Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

Brynn

“It doesn’t matter, Asher,” I insist for the third time since we got home. I’m totally aware I’ve used his first name, even though I’m supposed to call him Mr. Bennett when we’re alone.

I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day. I need sleep. I don’t need to be dominated, and I don’t want to rehash what happened in the bathroom. I wasn’t kidding when I said it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. Sticks and stones may break my bones and all that.

When we reach my room, I head straight for the bathroom, where I shut and lock the door for the first time in a week. I need some time alone. I don’t need him manhandling me.

I carefully remove the gorgeous dress, drape it over one of the towel racks, and snag a nightgown from the dirty clothes hamper. I pee, brush my teeth, pull out the pins holding my hair up, and remove my makeup .

When I step back into the bedroom, I’m not surprised to find Asher standing in the middle of the room. He’s rubbing his hands together, and his brow is furrowed. I’m freaking him out a bit.

I walk past him and crawl into bed.

He comes to my side and looks down at me. “Brynn…”

I sigh. “I’m fine. I just need to sleep. It’s been a long week. I promise I’ll be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning. I’ll fall in line and be a good girl.” I smile, though I’m aware there is a level of sarcasm in my voice.

He narrows his gaze further. “Remember what I said about a power exchange. You hold all the power in this relationship, Brynn. I can only dominate you with your consent.”

I nod. “I know, and right now, I’m not letting you. It’s not a big deal. I’m just tired.” I reach out and grab his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Can you just let me be tired for one night?”

“Yes, baby,” he whispers. “But I’d rather you told me what those bitches said to you.”

I blow out a breath. “They said exactly what you would expect. I’m not good enough for you. Why am I wasting my time? Who do I think I am?” I sigh again. I might as well lay it all out. “I must be a pretty good lay to catch your attention. How does your cock taste? Do I think I can squeeze money out of you? Do I take it in the ass without complaint? Is it true that you’re demanding in bed? Do I really think I can slide into your world? Don’t I know Pretty Woman was only a movie?”

His face is pale. “I’m sorry. I never wanted that to happen to you.”

I inhale deeply. “And I’ve said it’s fine. I should’ve realized that would happen. People are cruel. But I promise I won’t let it affect our arrangement. We have an agreement. I won’t back down. I’m sure it’ll get easier.”

“Is this about the money?”

I gasp. “God, no.”

He sits on the side of the bed, flipping his hand over to hold mine tightly. “I care about you, Brynn. I didn’t know that would happen when we entered into this arrangement. I thought I could keep it simple. If you want to stop it, we’ll stop. I’ll still pay all your bills until you graduate. No strings attached.”

“Do you know how much money is in my bank account?” I ask.

He winces. “Yes… Do you?”

“Yep. I looked yesterday. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t under twenty-five dollars so that I wouldn’t get penalized. Imagine my surprise when I discovered there were two-hundred thousand, twenty-six dollars, and fifty-seven cents in my account. So, it would seem that no matter what happens between us, I don’t need you to pay my damn bills anymore. I’m rich. Unless you have the ability to take money out of people’s accounts to match your ability to put it in, I’m good.” I pull my hand free and turn onto my side away from him. “Please, let me sleep. That’s all I’m asking.”

He hesitates, drawing in an unsteady breath, then slowly stands and leaves my room.

I don’t know why it hurts when he closes the door all the way, but it does, and tears start to fall. I’m just glad I held them back until he left.

He hasn’t shut the door in days. Leaving it open gave me a weird feeling, as though I was connected to him. Closing it all the way makes me feel very alone.

I wasn’t lying to him. I’m exhausted. I know I’m emotional because of it. It was a long day between working my last shift, taking an important test in my second class, submitting to him when I got home, and then pretending to be the perfect girlfriend for hours.

If it had ended without the incident in the bathroom, I would have been tired, but that pushed me right over the edge. The most ridiculous part is that I’m not positive those two bitches even knew I was in the bathroom. They might have somehow known, but I think they were just being mean and spiteful behind my back.

When I entered, they were already in stalls, yapping over the sides about me. I entered the last stall in the row, noticing that the door reached almost to the floor. Someone would have had to lie on the bathroom tile to see my shoes.

I stayed in the stall and endured their ongoing chatter while they washed their hands. They reapplied lipstick. They admired themselves in the full-length mirror. They compared the blisters on their feet. Then, they discussed the latest fashion in pushup bras.

All the while, they kept a running dialog about “the bitch who’s dating Asher Bennett.” I never moved. I waited until they left to even lift my dress and pee. By the time I was willing to exit the stall and wash my hands, I was furious.

Fuck them. They can bite me. I’ve never thought so many cuss words in such a short time in my life.

What I’m not going to do is back out of our agreement. Fuck, no. I’m going to double down. Watch me be the best damn girlfriend in the world. I can do it for a year. Hell, I can do it for two years. Three? Bring it on.

The thought of ending our agreement makes me feel kind of sick because I never want those bitches—or any other bitches out there—to think they were right and won.

I’m out of my mind, of course. The pressure is going to be intense. I might be able to finish my classes and get my degree, but will anyone hire me? Will I be employable this time next year? Who’d want to hire a woman who brings as much baggage as I’ll have? I’ll probably need a damn bodyguard by next week just to leave the house.

That part sucks, and I still haven’t told my dad. He hasn’t called or texted yet, which means either he hasn’t heard the news, he doesn’t care, or he’s written me off as the slut he’s certain I am.

I wipe the tears. They’re silent. The last thing I want is for Asher to hear me crying and come back in to save the day. I really don’t need saving. I just need sleep. If only I could slow my brain down long enough to get sucked under.