6. Whitney

It is jarring to have Weston so possessive of me. The lines of blackmail and boyfriend blur too easily. He sits on my roommate”s bed while I go through my closet, searching for a dress to wear tonight.

”Who else stays with you?” Weston”s voice breaks into my imagination as I haul one dress out of my closet, another, and another.

”My roommate sneaks in and out of here to avoid the assholes you”ve sicced on me. I”m a walking target and no one wants to be an innocent bystander. I don”t see her much, and she doesn”t even sleep here most nights.”

”Wear the black one,” he says, pushing himself off the bed and walking up behind me.

”I don”t want to wear that one. It”s low cut, the back is exposed.” My words trail off because I don”t want him picking out my clothes.

”You pulled it out so it”s an option and it”s the best option. That burgundy dress is too festive, like you”re going to a Christmas party or something. Men like your father who do business with the Ballinger family, they”re into sophistication, elegance. The black one is better to go out with someone like Dicky.”

”You”re up to something.” I can see the cogs turning in his head. There”s a plan cooking, and I don”t think I like where this is going.

He shrugs. ”I”m not up to anything.”

”What happened to me being your girlfriend and no one else dating me? Tell me what you”re going to do.”

The sneer on his face doesn”t put my mind at ease. ”I”m going to be a good boyfriend and support my girl on her quest tonight.”

”This isn”t a quest. It”s just dinner.”

His eyes lower with skepticism. ”I know Harland”s only been your father for about half of your life, but believe me, I know men like him. Dinner is never just dinner. His daughter having dinner with a Ballinger, he”s practically lining you up for an arranged marriage.”

Laughter bubbles from the depths of my stomach. ”Get out of here. I don”t even know Richard. We had a few classes together sophomore year, but he”s like everyone else on campus who stays twenty feet away from me. Thanks to you.”

”I”m only finishing what you started, Whitney,” he corrects me. ”Fine. You”ll see. Tonight is a glimpse into the future where you let dear old dad dictate your life.”

”It”s not like that.”

Weston shrugs. ”How many children does Harland actually have?”

”None. I”m the only one.”

He simply nods as if he knows something I don”t. Instead of enlightening me to his discovery, he nudges his chin toward the dresses on the bed. ”Wear the black dress, Whit. It”s the best for tonight. See ya later, babe.”

Weston winks at me before leaving me in my bedroom. I don”t know what he”s up to, but I”m guessing my life will be easier if I just do as he says. It takes me a few hours to get through my assignments, but as I ready myself for this date, I can”t stop thinking about Weston.

The way he easily switches from enforcing his boyfriend title to nonchalantly letting me go out on a date gives me whiplash. As much as I despise my behavior, Weston, this entire situation, I know I just have to make it a few more weeks. I could tell someone, right?

Who”d be able to walk me through this without landing me in jail or getting me expelled?

I hate agreeing with Weston that we”re both horrible toward each other. Last night is one I want to forget. Tonight”s the opportunity to overwrite those memories.

The black dress drapes over my body in a way that accentuates my slim curves. The back drops so low, I”m certain one wrong move will leave my ass exposed. A pair of strappy black heels and pinning my hair up is the finishing touch I need. A small purse I can sling over my shoulder holds everything I need to get back to my room in case this date goes sideways.

There”s shock in the eyes of people I walk by on my way out of the building where Richard”s meeting me. I don”t dress up often. Even though I feel good in the dress, the glares from skeptic onlookers embolden my insecurities. Someone called Shit-ney doesn”t get to look this good. I don”t get to have fun or go out on dates because of the rumors circulating about me.

However, the look on Richard Ballinger”s face as I approach him outside is enough to silence my anxiety. He”s tall, blonde, suave, with green eyes and a killer smile. He”s wearing a well-tailored suit and lifts the passenger side door to a cherry-red sports car.

”Wow, Whitney. You look amazing.” His surprise hurts my feelings, but I understand where it comes from.

”Thanks, Richard.” I offer him a smile as he helps me inside the car. It smells new, and the leather interior is soft.

”You like it?” he asks with a cocky grin.

”Yeah, it”s the nicest car on campus.”

”Ha.” He scoffs. ”It”s one of fifteen in the world. It”s more than the nicest car on campus. It”s one of the nicest cars in the world. I see I”m going to have to show you a few things. When Harland…you don”t mind if I call him Harland, right?”

”Uh, no, why would I mind?”

He laughs nervously. ”Right, yeah, you don”t care if another student gets some special attention from the old coot.”

”Old coot?”

Richard laughs again. ”Shit, sorry. I didn”t mean to offend you. Your choice in guys. I mean, you know what, let”s start over. Do you like Italian?”

I don”t get to say much as Richard does all the talking for the both of us. Questions and one-word replies are all I can offer in this one-sided conversation all the way to some fancy restaurant on the outskirts of our little college town.

The valet takes the car, and Richard ushers me inside, with his hand resting on the small of my back. I don”t like him touching me. It”s subtle when I take a step away from his touch. It”s even more subtle when I take the seat at our table without letting him pull out my chair.

The ambiance of the restaurant is dim, with soft music playing as the aromas of garlic, olive oil, and herbs waft around the space. The beige tile walls look rough to the touch. The bronze lighting fixtures add to the experience that this restaurant can be a slice of heaven in Naples rather than some quiet town near Princeton, New Jersey.

The server approaches us with a warm smile as she offers the specials. Richard speaks up for both of us. ”I”ll have the rib-eye, medium, and she”ll have the house salad, grilled chicken. No pasta, and the sauteed spinach for me. I”d also like a bottle of your Cabernet. Thank you, sweetheart.”

”Um, actually, I”ll have the New York strip, medium rare please,” I tell the server. ”And I”d prefer a glass of Zinfandel with roasted potatoes as my side. No salad.”

Richard shakes his head and waves the server off after nodding to keep my changed order. ”Whitney, Whitney, Whitney. This isn”t going to work if you don”t let me lead this thing between us.”

”There is nothing between us, Richard. I”m here as a favor to Mr. Adams. Let”s just get through this dinner.”

”You need to be nicer to me,” Richard says with his hand reaching under the table to rub my knee. The gesture startles me to the point I jerk away, knocking the table and attracting the glares of the other diners.

It”s only then that I recognize a familiar face and dread washes over me. My nerves are on edge as I stand up from the table. ”Excuse me. Let me just, uh, freshen up.”

I dart away from the table, take a left down a long hallway, and stop in front of the two doors leading to the restrooms. As soon as one opens, I see it”s a single bathroom, thankfully no stalls. But what I don”t see is the person coming up behind me.

Weston pushes me inside and locks the door behind him.