"I’m staying, but we’re doing this properly. I want a contract."
Knox let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, and shook his head. "A contract? You’re kidding, right?"
"I’m completely serious," I said, meeting his gaze with a hard glare. "I want it in writing."
Knox’s mouth curved into a slow, mocking smirk. "Fine. You want a contract? Meet me at my place tonight. We’ll put it in writing."
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a pen, and grabbed a crumpled receipt from his console before writing a quick line on the back. He shoved the scrap of paper into my hand.
"Tonight. Eight o’clock," he said.
Before I could even look down at the address, Knox turned on his heel, climbed into the driver’s seat of his black sports car, and slammed the door.
The engine roared to life. Then he threw the car into reverse, spun the steering wheel, and shot out of the circular driveway in a cloud of gravel, leaving me standing alone on the stone steps.
I stared at the empty driveway with my jaw almost dropping to the floor. "You asshole," I whispered to the empty air.
I looked down at the crumpled receipt, tightening my fist around it. I had no car, my phone battery was at five percent, and I was stranded at an exclusive country club three miles from campus in my forest green dress. I’d have to walk to the nearest bus stop.
’Fuck you, Knox.’
I took a deep breath, telling myself very firmly that the double tutoring rate was the only reason I wasn’t going to report him to the police for abandonment.
But as I started the long walk down the club’s manicured driveway, one thing was clear: Knox Sheridan was going to pay for this.
It took me two buses and a miserable forty-five-minute walk to get back to my apartment.
By the time I pushed through the front door, my feet were throbbing inside my ankle boots, my tailbone was aching from yesterday’s ice-skating disaster, and my teeth were clenched so hard my jaw ached.
The forest green dress, which had felt elegant at noon, now felt like a straightjacket.
Priya was sitting at the kitchen island with a glass of orange juice in one hand and her phone in the other. She jumped at the sound of the door slamming, staring at my flushed, furious face with a shocked expression.
"Jeez," Priya gasped, placing a hand over her chest as she set down her glass. "I thought you were a burglar or something."
"Burglars don’t use a key to walk inside," I grunted, tossing my canvas bag onto the counter.
"They could have stolen yours? Or picked the lock?"
"If a burglar can pick a lock in heels and a green dress, they deserve whatever is in our fridge," I sighed, kicking off the boots.
Priya rolled her eyes. "Grumpy. How did your time with the billionaire and his son go? Are we going to jail, or are we rich?"
"Neither," I sighed, pulling the hairpins out of my low bun and letting my messy curls tumble down. "But Knox and I are... actually doing it. For the next month."
"Wait, really? You’re going through with it? I thought this was just a one-time lunch gig to buy you time."
"It was supposed to be," I grumbled, leaning against the counter. "But AD Pierce put Knox on a one-month probation. If his grades slip or we get caught, he gets suspended and my contract is void. But Knox agreed to double my tutoring rate. Plus, he’s paying off the bank penalty fee for my mom’s bakery. Up front."
Priya stared at me, dumbfounded. "He’s actually paying the penalty? And doubling your rate?"
"Yes. It pays my rent and keeps my mom’s shop open," I said, looking down at the tray of cupcakes. "But his father offered me sixty thousand dollars to walk away."
Priya gasped, nearly choking on her orange juice. "Sixty grand? Nora! Why are you still standing in this kitchen and not buying us a penthouse?"
"Because I said no to it," I replied.
I stared at the marble countertop as the memory of Garrison Sheridan’s cold eyes made my blood boil all over again. I had turned down enough money to solve all my problems in a single heartbeat... all because of pride.
His words echoed in my head like an accusation: ’Pride is a luxury, Miss Bennett. A very expensive one.’"
"If I took his money, I’d be proving him right," I told Priya quietly. "He looked at me like I was some cheap variable he could write off his ledger. I’m not a transaction."
Priya’s expression softened as she watched me. She reached over, squeezing my hand. "I get it. You’ve got that Bennett pride. But be careful, Nora. Knox is... he’s a lot. He’s used to getting whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. Don’t let yourself get caught in his draft. He has a trail of broken hearts on this campus for a reason."
"I won’t," I said firmly, straightening my shoulders. "It’s strictly business. In fact, I’m meeting him tonight to put the contract in writing. He gave me his address."
I smoothed out the crumpled country club receipt on the counter.
Priya leaned over to look at the paper, and her eyes instantly went wide. "Wait. He lives at 424 Oakwood? Nora, that’s The SinBin."
"The what?" I blinked.
"The SinBin," Priya breathed, looking at me like I had just announced I was moving to a war zone. "It’s the hockey frat house. The entire team lives there, or at least they crash there every single night. It’s the hub of every wild party, noise complaint, and campus scandal. You’re going there?"
"He told me to meet him there at eight," I said, my teeth clenching again as I remembered Knox driving off and leaving me stranded. "And I don’t care if it’s a war zone. We had an agreement, and I’m not leaving until we’re both on the same page."
As eight o’clock approached, I had to drag my aching body back out of the apartment.
It took another forty minutes by bus to reach the neighborhood where the varsity players lived. It was a wealthy area with massive properties and tree-lined streets that felt worlds away from the rest of the campus.
I walked down the pavement, clutching my canvas bag, until I found the brass numbers of the address Knox had scribbled down.
My chest tightened as I looked up at the place.
It was a massive, dark-brick house with a sprawling front porch, and even from where I stood, I could feel the thumping vibration of bass rattling the glass windows.
Two high-end SUVs were parked crookedly in the driveway, and a neon sign in one of the second-story windows cast a restless blue glow over the lawn.
"Okay, Bennett," I muttered to myself, rolling my shoulders back. "Business transaction. Do not flinch."
I marched up the steps, skipped the doorbell, and knocked firmly on the door.
Ten seconds later, the lock clicked, and the heavy door ripped open.
A guy stood in the doorway, but he wasn’t Knox. He was slightly shorter, built like a Greek god, and completely shirtless, holding a half-eaten slice of pepperoni pizza in his hand. He had messy blonde hair and the bright, energetic eyes of a golden retriever.
He took one look at me, paused mid-chew, and his eyes went incredibly wide.
"Woah," the blonde guy blinked, looking me up and down. "Are you the stripper Milo ordered? Because you’re like, three hours early, and the DJ isn’t even here yet."
I stared at him with a deadpan expression.
"No," I said smoothly, not breaking eye contact. "I’m not the stripper. I’m here to see Knox. Tell your captain his girlfriend is at the door."
The slice of pizza literally slipped out of the guy’s hand and hit the hardwood floor with a wet slap.
"Knox has a what now?!" he yelled.