I slammed the passenger door of Knox’s black sports car with shaky hands. "I still haven’t agreed to this," I muttered as he threw the car into reverse.
"You’re in the car already, Bennett," Knox said, shifting gears with a sharp flick of his wrist. "That’s close enough."
He drove like a maniac, racing through campus and ignoring the speed bumps. Every bump sent a direct jolt of pain straight to my tailbone, making me wince.
"Can you slow down?" I groaned, gripping the door handle. "I’m already covered in bruises from yesterday’s circus act. I don’t need whiplash to match."
"We have thirty-five minutes," Knox replied, without looking away from the road. "You wanted to change. We don’t have time for a Sunday cruise."
When he pulled up to the curb outside my apartment building, I scrambled out of the car. "I’ll be ten minutes!"
"Make it five!" Knox barked.
My calves burned as I sprinted up the stairs and burst through the front door. Priya, caught mid-spoonful of cereal on the couch, jumped so violently she nearly sent her bowl flying.
"Nora? Why are you panting? Did Brennan fire you?"
"No," I gasped, heading straight for my bedroom closet. "Worse. I’m fake-dating Knox Sheridan to save my tutoring contract. And I have to meet his billionaire father at the country club for lunch in twenty minutes."
Priya dropped her spoon back into the bowl with a clatter. "What?"
"No time!" I yelled, throwing hanger after hanger onto the bed. "I need something that says ’respectable girlfriend who doesn’t throw rubber pucks at people’s faces.’ Help me!"
Priya scrambled into the room, instantly taking charge.
She pushed me out of the way, scanning my wardrobe before pulling out a forest green ribbed dress. It was long-sleeved, knee-length, and fit snugly without looking like I was trying too hard.
"Wear this," she ordered, tossing it at me. "And put these on." She kicked a pair of black ankle boots toward my feet.
I changed in a flurry, my fingers fumbling with the fabric. Priya quickly pinned my messy hair into a neat, low bun, swiped a bit of mascara over my eyelashes, and handed me my purse.
"You look great," Priya said, pushing me toward the door. "Now go lie to a billionaire and come back with the tales of it all."
When I climbed back into the passenger seat, Knox paused.
His eyes traveled from my black boots up the green dress, finally resting on my pinned hair. His smug expression faltered for a fraction of a second as a look of genuine surprise crossed his features.
"Not bad, Bookworm," he muttered, shifting the car back into drive.
"Don’t start," I said, leaning back and trying to catch my breath. "We need a cover story. If your father is as sharp as you say, he’s going to try to trip us up. How did we meet?"
"We met in the library," Knox said, steering the car onto the highway. "You were tutoring me. We had a spark."
"A spark?" I scoffed. "We hated each other. Let’s make it realistic. We met when you ran me over in the athletic corridor. You ruined my coffee and you were a complete jerk about it."
Knox rolled his eyes. "Very romantic."
"It’s believable," I argued. "People who have ’sparks’ in the library don’t throw pucks at each other’s faces. We met, you were rude, but then you realized you needed a tutor to stay eligible. Coach Brennan paired us up. We started studying, and... we clicked. We kept it quiet because Brennan is strict about compliance."
"Fine," Knox grunted. "What’s my favorite food?"
"I don’t know. Sushi? Pizza?"
"Sushi," Knox said. "And yours?"
"Italian. My mom’s lasagna." I looked at him. "Do you have any fake nicknames for me?"
"I call you Bookworm," he said, casting a smirk in my direction. "And you call me Knox."
"I call you Sheridan when I’m annoyed, which is always," I corrected.
We spent the rest of the drive grilling each other on details, building a fragile wall of lies to protect what was important to us.
By the time the car pulled into the gated, manicured entrance of the Briar Country Club, my palms were sweating.
Knox parked in the circular driveway, tossed his keys to the valet, and walked around to open my door.
As we walked up the stone steps toward the grand double doors, Knox paused. He reached out, placing his palm flat against the small of my back.
His touch was warm, sending a sudden, electric shiver straight down my spine. I stiffened, looking up at him. "Is this really necessary?" I muttered. "Don’t you think it’s a bit too much?"
"Couples touch, Bennett," Knox murmured, his face close to mine. "Try to look like you don’t want to punch me."
"I’m trying," I whispered back through a tight, forced smile.
The hostess led us down a carpeted hallway, past large dining rooms filled with wealthy seniors, to a private room overlooking the golf course.
Garrison Sheridan sat at the head of the long mahogany table, appearing exactly as Knox had described: cold, immaculate in his bespoke gray suit, and completely unbothered. He didn’t stand when we entered, simply gesturing toward the two empty chairs across from him.
"Sit," Garrison said in a flat tone.
We sat. Knox cleared his throat, adjusting his posture. "Father, this is Nora Bennett. Nora, this is my father, Garrison Sheridan."
Garrison’s eyes swept over me, lingering on the simple forest green dress. He gave a single, curt nod. "Miss Bennett. I would say it’s a pleasure, but..." He paused, his mouth curling in a faint, condescending smirk. "...the circumstances suggest otherwise."
I held his gaze. "Understood, Mr. Sheridan," I replied in a perfectly even voice.
Garrison leaned back, folding his hands. His sharp gray eyes locked onto mine, studying me like an unwanted variable in a business equation.
"So, Miss Bennett," Garrison finally said. "Tell me how my son won your affection."
I swallowed the lump in my throat, offering a polite, practiced smile I’d perfected from working shifts at the bakery. "Well, Mr. Sheridan, it wasn’t easy. Knox was incredibly arrogant when we first met. He ran into me in the corridor, spilled my coffee, and didn’t even apologize."
Knox let out a dry cough, but I kept my eyes locked on his father.
"But then we started our tutoring sessions," I continued smoothly. "And I realized that beneath the arrogance, he actually cares about his future. He works hard when he wants to. We clicked."
Garrison’s expression didn’t soften.
He turned his cold gaze to Knox. "And the incident on the ice yesterday? The video of her hitting you with a puck is currently trending on the university forums."
"A lover’s quarrel, Dad," Knox said in an easy and relaxed way. "We had an argument. Nora has a bit of a temper. I deserved it."
"A lover’s quarrel," Garrison repeated with skepticism in his voice. He looked back at me. "And you, Miss Bennett? You find my son’s physical violence acceptable? I understand Knox punched Harold Orwell’s son this morning because of this video."
"I don’t find violence acceptable, Mr. Sheridan," I replied. "But I also don’t find it acceptable for Harold Orwell’s son to stand in the middle of the student center showing a video of me falling and making crude, disgusting remarks about my body to a crowd of athletes. Knox defended my honor. If his conduct policy doesn’t cover defending a student from harassment, then perhaps the university needs to re-evaluate its priorities."
Knox shifted in his seat, looking at me. There was a faint glimmer of amusement and something else... surprise in his eyes.
"You have fire, Miss Bennett," Garrison said, his voice dropping to that particular chill that wealthy men use right before they dismantle you. "Unfortunately, fire is not a qualification. And it is certainly not a résumé."
He set his glass down. "Let me be direct, since neither of us has the time for theatre. I know who you are. You are a scholarship student who waits tables at a diner off-campus because your scholarship doesn’t cover your full expenses."
"Your mother runs a small bakery that is... and I’m being generous with this word, struggling. The bank’s penalty notice for the mortgage arrears is due by the end of the month."
His tone wasn’t cruel, which somehow made it feel worse. It was as if he were simply listing the details of my life like reading terms and conditions before a transaction.
"I have nothing against you personally, Miss Bennett," he continued smoothly. "You seem like a bright, capable young woman, the kind who deserves better than being pulled into my son’s orbit as a convenient excuse."
He tilted his head, and I could hear the faintest note of pity entering his voice. "My son’s world is not built for people like you. And I think, if you are as intelligent as your grades suggest, you already know that."
He opened the leather folder on the table and pulled out a gold-plated pen, uncapping it without hurry. The only sound in the room was the scratch of the nib against the check.
He slid the slip of paper across the white tablecloth, coming to a stop directly in front of me.
I looked down, and the figure staring back at me was every paycheck I had earned at the diner for the last six months. Combined.
Thirty thousand dollars.
My throat tightened, like there was a lump growing there. I didn’t reach for the check... I couldn’t even bring myself to move at all.
"Take the money, Miss Bennett," Garrison said in a perfectly calm and generous-sounding voice. "Pack your bags, find another tutoring job, and leave my son alone."