Ruined by My Student's Billionaire Father

At six o'clock, a car was waiting outside my dorm.

Not the Maybach. A plain silver sedan, which I knew was his idea of being subtle.

I still hadn't answered that text.

The driver dropped me at a studio with frosted glass doors. A woman with a silver bob met me inside, a measuring tape around her neck.

"You must be Maeve. I'm Colette. We've been expecting you."

She swept her arm toward the back wall.

Three gowns hung on a rack. Emerald silk. Black velvet. Midnight blue, so dark it looked wet. Below them sat a row of heels, and on a velvet tray, a diamond necklace and matching earrings caught the light.

"No," I said. "Absolutely not."

Colette blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm not wearing any of this. I'll go home and change."

"Into what?"

Ronan stepped out from behind a dressing screen, phone in hand, jacket off.

"I have a dress," I snapped.

"The black one with the torn hem? Theo spilled juice on it at his birthday party."

I hated that he remembered.

"The Halvorsen gala has a dress code," he said. "Floor length. Formal. They turn people away at the door." He slid the phone into his pocket. "Consider it a thank-you. For eight months of my son actually liking his homework."

"A thank-you."

"Nothing more."

I stared at the diamonds. Then I thought of Daphne Rowe. Three rejection emails. My name spelled *Mave*.

"Fine," I said. "The blue one. And I'm giving everything back tonight."

...

Colette pinned my hair up and painted my lips a soft red. When I stepped out from behind the curtain, the room went quiet.

Ronan was sitting on a velvet bench. He started to stand, and then he just stopped halfway.

His mouth opened. Nothing came out.

The coldest man in the city, and he couldn't find a single word.

His eyes moved down my body slowly. The bare shoulders. The waist. The slit that showed my leg from ankle to thigh. When they came back to my face, they weren't cool or polite anymore.

They looked hungry. Like he wanted to lock me in a room where no one else could ever see me.

My pulse kicked.

"Say something," I whispered.

"The zipper." His voice was rough. "It's not all the way up."

I turned back toward the dressing room. I heard his footsteps follow.

The curtain fell shut behind us.

His knuckles grazed my spine as he tugged the zipper. It inched up. Then it stopped.

"Ronan."

"Hm."

"You stopped."

"I know."

His lips touched the back of my neck. My eyes fell closed.

His hand found the slit in my skirt and slid up the inside of my thigh. He pushed the silk aside and pressed his fingers against my panties.

"Already wet," he breathed. "Fuck, Maeve. Were you thinking about this out there?"

"No."

"Liar."

He hooked my panties aside and pushed two fingers inside me.

I gasped and grabbed the mirror. My reflection stared back, red lips parted, cheeks flushed, his hand buried under my gown.

He pumped his fingers in and out, slow, curling them every time he went deep. Wet sounds filled the tiny room.

"Look at yourself," he growled. "Look how fucking good you take my fingers."

"Ronan—people are right outside—"

"Then be quiet for me."

His thumb rubbed my clit. My knees gave out. I fell back against his chest, and he caught me, turned my face, and kissed me hard. I moaned into his mouth.

I heard his belt buckle.

"Tell me you want it," he said against my lips.

"You want it, not me."

He bent me forward over the little stool, shoved my gown up around my waist, and pushed inside me in one thick stroke.

I bit my wrist to keep from screaming.

"Fuck," he hissed. "You're still so sore. I can feel it."

He gripped my hips and fucked me hard and steady, his cock dragging against every spot that made me shake. The mirror rattled on its hook. My earrings swung.

"Maeve," he grunted. "Maeve, look at me."

I met his eyes in the glass. His face was wrecked, his jaw tight, his hair falling loose.

I came with his name trapped behind my teeth. He followed seconds later, buried deep, his forehead pressed to my bare shoulder.

For a long moment, neither of us moved.

Then he zipped the dress all the way up. It worked perfectly.

...

When I stepped out of the dressing room, the studio was empty.

No Colette. No assistants. Just the silent rack and a single lamp left on.

They had all left. Every single one of them.

They knew.

I stared at the carpet the whole way to the car.

Inside, Ronan pressed a button. A dark panel slid up between us and the driver.

"You sent them away," I said.

"They sent themselves away. Colette is very good at her job."

"That's not funny."

"I'm not laughing."

He pulled me across the seat and kissed me again. His hand cupped my breast through the silk, squeezing until my nipple tightened under his palm.

I let him. And while he kissed me, a cold little voice whispered in the back of my head.

*What am I to him?*

A thank-you? A tutor he fired this morning? A body he can't stop touching?

I didn't ask. I was afraid of the answer.

...

The Halvorsen ballroom glittered with chandeliers and money.

Ronan's hand rested lightly on my lower back as he led me across the floor. People turned to watch.

A tall woman in a white pantsuit stood near the bar. Short dark hair. Sharp cheekbones. I knew her face better than my own.

"Daphne." Ronan nodded. "I'd like you to meet Maeve Doyle. She's brilliant, and she's wasted on rejection emails."

My face burned. Daphne laughed and held out her hand first.

"Doyle. You applied three times, didn't you?"

"You remember?"

"I remember persistence." Her grip was firm. "Tell me something. Have you heard of Vela Water?"

"The sparkling water that failed last spring?"

"Spent eleven million on ads. Nobody bought it. What went wrong?"

My mind went blank. Ronan didn't say a word to help me.

Then I thought about Priya, who drinks a can every night while she studies.

"They sold it as luxury," I said. "Gold labels. Models on yachts. But people don't buy sparkling water to feel rich. They buy it to quit soda." I took a breath. "Sell it to the person trying to be a little better. Put it next to the energy drinks, not the champagne."

Daphne was quiet for three seconds.

Then she smiled slowly. "Huh."

"Is that bad?"

"That's interesting." She pulled a card from her pocket. "Call my office Monday."

My fingers trembled as I took it.

A few people drifted closer. A gray-haired man from a shipping company. A woman who ran a tech startup. And a broad man with a wedding ring and a heavy cologne who stood right at my shoulder.

"Victor Hale." He smiled with too many teeth. "Hale Media. That was a sharp answer, sweetheart."

"Thank you."

"We should talk about it more. Privately." He leaned in until his breath touched my ear.

I stepped half an inch away. He followed.

Ronan had turned to answer someone across the room.

I gripped Daphne's card against my chest. A real chance. Finally.

Then I felt it.

A hand. Wide and heavy.

Settling on my ass like it belonged there.