He stares at me for about ten seconds, his brow furrowed. Then, an absolutely gorgeous smile spreads across his face. What a smile. He so rarely smiled growing up, it makes me sad for little Johnny Brandt. Although it probably didn’t help that a tiny ballerina was always sassing him.
And then he starts laughing. I wish he didn’t have such pretty blue eyes and perfect teeth, because I really want to punch him when he laughs at me like that. But I also don’t want to mess up that area on the front of his head that I’ll have to look at every day for a month.
John stands up, crosses his arms, and steps toward me, blue eyes still sparkling. He bites his lower lip and then says, “It never occurred to me that you would prostitute yourself. There are financial terms, yes, but they are in exchange for your time, not your body. Olivia, I hope you know that above all else, I am still your brother’s oldest and closest friend. It’s going to be difficult enough navigating my friendship with him while we progress through this coming month, but at the very least let me say that I do care about you and have no intention of putting you in any position that you aren’t comfortable with.”
As he takes a breath, his eyes lower from my eyes, down the length of my torso, lingering around my exposed lower belly, and back up to my mouth, before he licks his lips and continues. “To be clear, Olivia: If you and I ever fuck each other, itwillbe consensual…”
He leans toward me, the side of his face nearly touching mine. I feel his breath in my ear.
“And I promise you will enjoy it. But no matter how good it is. No matter how much you want it. No matter how beautiful you are or how hard my cock gets every time you open that sassymouth of yours. No matter how many times I might think about pleasuring you until you forget why you ever called me Johnny B. Nerdballs. No matter how often I think about fucking the living daylights out of you on any given day,” he says, “I am not going to have time to fuck you nonstop every day for thirty days. Because I have a very tight, ambitious schedule. Because I run a business, and I have a multitude of goals and tasks and meetings that I have to focus on. That’s why it’s not a negotiable term.” He stands upright again and says, “Understand?”
Holy shit.
Roller coaster drop.
John grabs both of my arms as I fall into him, because I actually get light-headed and my legs turn to jelly. “You okay?” he asks.
“What? Yes.”
Holy. Shit. I just lost my balance while standing still. Me. A professional ballerina. Did I just swoon? Is that what swooning is?Because of Johnny B. Nerdballs? Because of words?
He loosens his grip, reminding me that he’s still holding me.
I pull away from him and straighten myself up. “I’m fine. And yes, I understand.”
Where’s the fucking pen so I can sign this thing?
As if reading my mind, he reaches for the pen that’s on the table right in front of me and holds it up for me. I swipe it from him. I can definitely make this work. There are terms. Rules. God knows the ballerina in me loves rules and consistency.Iknow that I need structure, and I don’t even want to know what I’d become without it. But this will be an experimental side project. This will be like an unchoreographed dance. And I am going to lead.
I’ll have some fun with this puzzling, sexy nerd for the rest of the summer and then get back to my life in a month. Easy like Sunday morning.
I sign the damn contract.
“Excellent,” he says. “I’ll scan this and email it as a secure attachment.” Handing me a business card, he continues, “This is my personal phone number. Please don’t share it with anyone.”
“What about Nathan or my parents?”
“They have it.”
“Great. Happy to be the last of the Montgomerys to get your number.”
Ignoring that, John says, “Text me your email address as soon as possible, will you? Oh, and there’s an investor who’ll be in town tomorrow. I’m having dinner with him and his wife here in the city. I’d like you to join me for that. If you’re free.”
“Yeah, I work the lunch shift tomorrow, so sure.”
“You don’t have to work at the restaurant anymore, Olivia,” he reminds me.
“I know. I’ll talk to the manager tomorrow. I don’t want to cancel at the last minute in case I need to work there again next summer.”
He nods. “I do respect that. But I guarantee you, you won’t be waiting tables next summer.”
“We’ll see.”
“I’ll need a photo of your passport so my assistant can provide your details to the airline. We leave in three days.”
“Three days?!”
“For London, yes. I’ll have Sanjay provide you with a detailed itinerary. Do you have a REAL ID driver’s license? For domestic travel?”
