Page 131 of You Owe Me

“No,” I say calmly, though the idea has admittedly crossed my mind. “That would be inappropriate.”

And I already asked Ainsley. The answer was a very firm no, followed by a lecture about normal parental behavior and the importance of not traumatizing our daughter’s social life.

“Why is it inappropriate?” Grace is genuinely confused.

This is what happens when you raise children in a house where everything is negotiable and most problems can be solved through strategic thinking.

“Because your mother said so, and I enjoy sleeping indoors and eating meals that aren’t poisoned.”

Grace huffs with obvious displeasure. “But boys who kiss girls should owe something. That’s just good business.”

I couldn’t agree more, but… “Take it up with your mom.”

The doorbell rings a third time, and I can practically feel the kid’s anxiety radiating through the door.

“He’s persistent,” Cooper observes, crunching popcorn. “Points for commitment.”

I reach for the doorknob, taking a moment to center myself. This is just a normal interaction between a father and his daughter’s prom date. No need for the kind of tactical intimidation that built my college empire. No need to channel the version of myself that made grown men nervous and smart people very, very careful.

Except that’s exactly who I am, and pretending otherwise feels like wearing someone else’s clothes.

The door swings open.

Noah Richards stands on my front step like a man facing execution. Seventeen years old, lacrosse player, GPA suspiciously close to my daughter’s—I may have done some preliminary research despite Ainsley’s restrictions. He’s wearing a slightly too-big suit that probably belongs to his father, and his facial expression screams,I’ve heard the stories about you, and those stories were terrifying.

“Mr. Lexington.” His voice is admirably steady, considering the circumstances. Good. I respect competence under pressure. But his grip on the corsage box tells a different story—white-knuckled, slightly trembling. The kid’s already sweating throughhis undershirt, which tells me my reputation is still intact, even in suburban dad mode.

I stare at him for a long moment, saying nothing. Sometimes, silence is the most effective weapon in any arsenal.

He clears his throat with obvious effort. “Good evening, sir. Thank you for… allowing me to escort Vivienne to the dance.”

Still nothing from me. Cooper makes a small sound of appreciation from the couch—he knows good psychological warfare when he sees it.

Grace peers around my leg like a tiny investigator. “Is this him? Is this the boy?”

“Yes,” I say finally, stepping aside with the gravitas of a man opening the gates of hell for a particularly brave soul. “Come in.”

Noah enters carefully, like he’s navigating a minefield. Which, in a way, he is.

Cooper’s sprawled across the couch in full spectator mode, clearly settling in for the show. “Dead man walking,” he sings under his breath, loud enough for Noah to hear.

Grace, meanwhile, goes straight for the jugular with the kind of directness that makes negotiations impossible. “Are you gonna kiss my sister?”

Noah freezes mid-step, probably wondering if this is some kind of test. “Uh—what?”

“She says boys who kiss girls owe IOUs,” Grace explains helpfully. “That’s how Dad’s business works. Everything has a price.”

“I—what’s an IOU?” Noah looks between Grace and me like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

I place a hand on his shoulder—firm enough to be felt, not quite firm enough to be threatening. “It’s an arrangement between parties. A binding one. You don’t need to worry about it unless you plan on earning one.”

He makes a sound that might have been an attempt at nervous laughter.

“Grace,” I keep my voice level, “go find your mother. Tell her our guest has arrived.”

“But I wanna see what you do to him,” she protests, clutching her sea lion tighter. “Cooper said you might make him cry.”

“Cooper talks too much. Now.”

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