Double Dare(126)

The woman just shook her head.

“Nope, computer doesn’t have that information. Just says thirty-one thousand five hundred and fifty-two cents was paid earlier today. The check already cleared,” she added helpfully.

And shaking my head again, I picked up my gym bag, dazed, turning to go. Where had the money come from? It was like a jackpot had fallen from the sky and landed on my head, showering me with clinking golden coins, easing my life of financial strain. This was so weird, an enormous load off my back. Maybe now I could take an unpaid internship this summer to bolster my resume instead of double shifts at the coffee shop. So many opportunities had just opened and I was mystified and elated at once, dazzled by my good fortune.

So with slow steps, I made my way to the pool. Honestly, my work-out was the last thing on my mind and I was wandering around a little lost, like someone who’d just found out they’d won the Megamillions Lotto when a big shadow descended over me.

Slowly, I turned, still dazed, still on Cloud Nine, my eyes focusing slowly.

“Stone?” I said, confused. “What are you doing here? WTF, where have you been?”

And the big man chuckled.

“Girlie,” he rumbled, his eyes ravenous, devouring me in my skimpy cover-up, “I’ve been waiting for you.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


Stone




Evie had been wandering like a lost little lamb, her eyes big, dazed, ever since she exited the Financial Aid Office. And I knew why. I’d gone in there and paid her tuition bill, making sure to bring the balance down to zero.

The woman at the counter had resisted that morning.

“And who are you?” she asked suspiciously, eyeing me up and down.

Now I admit, it’s not every day you get an alpha male in the dinky offices of Financial Aid, a dude who literally took up all the space in those tiny confines.

“Stone Phillips,” I said peremptorily. “Here to pay the bill of Evie Jones.”

The woman wasn’t persuaded.

“I can’t just hand out personal financial information,” she said tightly. “It’s confidential.”

And I leaned forward, my manner slightly threatening.

“Let me clarify,” I said, my voice low, rasping. “My name’s Hanson Stone Phillips, and I believe you’re sitting in a building my grandfather built.”

Because I’m a scion of the moneyed Phillips family who made their fortune in packaging. We started off making paper boxes and wrapping paper but soon branched into industrial packaging solutions, doing everything from the crates for Dole Pineapples in Hawaii to the shit that your laptop comes boxed in. So yeah, my family’s at the head of a massive empire, the money rolling in waves, and at this very moment we were sitting in a building which my grandfather had endowed way back in the day.

The woman immediately perked up, sitting up straight.

“Oh yes, of course Mr. Phillips,” she chattered nervously. “I’m sorry, Phillips is such a common name, I didn’t realize a member of the family was here.”

And I sighed, leaning back. Her behavior was exactly why I didn’t use my first name. First, because Hanson is a lame name. Well, not lame but I just don’t want to be called “Han,” “Han Solo,” Hannie” or any number of juvenile nicknames. So I go by my middle name instead, Stone. It works and everyone’s called me Stone since I was a kid.

Second, Hanson Phillips is way too recognizable. It’s the name of my father, my grandfather and countless male relatives. As soon as people hear the name “Hanson Phillips,” they bow and cower, making way for the alpha dogs. And I didn’t want that. Sure, I came from power and money but that didn’t mean that I wanted to lord it over people, make them feel like vassals in my kingdom.

So I took a job as a high school Biology teacher and it suited me well. Of course, my family was devastated. They wanted me to join the Phillips packaging business but I was reluctant, I wanted to explore my own interests and make my own way in life without becoming a part of the hive collective immediately. So I got a teaching degree and started at Spencer Prep as a biology instructor.

But my family never gave up, giving me time to grow and develop professionally on my own, before pressing their case.

“It’s been five years,” my dad rumbled, his brows drawn. “Don’t you think that’s enough teaching? You’ve done a lot for the kids.”

And my grandfather was even more direct.

“I’m getting old,” he croaked. “I’m going to kick the bucket any day now and we need fresh leadership at the company. You and your dad are the only ones, I can’t hand over the reins to Hanford or Hansel,” he said with disgust. I agreed with him there. My cousin Hanford was an addict, in and out of rehab a couple times in the last few years, and my other cousin Hansel was just lazy. I don’t think he’d even graduated junior high, it was that bad.