.
My concentration fractures as Thursday crowds every thought, the reality settling in. Two weeks trapped with Sebastian Thornhill.
