I’ll say it: I was a bit of an ass. But she annoyed me, acting all hurt and betrayed, like everything was my fault, when in actual fact, all I’ve done was clean up her messes for the last couple of days.

Sure, I invited her to the party. But sooner or later, she would have seen something at Rothford. Everyone does. It’s not my fault her instinct tells her she should snitch.

Besides, I know she saw the faculty at one. It annoys me it took her until six to come. What did she do all afternoon? Try to find ways to sort her problems that don’t involve me, that’s what.

Claire is outraged by the term “cum dumpster,” but what am I supposed to call her? She’s still seeing that guy. The single text she sent him today wasn’t “by the way, I’m dumping you.” So yes, if she’s not mine, but she lets me fuck her for gain, she’s my little whore.

And frankly, I don’t mind that.

But she does.

Too bad, so sad.

I let her pace around the kitchen, her mind desperately fighting my offer. It offends her sensibilities. Everything I know from her file suggests as much.

Her grandma made her go to Sunday school until Claire filled up her schedule with enough science clubs, chess clubs, and debate clubs to beg off it. The controlling bitch, seeing the girl weasel out of her control, pushed her toward one of her friend’s grandsons until it worked, wanting nothing more than to keep Claire under her thumb. She failed with her own daughter, and Claire was her second chance. She thought she’d managed, too. But Claire’s too bright for that. She accepted Rothford’s offer so fast, although she could have studied at MSU with the boyfriend. They offered her a scholarship, too. Not as large, but she wouldn’t have needed as much money if she’d stayed local. No, this was a bid for freedom. But the thing is, I don’t think she’s fully acknowledged that. She remains a product of her upbringing on the surface.

Underneath, it’s another story. And it’s down to me to peel away the layers.

What’s funny is if I made this very offer—take care of all her financial burdens in exchange for sex—but topped it off with a nice little diamond ring, she wouldn’t see anything wrong with it.

No ring for you, my treacherous little snitch.

“I can’t just—it’s preposterous!” She throws her arms in the air.

“Is it?” I tilt my head. “Then why are you considering it?”

She groans audibly. “Because I have no choice!”