He leans back in the desk chair, studying me. “Fine. Go to Barnes. It’ll be your word against mine.”
“It’s cute that you think that, but you’re not as smart as you think you are.” I smirk. “I paid you with Venmo. I’ve got receipts, asshole.”
Every electronic transfer leaves a digital trail. Mike can try to twist things around, but no one’s going to believe I paid him ten grand to fix my grade in a pass/fail class.
And when I come clean about my Fangirl account, Barnes will have to believe me.
“That’s the funny thing about blackmail. It only works if the person you’re blackmailing has something to hide.”
“So, what?” He throws his arms wide. “Suddenly you’re cool with people knowing you’re an adult entertainer and you’re just abandoning a career in education?”
I’m not abandoning anything—or anyone. Least of all Brady.
Maybe I won’t be able to teach in a formal capacity, but I can still help kids from disadvantaged backgrounds. I’ll volunteer. Offer free tutoring.
It’s cliché as hell, but where there’s a will, there’s a way.
I just have to find it.
“What can I say?” I flash him a bright smile. “You’ve helped me realize my priorities.”
He snorts. “From where I’m sitting, they look pretty screwed up.”
“I don’t give a shit what you think.” I brace my palms on the desk and lower my face so we’re eye-to-eye. “Keep the cash and drop the charges.”
It’s a sweetheart deal and we both know it, but will he be smart enough to accept?
39
BRADY
My hand is throbbinglike a motherfucker as the security team leads us into a small office full of video monitors. It’s not the kind of place meant for a crowd and with the two guards, Coach Walker, and me, it’s a tight squeeze.
The taller guard, the one who looks like he might’ve played college ball himself, sits behind the desk and gestures for Coach Walker and me to take the seats opposite. I drop my bag on the floor as the shorter guard takes up a position by the door.
“My name is Malik Robinson, and I’m the director of security for the hotel.” He folds his hands on the desk, but I just stare at him. How the hell did it come to this? “Are you a guest at the hotel?”
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
I may be up to my eyeballs in it, but I can still show respect.
“Room number?”
“Four thirty-eight.”
He turns to his computer and punches a few keys. “Name?”
“Brady Vaughn.”
“I see you’re here with Waverly University.” He pulls his gaze from the screen, looking me over. “I assume you play ball?”
“Yes, sir.”
He grins, and it completely changes his demeanor. “I played for the Gators, but that was a long time ago.” He leans back in his chair and I get the sense he’s trying to build some kind of rapport. “Want to tell me what happened out there?”
Not particularly.
“It was a private matter.”
