His Pawn (The Manhattan Tales Book 1) by Willa Thorne Page A

isn’t able to cosign for me.  I didn’t make enough last year and my GPA isn’t-”
      “You got kicked from financial aid and now you’re squirming.” He smirked. “You’re not sure if you should quit your college career just before your last semester…” Somehow he reminded me of the cat who cornered the mouse. I swallowed hard.
    “What is your major?”  He asked, just before he finally took a sip from his coffee mug.
    “Social Work, with a minor in economics.” I answered, wondering where the hell all of this was going, and why it was so important.
    In response, he nearly spit his coffee out.
    “Social Work?”  He asked incredulously. “Why the fuck would you choose a field like that?  There is no money to be had, carting around America’s welfare-”
    Is he serious? Anger flared up in my chest as I thought of my dearest friend who grew up in the foster care system. 
    “You’re such an arrogant asshole!  Not everyone is dealt the same hand you were given.  Some of us have a really rough time no matter how hard we work!”  My fists were balled so tightly I could feel how white my  knuckles had become. 
    No matter my fury, though, I was only met with a cool gaze from him.  It was a mask and I could no longer read his emotions.  For a split second, I thought I saw the faint trace of a smirk on his lips.
    “Forgive me.” he responded smoothly, but I could not gauge the level of sincerity, if there was any.  “I was sounding like my father.  You know I was very proud of you when you were accepted into NYU.”  Yes, I remember how much you used to care…
    “I want to help people.” I stubbornly responded.
    “I know you do.  You’ve always been that bleeding heart type,” He commented with a grin that would probably cause most women to drop their panties for him. 
    I admit, it caused me to lose most of my fury.  It was enough to make my heart flutter in my chest, especially when a lock of black hair fell out of place and fell to his forehead. I felt my thighs clench as light tingles rushed down south.  I wanted to reach out and smooth that lock of hair away from his eyes… as I ran my fingers through his hair… while he pulled me into his lap, firmly holding me in place, kissing me, running his tongue along my-
    “I have a proposal for you.” he said in a very business-like manner and it forced me to leave my sensual fantasy of him.
    I snapped to attention, meeting the intensity of his stare and my face was flushed bright pink. I just knew it was bright pink. I could feel the warmth that had spread from my cheeks down to my neck, down to the now-moist area between my thighs… He must have noticed that flush because he had an arrogant smirk as he looked down at me.  His eyes moved up and down my form momentarily before he locked his gaze with me firmly, demanding my utmost attention.
    “You want me to come work for you?”  I joked, trying to lighten the intensity.
    “Not exactly.  Although, I suppose it’s a matter of perspective.” There was a smirk on that handsome face as he rounded his desk, unlocked a drawer, and pulled a leather bound folder from its contents. 
    His response had me immediately suspicious about what his proposal involved, but before I could ask any questions, he produced a crisp white document and presented it before me.  It contained fine print and a line for my signature and date.
    “Before I say another word, you’ll sign this confidentiality agreement.  You’ll not say a word about my lifestyle, my affairs, my words to you, or any business you would consider personal on my account, to anyone.”  His dark brow piqued sternly as he explained the agreement. 
    Really?    I looked up at him drily.  My New York sarcasm suddenly flared.  I couldn’t resist.
    “Yes, I suppose it is necessary, because if I wanted to say anything, to anyone, I could have done so already... years ago. But, I have this thing called respect , and I haven’t