Page 26 of Sugar (Gilded #1)

Implications

MADDIE

H ere goes nothing.

Or everything.

Either way.

At the knock on my door, I rushed through the apartment.

I hadn’t seen Easton since our dinner on Wednesday.

I hadn’t even talked to him until he’d texted early that morning to see if I was still open to attending Dave Augustian’s birthday with him.

Otherwise—true to his word—he’d given me time to think about his proposal, and that was exactly what I’d done.

I’d thought.

And thought.

And overthought some more.

Honestly, it wasn’t his rules and guidelines I was struggling with. In a twisted way, I liked those. It wasn’t the financial aspect itself, either.

In an even more twisted way, I really liked that.

And that reaction was exactly the issue.

I wasn’t desperate for cash to keep the electricity running, put ramen on the table, or anything dire.

I was insanely fortunate that my schooling had been paid for by my maternal grandparents.

Any additional expenses were easily covered by my income from The Coastal Chronicle, savings from working with my dad in the summer and over breaks, and care packages from my mom.

I didn’t need Easton’s money.

I didn’t even intend to spend any of it.

Yet every single time I started to text him about altering our terms to remove that piece, I hadn’t been able to hit send.

Because I wanted the implication of that money. I liked the fact he’d bought me. That I belonged to him. That I was powerless.

A purchase.

That was what gave me pause. In Easton’s version, I was only his date. He didn’t so much as hint at more, though I probably would’ve agreed to it.

Okay, there was no probably. I totally would’ve.

But that wasn’t what we were, and I’d taken the time to ensure I could remember that it was just business. That I was capable of separating my feelings.

I could enjoy him.

Enjoy our time together.

Enjoy going a little deeper as I explored the wading pool.

As long as I kept my head above water, I would be fine.

I hoped.

At the second impatient knock, I called out, “One second.”

Pausing in front of my big mirror, I gave my reflection one last critical scan as I checked for smudged makeup, wild hair, or my dress tucked into my panties.

Everything was in place, so I opened the door and spoke as I spun to grab my bag.

“Hi. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you for another fifteen minutes. ”

At the stretching silence, I turned back to see Easton scanning down my body. Not for the first time, I wished that his expression wasn’t always so blank. I’d kill for some indication into what he was thinking.

When he finally met my eyes, he simply said, “I wasn’t sure if you’d need help again.”

The dress he’d sent—that time with a white gold necklace and bangle set—was a black cocktail one with no complicated straps to strangle myself with.

It wasn’t plain or boring, though. The satin had a black velvet rose design on it, with a structured bodice that felt tailor-made for my body, and a skirt short enough to show off my legs but not short enough to show off my ass cheeks.

“Not this time,” I said with a laugh.

“I’ll have June choose better next time.”

I froze, my horrified gaze shooting to him. “You have your administrator shopping for me?”

“I don’t think you’d like what I would put you in,” he said.

I scoffed. “Of course I didn’t think you did the shopping yourself. I just assumed you had someone else do it.”

“I do.”

“No, like one of those personal shoppers at the store. Now I feel bad. June shouldn’t be wasting her time like that. She has fish to take care of.”

“Don’t feel bad. Trust me, she will probably hug you next time she sees you. She gets a day out of the office, and I know for a fact she’s bought herself three tops and two pairs of shoes on my dime. If you take that away from her, then she’ll be upset.”

That made me feel better, even if the whole thing was still awkward as hell. I wanted to ask what she thought of being sent to buy the items. Whether she knew they were for me.

Whether—like the assistant who’d now been roped into two deliveries—that was a new part of her job description, or if she’d been through that scenario a dozen different times.

Deciding I’d rather not know, I swallowed my natural instinct to ask a million questions. About that, at least. He never made it a rule I couldn’t annoy him about his work, so I put my intrusiveness toward that.

“More court prep today?” I asked as we walked into the hallway, pausing so I could lock the door behind us.

“Met with a client to review options.”

“What client and what options?”

He blinked at me, making it abundantly clear I wasn’t getting anything else from him. Sure enough, he turned the conversation to me. “More schoolwork?”

No.

More obsessing about you and me and this.

“Nope. Assignments are a problem for Sunday-me.”

Easton snagged my wrist in the way that was hard to ignore. I did my best anyway.

Arousal still pooled at my core, but at least I didn’t tremble.

Small victories.

“Do not procrastinate again, Madeline. If I have Saturday night with you, I want your full attention without impending schoolwork lurking at the back of your mind.”

“It won’t be.” It was the honest truth—and part of the reason why I was a C+ student and not a permanent Dean’s List resident like Greer.

“Correct. It won’t be because next time your assignments will be completed.”

“Is that another rule?”

The elevator opened, but he ignored it, and it eventually closed. “Does that mean that you’ve reached a decision?”

“No,” I lied. “It means I’m taking a note from you and being thorough. Reading the fine print.”

“Then yes, it would be a rule.”

“Fair warning, that might not be possible. I can start assignments, but most of them are extensive.”

He raised a dark brow. “Then why did you leave them to do tomorrow?”

My cheeks flushed. “I may not be the, uh, best student.”

He seemed to know that I wasn’t just talking about my effort level, and his expression softened. “From now on, if you can’t finish in time, we’ll reschedule our plans. School comes first.”

If anything could break me of my slacker habits, the consequence of not seeing him would be it.

I pressed the button to summon the elevator again, and the doors immediately slid open. Once we were closed inside, he asked, “Do you have any other thorough questions you’d like to review?”

“Yes, but not in public.” The words just left my mouth when the door slid open into the busy lobby.

Easton looked tempted to drag me back into the elevator and hit the emergency stop button to prevent disruptions. Instead, he opted to make the journey toward the exit at a quick pace. And since my wrist was still firmly in his grasp, I had no choice but to rush my much shorter legs to keep up.

We weren’t holding hands, but the grip he had on me felt somehow more intimate than if we were.

He continued at that speed until we got outside.

Like when he’d picked me up for dinner on Wednesday, it was his own SUV waiting at the curb.

His hold on my wrist slowly released as he opened the door for me.

I climbed in and practically sank into the seat.

It wasn’t as fun as my Jeep, but it had some perks.

Okay, it had a lot of perks.

It was the most luxurious vehicle I’d ever been in—and that was saying something. I could spend an hour touching buttons and going through the various menus on the panoramic touchscreen, but I would likely mess with all his settings.

Accidentally, of course.

Well, except the radio settings. That would be on purpose. All his presets were for news and sports stations. I understood staying informed. It was a big part of my future career. But he didn’t have a single music station saved, and that seemed fundamentally wrong.

Not that I was subjected to that torture.

When he started the car, he pressed a button on the steering wheel to mute the sound and cut off the droll voice reciting stock price changes.

I was tempted to tell him he could leave his stuff on, but that would mean I would be asleep before we reached the party.

I might’ve consumed a lot of news, but reporting on the financial market would never be my field of choice.

I didn’t get the chance to say it anyway. The moment we started driving, he prompted, “Your thorough questions.”

“Oh. Right. Where do you get the iced coffee from?”

He turned a quick glare my way before returning his focus to the road. “ That was your question?”

I nodded.

His heavy sigh was for show. “You played it up like it was something serious.”

“I learned it from watching you, Tyrant.”

Easton didn’t look displeased about that. “Fair enough.”

“And this question is serious.”

“You know what I mean. I was expecting a question about our arrangement.”

I waved a hand and forced my voice to be as dismissively nonchalant. “Oh, no, I already decided to say yes to that.”

“You did?” He kept driving, but I got the distinct impression he would’ve pulled over if it wouldn’t cause a pileup.

“Yup.”

“With the new terms?”

“Yup,” I repeated.

If I’d been on the fence about my final decision, Easton’s smile wouldn’t have nudged me off it. It would’ve catapulted me. It was more than his usual smirk or trace of what could possibly be categorized as a smile. It was a full-on, insanely hot grin.

“I’m glad. Wish you would’ve told me when we were heading to dinner and not a boring party that I’d already rather not attend, but I’m still glad.

” He glanced over, and I could’ve sworn his focus was on my own smile, but it was impossible to tell in the flickering streetlights.

“If you do think of questions—about us and not coffee—make sure you ask.”

“Got it,” I said. “But you still haven’t answered my question. It’s the best coffee I’ve ever had.”

“I’m not telling. You want the coffee, you have to keep me around.”