"Unhinged," I retort.
"Brilliant."
I narrow my eyes. "Diabolical."
"Innovative."
"Insane."
"Inspired." His lips twitch. "I can throw out synonyms all day, baby."
If he calls me that one more time, I swear to God, I won't be responsible for the violence I unleash.
"Inspired?" I cross my arms, scowling at him. "Inspired by actual psychopaths, maybe."
"Look," he says, leaning forward, "you need funding, right?"
I hesitate, reluctant to answer because the truth is yes, obviously we need funding. But enough to sell my soul to this devil? Ihatethat the answer to that question is also yes, dammit.
"Maybe," I mutter, refusing to give him anything.
"You do," he says, completely confident, and I kind of want to strangle Lacy. God only knows how much she's told him about our needs. I don't have to wait long to find out. "You already serve thousands of students preparing for college, most of whom fall well below the federal poverty line. But there simply aren't enough scholarships to send everyone deserving to college. I have the resources and the reach to help."
"Kingston and Evie already help. We don't need you."
"Liar," he says with an amused chuckle. "You do need me because you'll never ask your brother and sister-in-law for the kind of help you guys actually need around here."
I cock my head to the side. "And what kind of help do you think we need around here?"
"You need someone willing to hit up people with deep pockets and ask for cash," he says, point blank. "And you need someone willing to stand in front of a camera or the press and do the same. You'd never ask Kingston or Evie to do that because you value their privacy and your relationships too much to put them to work the way you need."
"What makes you think I want to put you to work?" I ask, trying not to focus on just how much homework he's done on me. I don't think he's actually dangerous, but it's not like I trust my judgment when it comes to men, either.
Been there, done that, have the trauma to prove it.
"The students," he says with a shrug. "You care about them more than you care about avoiding me."
The fact that he has me pegged so well is worrisome. He's also right, dammit. If working with him means an influx of cash to provide for the kids who need it…can I really say no?
"I'll be on my best behavior," he says, holding up three fingers in a salute. But if he's a Boy Scout, I'm Mother Teresa. There's not a chance in hell he's going to be on his best behavior.
Oh, I have no doubts that he means exactly what he's saying. I also have no doubt there's an entire soul-binding contract worth of fine print he'snotsaying—like precisely how he defines "best behavior." I doubt it's the same way the rest of the world defines it.
"I'm not dating you, Briggs."
"Good to know."
"I'm not sleeping with you, either." That ship sailed at the wedding during a moment of weakness. It is not returning to port.
His lips turn up at the corners. "You'd be disappointed in Dream You then, baby. She's a naughty girl."
"That's it!" I cry, leaping to my feet. "We're done here."
His deep chuckle rumbles across the room, his hands in the air in a show of surrender. "Easy, Tia. I'm just teasing."
"Yes, and that's precisely the problem," I growl, pacing a tight, frustrated circle in the tiny space behind my desk. "You tease. You text. You twist. You're playing some game, and I don't know the rules. Whatever you're really after here, it isn't happening. You don't get to involve my job in your games."
The humor in his eyes fades, his expression sobering. "You think I'd risk your job for some game?"
