Page 4 of Brat Baby
I take a seat in my own chair and open the folder as Hudson and Darcy continue discussing how we got here. Setting the Friday and weekend contracts to the side, as well as the reward chart, I go straight for the long-term contract, specifically the last section on the first page.
The most fucking important section.
My gaze scans down the paper: Dominants, submissive, exclusivity. Fridays to Sundays. Safe words. Aftercare. Club Obsession. Then—
Nothing.
I flip to the next page, and there is the list of sexual acts we’d like to do with her, but there is nothing about her status as a student. My throat tightens as I flip to the last page that has the term and gift for this contract and all our signatures.
I stare uncomprehendingly at Emery’s signature.
It’s right there, in black ink. Her signature on a contract that does not contain a section requiring her to state if she is a student and at what institution.
She didn’t lie. She didn’t commit contractual fraud. She was our perfect girl, just as we thought. This isn’t Emery’s fault. No. This is ours. We fucked up.
I think back to signing the contract yesterday. The contract was waiting for me—all of us—on the coffee table, open to the signature page. Xavier had already signed and dated it. I didn’t think anything of it and simply signed and dated it as well. His signature was a sign to me that the contract was good to go.
My brain jams on that thought.
“No need. Already done.”
Those were Xavier’s words from yesterday when I had suggested asking Hudson and Darcy to bring a copy of the contract back with them.
Xavier supplied the contract. He printed it off. He had already signed it, giving it a level of authority—of surety—that everything was okay.
The jammed thought slowly works itself free.
I drag my gaze from the contract, across the polished finish of my desk, over the empty space to where Xavier leans against the wall, one shoulder pressed against the slate gray, ankles crossed. His face is blank as he watches the other two, and it occurs to me—he hasn’t said a fucking word since we spotted Emery at the coffee shop.
I focus back on the contract. I’ve always known he doesn’t give two fucks about teaching. It’s had the feel of a backup option for him. Almost like this role was selected for him, not by him.
But why would he tamper with the contract? Why would he do this to us? Why would he jeopardize our careers, our futures? Her future? She’ll be brought up before the ethics committee forbeing with us. And from what we have learned about her so far, she must be here on scholarship. Probably more than one.
She’s going to lose all of that.
This is going to strip away her security.
Why would he have her sign a contract that would jeopardize all of that?
“I’m keeping her.”
That cunt. That selfish fucking cunt.
He knew. That is the only reason he would do this. He knew she was a fucking student before he signed the contract. That fucker knew before his scene with her. He modified the contractbeforehis scene. He must have printed it earlier that day, which explains what he’d been doing Sunday morning.
He fucked her, carved up her ass cheek, and had all of us sign a fucking sixty-thousand-dollar contract with her, all while knowing she was a goddamn student.
The fury bubbling in my veins turns to white-hot rage, boiling the blood in my veins as I shoot to standing so suddenly that my chair skids out and crashes into the wall.
The conversation ends abruptly, and I barely notice Hudson and Darcy staring at me as I charge Xavier. The fucking asshole doesn’t even flinch when he sees me coming. Doesn’t even try to defend himself when I know he can. Taking two fistfuls of his shirt, I shove him against the wall.
“Derek,” Hudson cautions, but I ignore it, too locked in on my target.
Heat pours off me in waves and my knuckles ache to crack into the smug look on the fucker’s face. “How long?” I drag him forward and shove him back against the wall, and he barely resists. “How fucking long have you known that she’s a student at Newton?”
The smirk doesn’t drop from his face as the silence from behind us turns from shocked to charged. “Sunday morning.”
The words don’t even finish leaving his mouth before my knuckles are filled with pain and hands are gripping my shoulders and arms, holding me back as I struggle to get another punch in. “You fucking bastard! You selfish asshole. How could you?”
