Shattered Dynasty

Nevertheless, I have to say something because this is Jaxson Price. If he wants to find out, he will. It’s better if it comes from me.

“I moved her in with me,” I admit.

“What the fuck, Trent?” His voice is loud enough that, if someone were near my car, they would hear him.

Also, damn, my ear hurts.

I shrug, even though he can’t see it. “It’s just easier this way.”

“In what universe is keeping her locked in your house easier?”

“This is different.”

He groans over the line. “How?”

“She’s not locked up.”

“Oh, do tell then . . . What cartoon-level genius plan do you have? Please, I’m dying to know.” His voice drips with sarcasm.

“Well, for one, Christina took a vacation—”

“Jesus, Trent, please do not tell me you moved her into your house to clean for you. Please don’t say you are hoarding her money because you want a maid.”

“Fine. I won’t.”

Doesn’t make it any less true.

“Are you fucking her?”

“Nope.”

But I want to.

“So, you aren’t trying to live some hot maid fantasy, right?”

“Um, no.”

But now that you mention it . . .

“Even worse,” he says, and he sounds appalled, which is rich coming from the guy with absolutely no sense of privacy. “If this is some creepy fantasy of banging your maid, at least I would understand. As long as she is willing.”

“Of course, she would be willing. And I would fucking ask first. But that’s not the point. I don’t want to bang her.”

Ha.

“Yeah. Okay,” Jax says as if he has a direct line to the bullshit in my mind. “Then why else is she there?”

“I want to get to know her.”

“Go on. Because I’m not buying any of this shit. Real reason, please.”

“I want to make her life hell for what she’s done. Plus, if I keep her close, I can see if she has any skeletons in her closet that I can—”

“No.”

“I haven’t even asked you for anything.”

“Trent,” he says, and it’s in that bitch, please tone. “I have known you my whole fucking life. I know what you will ask me. And the answer is no. No fucking way.”

“Dude. You fucking do shady shit all the time,” I say.

“Yes, Trent, I do. To awful men. Not to innocent girls who just happened to piss you off because you have daddy issues.”

“I don’t have daddy issues.” I scoff.

“Yeah. You keep telling yourself that. You’re acting like a little whiny-ass bitch. Get your head out of your ass and drop this shit. Give the poor girl her pocket money, and leave her alone.”

“Twenty-two million is not pocket money.”

“You’re right. It’s pocket change,” he corrects.

“Does that mean you won’t help me?”

“Of course, it means I won’t help you!” he exclaims in irritation.

Over my stupidity, probably.

“But I can still come over when I’m bored, right?” I chuckle, trying to change the tone of the convo.

“That, you never have to ask. You’re family.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

The line goes silent, and I can hear him breathing.

Then he sighs. “Let her go.”

“I promise I’m not keeping her.”

“Are you at least feeding her?”

“I’m not a complete animal. Actually, if you must know, I’m playing chauffeur for her today because she hurt her leg. She got knocked down by some asshole on the sidewalk and tore up her leg pretty good. Oh, and I also cleaned and bandaged her,” I add as if my little show of kindness negates all the bullshit I’ve done.

“What you are telling me is you . . . played doctor?” he says it like it’s another kink of mine he’s discovered, and honestly, I’m not as against the idea as I should be.

I’m so fucked.

“What?” I say, going with the denial route. “No. No. No fucking way.”

“Sounds like you have a thing for this girl, after all. Why don’t you bring her over? We can have dinner.”

“Fuck no.”

“Fiiiiiiiiine.”

I hang up the phone.

Jaxson is a pain in my ass. But he’s not wrong.

That doesn’t mean I’ll listen, though.

30

Trent

* * *

Tonight, I avoided her.

I’ve been doing that a lot recently.

The thing is, despite avoiding her, I find myself heading down the halls of the center and looking for her.

It makes no sense what I’m doing, yet I can’t stop my feet.

I find her in the library. She’s not alone. She’s with Anne, a resident here at Cresthill. My feet stop short, but it’s not her companion but what’s in front of her that has me halting my steps.

Even here, she found time to read the book I gave her this morning. The one she has to report back on this week.

This woman is impossible to bring down. No matter how much work I throw at her, she rises to the challenge.

If I weren’t actively trying to ruin her, I’d probably hire her.

“Let’s go,” I huff out.

She looks up from the table, confused. A cute line forms between her brows.