Hard(17)

He wasn’t getting a dime of my money, a single restful night’s sleep in my house, or another side-long glance from me.

From that moment on, I declared war.

Except it wasn’t a good idea to fight dirty with a SEAL. And I didn’t trust myself to confront Zach again, not when everything inside me clenched hard and tight when I imagined him straining those muscles while lifting the weights.

Nope.

We couldn’t live together.

I refused to bunk with the most desirable, infuriating, and despicable man I had ever met. My apartment near campus would be fine until we sorted the mess out. I’d go there, call William, and straighten the whole thing out.

Immediately.

Well, maybe tomorrow.

My apartment didn’t have air-conditioning.

…And this mansion had a theater system.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to spend one night here even if Zach were around. Besides, how else would I keep track of the devil if he loitered under my roof?

I headed outside to explore the grounds, though I took a detour through one of the two wine cellars and grabbed something white, bubbly, and fruity. Dad had taste at least, but I’d need something much stronger to combat Zach Harden.

That fiend was never taking advantage of me again. And he’d be lucky if I let him camp in the corner of the property with a hole to sleep in, a can of soup to eat, and only the memory of me and what he lost to keep him warm.

No one made me a fool.

And Zach would learn that lesson.





My father had more assets than I thought.

I knew he was wealthy, but now I saw the bank statements and investment reports and property listings. Dad was lucky the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future hadn’t paid him a visit.

While Momma stewed in her declared independence and clipped coupons, Dad sailed away from his responsibilities on a yacht.

A yacht that also belonged to Zach.

He could take the part under the water.

My phone buzzed. Azariah was the last one I wanted to talk to. She expected a play-by-play of the magic night I told her about. My father’s funeral wasn’t the place or time to discuss my sex life, especially around family who might be less than enthusiastic with my wild oats being of the…paler variety.

But at lot changed between my night with Zach and now. Azariah was the type to lend a sympathetic ear only until she thought she could live your life better.

At this point, she probably could. I answered the call anyway.

“How’s my favorite millionaire?” Azariah tapped on her keyboard. Calling from work. Always the multi-tasker. “Hanging in there?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I said. “There’s more money than we thought.”

“More?” She screeched and tisked her tongue at someone who must have passed her desk. She scolded him and then returned to me. “You, mind your business. Shay, I’m listening. How many more zeros are we talking?”

“Three?”

“Damn.”

“Look, it’s really complicated. I’m kinda in the middle of a giant freaking mess, and it’s only getting worse because I can’t fix much of it until I get the trust fund.”

“That sucks. You have all the money in the world, and you can’t touch it.”

“Momma fought tooth, nail, and weave to make sure of it.”

“I loved Kaydon to death, but I never understood her.”

I scattered the investment reports on my desk. “She wanted me to learn independence. At least I had my car and school paid for.”

“Lucky.”

I knew it too. That didn’t help the guilt. Because of Dad’s money, I could do whatever I wanted in life. Which was good. I studied to be a teacher, and they weren’t necessarily known for their stellar paychecks. But the salary hadn’t mattered. My goal was to find a job somewhere, anywhere, and I’d teach kids more than letters and numbers. I’d make sure they never felt alone.

Ever.

But my textbooks were pushed onto the floor to make room for more boxes, and my student teaching schedule pinned over my desk. Moving to the mansion meant a long commute. Could I give that up just to stay close to my school? Hard choice. Until I made it, the books remained on the floor, and my apartment existed in a state of mess, half-way packed.

“So…?” Azariah clicked a pen. She’d probably draw some fantastic picture by the end of her shift. She hated the gig at the sales office, but it gave her time to sketch. I planned to buy her first piece of art for a ridiculous price to generate buzz for her name. It’d work, if she’d find the courage to push it into the world. “Tell me about the guy you met.”

“It’s…complicated.”

“Is there anything about you that isn’t complicated anymore?” She snorted. “You have all the money in the world. Cars, houses, mansions, and you got laid. You’re living the dream.”