21. Ava
AVA
T he two days following my . . . agreement with Levi are the most confusing two days of my life.
He ignores me almost as much as he did before, to the point where I start to question myself as to whether or not the whole diner-contract meeting was a fever dream.
He’s barely home, and when he is, he leaves shortly after. He doesn’t stay the night, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s out sleeping with other women again despite what he said, or if he’s somewhere else, avoiding me because he regrets ever making the deal in the first place.
Why does he have to be so confusing?
Why do I have to care?
To top it off, my phone goes silent. Not so much as a whisper from Mr. Black. I can’t say I’m not relieved. I also can’t say I trust this silence. It all just seems too perfect.
The more I think about our agreement, the more I question my morals.
Sex for money, no matter how you paint it, could be considered prostitution. Granted, there’s also a contract bearing my signature agreeing to his terms, but it sits heavily on my shoulders, reminding me of what I agreed to.
The pros are great sex with the object of my fantasies. Nana would be taken care of. I wouldn’t have to skip meals to pay for the nursing home. I could save up enough to get out of here and maybe finish school. I could move and find somewhere quiet and peaceful and just breathe.
The cons?
Everything else.
My morals have taken a major hit. My sense of self. I’ve never been overly sexual. The incident in the woods was a one-off thing that backfired majorly.
What if he finds out I’m boring in bed? That I’ve only ever slept with two men and have the experience of a teaspoon?
There’s no doubt in my mind he’d end it immediately if he deemed me too boring, and, in that regard, I have to worry about my self-esteem.
I’ve read through my copy of the contract so many times that it’s become wrinkled. I found it on my bed the day after I’d signed the original. It just seems surreal, and I’m still not sure what I’m doing.
Especially when he hasn’t “requested” my presence.
I know he’s playing some sick game. Stringing me along to build up the anticipation until I’ve stressed myself out enough to quit.
I let out a sigh that’s not audible over the sweeper I’m running in the den.
What the hell is a girl to do?
I cut the vacuum off, and only then do I realize my phone is ringing. I jump, tugging it out of my pocket to see the nursing home’s name flashing on the screen, and answer it instantly.
“H-Hello?”
“Hi, this is Patrice from the Pleasant Grove Senior Care Center. Is this Ava Ryan I’m speaking to?”
I swallow over the lump in my throat.
“It is.”
“Good, I’m just calling because it appears as though we’re two months behind on payment for your grandmother’s account. Do you have time to discuss this?”
Fuck.
Fuckkkkkkk . . .
“Yeah, umm . . . I have the money. I just need to come in and pay.”
“That’s great to hear. I just have to inform you that if this month’s payment is missed, the account will fall into default, and we won’t be able to continue housing your grandmother.”
Tears burn in the backs of my eyes, and a rush of anger washes over me.
He said he’d take care of it. It’s been three days, and I haven’t heard a single word from him. Not a fuck you, fuck off, or even a simple hello.
More than that, though, I’m pissed at myself.
How could I let things fall behind this far? I’ve paid as much as I can, yet it still isn’t enough. My account is at five dollars even with my paycheck coming in, and I know it won’t be enough.
Scrubbing a hand over my face, I know what I need to do.
A pit forms in my stomach, filling with acid, but I start toward the stairs anyway.
“I’ll see it gets done.”
“Thank you,” Patrice says, all smiles on the other end of the line. “Have a great day.”
I hang up my phone and don’t stop on my way up to the second story. Levi’s door is unlocked when I turn the knob, and I don’t bother knocking because I can barely remember to breathe, let alone my manners.
“You asshole!”
I freeze when I see he’s on the phone, standing in front of the windows at the far end. He turns around, his gaze locking with mine, and gives me a disinterested once-over before he resumes his conversation.
Well, this is awkward . . .
“Tomorrow,” he replies coolly, his gaze still on me.
Maybe I should have knocked.
I stand in the doorway, arms crossed over my chest uncomfortably, while his stare continues to bore into me like two lasers determined to turn me to ash.
“I have something that needs my attention,” he murmurs gruffly. “I’ll call you back.”
He hangs up the phone and turns away from me as he moves about the room, shoving things in his pockets.
“I’m not in the mood, Ava.”
My temper flares because I’m not in the mood either .
“I just got a call from the nursing home. They said if my grandmother’s account isn’t paid by the end of the month, they’re kicking her out.
” He slides a hoodie over his head, and despite the brief glimpse of his perfect abs, I keep ranting.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re doing, but you approached me about your little contract of sin, and if you expect me to put out without paying up on your end, you’d better think again, Levi Cross.
I’m not one of those girls who’s just going to fall for your lies and not expect you to uphold your end of the bargain. ”
I’m panting by the time I fall silent and still angry. It only gets worse when he raises his brows, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
“Feel better?”
I’m going to beat him with the toilet brush.
Screw him. I square my shoulders, meeting his gaze head-on. “I’m serious. If you can’t be bothered to hold up your end of the deal, then there will be no deal.”
The thought of losing the opportunity is crushing, but I shove my chin high, anyway.
Stay strong, Ava. He can smell fear.
“Well, as fun as this was, I really don’t have time for your games today, sweetheart.”
He turns away from me, and I gawk at the back of his head.
Fucking asshole . . .
Without thinking, I grab the closest thing I can find, and twenty-five years of pent-up frustration come out when I wing a pillow from his bed at him.
Unfortunately . . . it hits him square between his broad shoulders.
For a brief, shining moment, everything feels like glorious triumph. Angels sing. Doves do dove things. Levi Cross gets what he deserves.
Then he turns around, and those icy eyes lock on mine.
Uh-oh.
“Baby girl. . .” His voice sends a shiver down my spine. “You’re going to wish you hadn’t done that.”
I bolt, rushing from the room and nearly fall to the ground, and beg for forgiveness when I hear his footsteps thundering after me.
I don’t pay attention to where I’m going. I just run, ending up in my bedroom across the hall. I try to slam the door on him, but his heavy boot kicks it back, sending it rocketing into the wall behind it when he fills the frame.
“I-I-I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
I rush toward the bathroom, but it’s useless when he catches me around the waist, hauling me back and pinning me between the wall and him.
His breathing is heavy, and his eyes are on fire when he fists a hand in my hair and drags my face up. His other hand hits the wall beside my head, and I jump, cowering instinctively.
I don’t mean to flinch. I really don’t. But it’s not a voluntary response.
He’s quiet for a moment, and my breathing comes out shaky. Tremors slide through me, and I know he can feel them.
His hold in my hair loosens, and his hand slides down to grip my jaw.
“Open your eyes, Ava.”
I force myself to meet his gaze, and it’s like looking into a black hole, devoid of emotion.
He searches my face for a moment, like he’s reading a book and it’s the worst one he’s ever had the displeasure of picking up.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Ava.”
I don’t have a response for that, so I don’t say anything.
He waits for me to speak up, but I can’t.
After a moment, Levi slides his free hand into his pocket and pulls something out, depositing it in my fingers. I don’t look down, but I know it’s paper and part of me wonders if it’s our contract with a big VOID right through the center.
He leans forward, his lips only inches from my ear, and a shiver slides through me. His breath fans across my neck, drawing out tingles on my skin that feel like electric zaps.
What am I doing? I threw a pillow at the man.
I’m really in over my head with this man.
“If you had asked, you would have found it’s already been taken care of,” he says so quietly, I barely hear him.
His lips touch my neck ever so softly in the lightest of kisses . . .
Then he steps back and leaves me pressed against the wall, staring at the spot he just vacated.
It’s not until I hear his footsteps retreat down the stairs that I unfold my fingers and look at what he’d placed in my hand. My heart drops, my mouth running dry at the check he’d given me.
And the hundred thousand dollars it’s made out for.
“Oh, fuck.”
I was wrong.
Hell really does exist. Right here at Cross Estate.
“You’re weak.”
“Oh, fuck you,” I huff in between heavy breaths, my hands on my knees and my back hunched. My heart races in my chest, and I feel like I just tackled a grizzly bear and barely lived to tell the tale.
“You haven’t been eating enough,” he mutters like a disappointed father.
Speaking of, how long is this torture going to last? We’ve been down here for hours, and my stomach is starting to digest itself.
“Nothing gets by you, does it?” I grumble.
This evening, he woke me up from a truly great nap by pounding on my door and telling me I had five minutes to get dressed and meet him in the hall.
I ignored him, only to be ripped from my bed and thrown over his shoulder like a ragdoll when he dragged me into the bathroom to get dressed before I was forced down to the gym.