Page 33 of Wreck Me

‘So, what’s the end game?’ he asks. ‘What are your plans after you graduate?’

‘Get out of the city. See the world.’ I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

‘Where do you want to go?’ James asks.

‘I’ve never been to Paris.’ I shrug. ‘I might start there.’

‘Why Paris?’

‘Emily.’ I smile.

‘Who’s Emily?’ His brows furrow.

‘It’s a show,Emily in Paris. I’m obsessed with it. The fashion is gorgeous but the male lead is pretty easy on the eye too.’

James harrumphs. ‘Easy on the eye? Really?’

‘You should see him, ‘ I swoon. ‘Model worthy bone structure to die for.’ My gaze lingers on James’s sharp cheekbones. In truth, James’s bone structure is more striking than any model I’ve ever seen.

‘Anything else?’ He’s staring at me with an intensity that heats my skin.

I pause for a second to think. ‘He has this twinkle in his eyes that just screams “come to bed”.’

His eyes flash. ‘What do my eyes scream, Scarlett?’

‘They don’t scream.’ I swallow, gazing into his dilating pupils. ‘They smoulder.’ My cheeks heat as I tear my gaze away.

The waitress reappears with the menus. ‘Would you like anything to finish?’

‘I was just about to ask the same thing.’ He smirks. His innuendo isn't lost on me.

‘Not for me.’ I address the waitress and ignore the chemistry crackling across the table. ‘I’m trying to be good.’

James’s chuckle rings through the air like a deep, hypnotic melody. ‘Come on then, let’s get you home. You’ve got school tomorrow.’

‘School is for children. I have lectures.’

‘Semantics.’ James shrugs with another smirk. He pays the bill, leaves a hefty tip and escorts me out into the chilly night where his driver, Tim, is waiting for us.

‘Where do you live, sweetheart?’

I hesitate for a second before giving him my less than desirable address. Crinkles form around the corner of James’s eyes, but he doesn’t comment.

The car ride is quiet. James taps away at his phone, while I gaze up at the stars and wonder which one of them is my lucky one, which one I have to thank for my unusual proposition.

‘I transferred two hundred grand into your Revolut account.’ He says two hundred grand like it’s twenty euro. His eyes don’t even veer from his screen. ‘I’ll transfer the other hundred afterwards.’

Afterwards.

I can’t even think about afterwards, when we’re only just commencing our ‘arrangement.’

‘I’ll have a credit card delivered to you before lunch tomorrow,’ he continues.

I grew up in an affluent family, before I fled for my life, but the Becketts are on another level.

James tucks his phone into his pocket as the car pulls to a stop outside my apartment building.

I squint through the darkness towards the front door.Several students ramble by, leaving a trail of raucous laughter in their wake.

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