37. You Overestimate Yourself

Chapter 37

You Overestimate Yourself

MEGAN

" O ut of all the conversations we've ever had, this has got to be the most toxic."

"Yes, well," he studies me, unbothered. "Nothing I say should come as a surprise to you."

I give him a long, judgmental look and one of introspection.

"I'm not going to sleep with you again," I say as if I've just decided something profound.

"We'll see about that."

I glower at him, annoyed by his confidence.

"I mean it."

"I'm sure you do."

"Maybe I should write it on my forehead in permanent marker so you remember," I mutter under my breath.

"You'd be writing that onto your skin for your own benefit." He grins. "Thinking if the ink sinks into your pores, maybe you'll stay away, but you won't. You can't because your body and mind are not in agreement."

"Well, fuck my body and my mind," I growl, scrambling off his lap.

Hunter reaches over to tap on the black divider and it comes sliding down a moment later. He then tilts his head to study me, his expression dark and his tone back to business.

"Why were you at school so late? Did he do anything else to you?"

It was then that I remembered the tickets. I immediately open my bag and take them out, breathing a sigh of relief. For a moment, I thought that Ricky might've managed to swipe them.

"I had a meeting with Miss Maverick. She's the new evaluator the university brought in. She wanted to give me my friends and family tickets for the showing. Ricky–" I hesitate, my hands tightening around the precious slips of paper. "He wanted me to invite him along. I refused. I would rather stab myself in the eyes with a spoon than take him."

The corner of Hunter's lips turns up, and he plucks the tickets from my hand, making me blink.

"So, who're you going to take with you?" he asks, studying the slips of paper.

"I don't know. Naomi, maybe."

"That still leaves one ticket."

"I don't have to use it."

"You're going to need a plus one," He states as if it's obvious. "Someone who can help you mingle and network. These exhibitions can help your career if you work it right."

"I know." I shift in my seat uneasily. "Why do you think everyone wants to be selected?"

"It would be useful to have someone by your side who can help draw attention to you," he continues casually. "And to your work."

In the rearview mirror, I see Parker's lips twitch, and a suspicious thought forms in my mind as I glare at Hunter.

"Are you inviting yourself?"

He shrugs. "I don't need to use your invitation. I receive regular invitations for most artistic or fundraising events in the city, including this one. But considering that you have a sketch of my face up there, I think it would be the polite thing to invite me."

"You're unbelievable."

"Thank you. I've heard that many times."

"It's not a compliment." I grit my teeth.

The quick smile he shoots my way makes me melt and then get angry over my reaction. Come on, mind and body, and work with me here.

"I'm the obvious choice to go."

"How so?"

"I would be of benefit to you."

"I don't like to use people," I say coolly.

"Well, sweetheart, you need to learn," he smirks. "You won't get far in life if you let your misguided moral compass dictate all your choices. Sometimes you have to climb on people's backs to achieve your goals in life."

"Or annihilate them?" I ask, thinking about all the people I imagine Hunter has dealt with in his work.

"That too," he replies without skipping a beat.

"You're a terrible role model," I say quietly under my breath, although his offer isn't all bad. If I go to this once-in-a-lifetime showing, I should make the best of it. That's the entire point of going.

I shoot him a cautious look. "What do you get out of it?" I press when he moves his shoulders in an elegant shrug, remembering that Parker is listening. "I'm serious, Mr. Middleton. You don't seem to be the kind of person who hands out favors expecting nothing in return."

"I gave you a job."

"That I'm kicking ass at."

"I took you to Paris."

I look down to hide the blush on my cheeks.

"I thanked you for that."

He adjusts himself, smoothing the wrinkles in the front of his slacks.

"Sometimes I do things just for personal satisfaction," he comments, and I snort, refusing to believe it.

I try lowering my voice so that Parker doesn't overhear us, which is impossible since we're all in the same car. I wish he had kept the divider up.

"I'm telling you now. What happened in Paris isn't going to happen again if you come with me to the gallery and work the room."

The look he shoots me screams dark confidence, and he leans forward, his lips brushing against my ear, making my lower abdomen tighten.

"Trust me, you'll be begging me to fuck you by the time the exhibition is over."

His arrogance should piss me off, but all it's doing is turning me on harder.

"You overestimate yourself," I counter, feeling unbearably hot, my clothes feeling tighter around me.

He chuckles and hands me back the tickets. "You have some time to decide, but don't take too long. My calendar fills up fast."

I tuck the tickets back into my bag, refusing to respond. Other students will have their parents there, pridefully gushing with each other over their work. It would be nice to have someone, too.

"What were you even doing at the university today?" I ask him since it suddenly occurs to me that his presence was unexpected.

"I was dealing with some business matters," he replies. "You're lucky I was there."

"What business would the owner of The Blue Whiskey have at a fine arts college?" I stare at him. "And I would have eventually kneed Ricky in the balls. Nobody was around, so I might have gotten away with it."

His slight smile vanishes.

"Next time somebody tries to come after you at school, defend yourself violently and worry about the consequences later. And if you can't defend yourself, you call me or Lars or Parker. But if I ever see another bruise on you, which has not been made by my hand on your ass, you won't be able to stop me a second time."

My cheeks feel hot, and keeping my voice steady is a physical struggle. "First of all, I keep telling you I don't plan to jeopardize my scholarship. I can't hit anyone. They have a zero-tolerance policy for violence."

"And what about those kids touching you?"

"Let me rephrase that. The school has a zero-tolerance policy for violence you can prove."

"What if I can guarantee that your scholarship will not be taken away from you and they will not kick you out of school?"

I hesitate to answer. "I don't... I don't think you can do that."

"Can't I?" He responds in an amused voice, his hand reaching out to curl a strand of my hair around his finger in a possessive move. "I keep having to remind you of who I am. I have enough influence to protect your scholarship and your position there. And even if you lose your scholarship, I can create another solely for you."

My jaw drops at his casual statement, and I struggle to retain my composure.

"Yes, but–"

"So, next time, either put them in their place, or I'll do it for you."

He yanks at the strand of hair wrapped around his finger, which forces me to lean in closer. My eyes meet his, and even as his piercing gray gaze robs me of my breath, I wonder what I've gotten myself into.

Hunter Middleton is a complicated man who is far more experienced in life than I am, and it feels like he is systematically trying to possess me, body and soul. But once he decides that he's done with me, will I be able to walk away unscathed?