The Intern: The Billionaire's Successor

Olivia glares from the end of the bed where she’s trying to pull on her clothes. “Oh, is that a part of the deal? I don’t remember you putting nap time into the contract. If you wanted to tell me where to sleep, you should have been thorough, Mr. Ridgeway.” She shoves her hair out of her face in this adorably huffy way. “Since you love this contract and all your clauses so much, I’m sure you won’t mind me promptly getting the hell out of here, given that sleepovers are not in the contract.”

For a moment, I’m so excited to finally hear from snarky Olivia again that I almost forget to respond. Quickly, I catch my bearings though. I let out a scoff. “Okay, I’m confused. I just made you orgasm so hard that you said my middle name, which is cute because I’ve never shared that with you and it’s clear you’ve been Googling me. But in all seriousness, I’m not sure why you’re storming out of my apartment in the middle of the night.”

She breathes out slowly, clearly in an attempt to measure her exhale. It fails miserably, and she ends up looking petulant—but no less gorgeous.

“Honesty clause,” I remind her, but I know exactly what’s coming with or without her honesty.

“Well, honestly, I underestimated how well I could stomach you calling me the things that you do and talking to me the way that you do,” she blurts out, anger mixing with reluctance in her tone.

There it is. There’s the confirmation that my plan actually worked. I knew I would get under her skin eventually, but only three weeks in—and we haven’t even slept together yet? Frankly, I thought she would hold out longer.

“So you want me to stop calling you a whore and a slut and telling you how much I like owning your body for the summer,” I clarify needlessly, letting the words whore and slut roll off of my tongue.

Olivia hesitates and folds her arms over her chest once again before she looks away from me. That minute gesture is all I need to know that she’s torn. It’s all I need to know that my girl, no matter how hard she tries to pretend that this irks her, kind of likes it on some level.

I want her to say it. I want her to admit that she’s a screwed up, manipulative shit whose complicated relationship with men and with sex is beyond even her own control. I want her to admit that entangling me in her twisted world was a mistake. And yet I can’t help but look at the conflicted expression on her face and wonder if I’ve taken this too far.

“You could get me to stop,” I go on, trying to make this civil. “You could break the contract right here and now. That would mean you don’t get to fuck me—but we’ll both live, I assume.” I rise off of the bed and walk over to her. When I’m in front of her, I tower over her but she doesn’t look away. “Go ahead. Break the contract and I’ll stop. It’s that simple.”

Olivia lets out another heavy sigh and I can tell that she doesn’t like that option. It’s either because she likes my money that much, or because she really is a beautiful, horny fuck. Taking a gamble, I reach out and put my hands on her slender shoulders.

“Go ahead,” I urge, feeling confident. “Call it. End it.”

“No.”

Of course not. “Why not?”

“Because you’re not allowed to win,” she offers, but I know that’s a cop out.

“Honesty clause,” I remind her again.

Olivia narrows her eyes, and for a moment I actually think that she does hate me. “I’m not going to say it.”

“Say it.”

“No.”

“Say it, Olivia.”

“Fine. Fine. I like that you pay me. I need the money and I like the money and no matter how horrible this makes me feel, I can’t deny that taking your money feels even better. I don’t care if that makes me sound like a selfish masochist with no self-respect, but it’s true. I know that’s screwed up, but it’s also—”

“What it takes,” I fill in.

“I was going to say that it’s what I deserve,” she finishes.

Tentatively, I pull her a closer to me. “So do you want to break our contract or not?” I ask softly, genuinely.

“I don’t know.”

“Because this is how it goes. If you’re going to stick around and take my money, you’re going to endure this. Every word out of my mouth. And I can be much, much worse that I’ve been.”

“Do you want me to break the contract, Davis?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want. Go ahead. Walk away from all of this money because you can’t handle a little dirty talk.”

Olivia’s expression shifts to disbelief. “Dirty talk? You’re messing with my brain. You’re doing this because you think I hate it.”

“Don’t you?” I question with a cant of my head. “Don’t you hate it?”

She doesn’t say yes—but she doesn’t say no either. “Why do you do it though? The guy I slept with eight years ago would have never said things like that.”

It’s my turn to look away from her. “I’ve changed.”

“Liar.”