Swallowing back a gasp, a jolt like liquid heat zings into my hand—it’s like I’ve been injected just by holding his hand. He walks us out of his lavish office and into the elevator.

We don’t talk.

I barely breathe.

When his hand squeezes mine, I look up at him, admiring his profile, which is as perfect as his full face.

And suddenly, I understand his note. The ding of the elevator distracts me. He guides us to the waiting Mercedes.

“Careful when you sit.” His voice is warm, and he watches me slowly slide in. I cross my legs, and he moves next to me, a knowing grin on his full lips.

“Thanks, Iain.” He settles back and the car moves smoothly forward.

I lick my lips. “I guess this”—I look down, then over at him—“is what your note meant this morning?” The car is dark, but the lights from the city still allow me to see part of his face.

“What are you studying?” I blink at him. Did he just completely ignore my comment and ask me what I’m studying?

The car is quiet, save for the driver putting the blinker signal on.

Clearing my throat, I turn slightly, so I can see his face better. “I haven’t decided, but I’m leaning toward environmental law.”

“Really?” By the tone of his voice, he sounds genuinely interested, which throws me. I was expecting him to laugh. No one, not even Cher, really cares about my interest in law.

“Yes, I find it fascinating, and with everything going on, I think the world needs people like me.” I cock my head at him, waiting to see that famous smirk.

Instead, he says, “Agreed. You’ll be brilliant.” His gaze holds mine. He leans back. “You’re at Columbia, right?”

What the? I recross my legs and try to focus on the fact that he is done playing, and now we are having a polite conversation.

“No. I’m at NYU.”

There’s the famous smirk I was waiting for. “So you’re not really serious about the law?” He looks out the window, and for a second, it’s as though I’m a disciplined child who feels shame that Daddy doesn’t approve. Which is absurd and fucked. Granted, NYU might not be Ivy League, but it’s an excellent school.

“Excuse me?” I snap.

“Why NYU? It’s average, at best. Your mother has the connections and money to get your foot into a much better college.”

“That’s exactly why. I try to avoid her help on most things.” My face heats up.

He turns his head and looks at me, then back out the window. “Well, good for you.” His tone is dismissive, and I visualize kicking him again, or at the very least, taking this vibrator out since it seems he’s forgotten about it.