30
The drive started in awkward silence, the tension thick between them.
Brandon was at war with himself, torn over how he was supposed to feel about what Amanda had just pulled.
Sure, she'd brought up gifts as a reward for being a good boy when they hashed out the terms of their dynamic.
But accepting her cash to clean up his own messes? That was an entirely different beast.
More than once, he caught Amanda sizing him up from the corner of her eye while keeping one hand on the wheel.
"All right, out with it. What is it, sweetheart?" She pulled over to the curb and turned toward him. "Let's talk about it. It clearly threw you off, and I'm not about to spend the evening knowing you're sitting there squirming over something."
"That's... actually really sweet of you. Thanks."
"What? Did you think our dynamic meant I was going to be a bossy bitch twenty-four-seven?"
"No, of course not!"
"Relax. I'm just messing with you."
Brandon let out a breath. He knew his knee-jerk reaction was to put up walls whenever things got tense with a girl he was seeing—an automatic reflex forged by a string of bad relationships. But he didn't want to be like that with her. He forced himself to take a couple of slow, steady breaths.
"I just don't know how to feel about you throwing down more than a month's rent just to shut my landlady up."
Amanda let out a soft chuckle.
"I won't deny I was being a little dramatic back there. The woman was practically begging for a scene." She shrugged, unbothered. "And I won't lie—it felt good. Maybe it was a petty way to kill the argument, I know, I know. But she was practically screaming in your face."
"Fair point, and honestly, I do appreciate it. If I were watching from the sidelines, my jaw would've hit the floor. But that's not what's bothering me."
Brandon shifted in his seat. Amanda was watching him with surprising patience—no claws out, no smug smirks. Seeing this grounded, attentive side of her during a serious conversation was refreshing.
"I don't know. I'm sorry, I must sound wildly ungrateful right now.
You literally just handed me a month of rent, and here I am, bitching about it like some macho prick whose fragile ego can't handle a woman making more than him.
It's ridiculous—and to be completely clear, you having more money than me isn't the issue at all. "
She chuckled, clearly more amused by his delivery than the actual complaint. Slipping her hand into his, she waited. Brandon pressed on.
"Sorry. It's just... I guess I'm not used to people dropping that kind of cash on me. It makes me worry that... like maybe you'll think I'm using you, or that I don't deserve it, or some other stupid shit. God, I'm a mess. This was supposed to be a date and here I am trauma-dumping on you."
Amanda leaned across the console and cupped his cheek.
"Sweetheart. I get it. First off, let's make one thing clear: I don't mind you venting. If something's bothering you, I want to hear it and handle it head-on. That's the only way this whole thing between us is going to work."
"You're right."
"Second, I know that wasn't the smoothest way to bring money into our dynamic.
But it was never about 'buying' you or what you do for me.
It was just me handling a problem—in a totally badass way, you have to admit.
But that's all it was. I don't care about the cash.
I'm not going to hold it over your head, and I'm not keeping score.
I did it because I wanted to, and because I could. "
"All right, that makes sense. I guess... I just need to get over myself."
She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before settling back into the driver's seat.
"Ready to keep going? Can I go back to being a sadistic bossy bitch now?"
Brandon laughed. The knot in his chest had finally loosened. It didn't feel like a ticking time bomb anymore, just some personal baggage he needed to work through on his own. "Yeah."
"Good. If it helps, you can definitely consider it an advance payment for what I'm about to put you through. Because I can guarantee you're not going to like where I'm dragging you."
There it was again—that wicked little smirk. Amanda tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and threw Brandon a look before firing up the engine.
"Ready for dinner with my dad?"
A few minutes later, Amanda pulled into one of the most affluent neighborhoods in Narrow Creek.
She swept into the driveway of a sprawling estate fronted by manicured lawns, sliding the car into an empty spot between two other luxury vehicles.
The facade was sheer architectural intimidation.
The front door alone was nearly twice the height of a standard entryway.
Brandon stood frozen on the pavement, taking in the landscaped grounds and the sheer scale of the house. One entire wing was encased in floor-to-ceiling glass that stretched to the second story, masked by heavy, towering drapes that hid the interior from view.
Amanda's father answered the door himself, stepping out with a greeting.
Amanda was visibly thrilled by the predicament she'd orchestrated. It wasn't about lording her family's fortune over him—it was the pure mischief of springing a meet-the-parents ambush on him without warning.
Am I your boyfriend now? he had asked in the car right before she parked. Are you? How are you going to introduce yourself to my dad? I'm just here to watch you squirm your way out of it, sweetheart.
Patterson was saying something. Brandon blinked, snapping back to reality.
"Are you certain I don't know you from somewhere, son?"
"I..." Brandon's eyes darted between the man and Amanda, frantically scrambling for an answer. Amanda gave him a challenge in her eyes, daring him to blow their cover. "I'm not sure, sir. But either way, it's a pleasure."
"Well, just in case, the pleasure's mine. Come in." Mr. Patterson gestured for them to follow him toward the dining room, and Brandon waited for a subtle nod from Amanda before taking a step. Part of it was his ingrained urge to obey her, even in public, and part of it was sheer insecurity.
"So, Mr. Bryant..."
"Please, sir, you can just call me Brandon."
"All right, Brandon. What are your intentions with my daughter?"
For a heartbeat, the older man fixed him with a raised eyebrow, hands clasped formally in front of him, posture rigid like a man braced for a showdown.
"Sir... I—"
"Oh, Dad! For God's sake, don't start."
"I was only teasing the boy, sweetheart.
" Patterson's stiff demeanor dissolved into an amused grin.
So that's where Amanda gets her sick pleasure from making people squirm, Brandon thought as the man chuckled.
Patterson waved them toward the dining chairs.
"Come on, kid. Tell me a little about yourself. What do you do for a living?"
A maid crossed from the other side of the room, leaning in to murmur something quiet in Patterson's ear.
While the man was distracted, Brandon took in the rest of the space.
It was undeniably modern, sleek, and new.
Yet despite the minimalist decor and sparse furnishings, it reeked of money.
It made you feel microscopic just breathing the air.
The raw, jagged boulder incorporated into the architecture didn't help either—a massive slab of unhewn rock jutting straight out of the floor and vanishing into the ceiling above.
It commanded attention, radiating an imposing, suffocating weight.
Every other design element in the room seemed deliberately arranged to funnel your eyes toward it.
I am a monolith, and I will crush you without even noticing if you try to push against me, Patterson's house silently declared.
Even with a smile on the patriarch's face, that ruthless message came through loud and clear.
"Splendid! Sounds like dinner is served. I hope you worked up an appetite, Brandon."
The older man excused himself and headed out of the room, leaving Amanda and Brandon alone for a fleeting moment.
"That was close, wasn't it?" Her teasing tone clashed deliciously with her expression of pure, unadulterated delight. Mean, ironic, mischievous. It sent a jolt right down Brandon's spine.
"What am I supposed to say? If he finds out... I mean, he doesn't seem like the type to take it well." Brandon flashed back to the first time he'd laid eyes on Amanda's father, the night they met by the hot tub. "Does he really not remember me?"
"He doesn't even know the name of the woman who just told him dinner was ready. Staff are invisible to him."
"Clearly."
"So... think you can handle this, sweetheart? Are you going to survive the trial of the terrible Mr. Patterson?" Amanda hooked a finger under Brandon's chin, tilting his face up.
"This is practically torture, you know that?"
"Oh, I know. Why else would I have brought you here?"
"How can you be so—"
"Don't forget who you're speaking to, sweetheart. I'm still your Mistress."
Brandon flushed red. Amanda's smirk widened.
He had to hand it to her; she had this psychological warfare down to an art.
She kept him off-balance, throwing him into sheer panic just so she could swoop in and reward him, wiring his brain to crave the sweet relief of her approval and the pleasure she promised.
"Come on..." Amanda gave his collar a light tug, making Brandon feel like he was on the end of a leash. "You wouldn't want to keep him waiting, would you?"
"You walked me right into an ambush."
"I thought you liked this side of me... how much I enjoy watching you scramble to figure out how to please me," she purred, her breath brushing against his ear.