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

said a word to anyone-” 
    “I would watch that sarcastic tone, Ms. Pryor.  You might find that you regret using such a tone with me.” He was terse.
    I sighed softly.  “Yes, of course I’ll sign it.  I had to sign one for the Sloanes when I was hired to be a nanny.  Can I get a pen?”
    “You’ll not read it first?”  His jaw clenched slightly.
    “No, Mason.  I don’t need to read it.  Do you recall how many years I could have talked about you, and everything I knew about you, even then?  Not to mention the last three days…”   
    He didn’t argue me as he handed me the pen and I scribbled my signature and the date.  Yes, I was annoyed.  This was ridiculous.  He was studying my exasperated demeanor, of course.
    “Again, I’ll remind you to watch that tone with me, Ms. Pryor.” He now seemed agitated.
    I simply looked at him, blinking a few times. What the hell was this? Was I some errant employee? He continued speaking, ignoring my expression, while he still clutched the leather folder and replaced the agreement within the folder.  He was now perched on the edge of the desk again, facing me directly.
      “I propose that you finish your degree, complete whatever internships are still required by the state of New York, and work towards raising that grade point average.  I am certain you aspire to continue on with graduate school?”
    My dark eyes obviously flared as I looked up at him.  “Yes, Mason, of course I want to go on to graduate school.  I applied for scholarships and jobs but I’m probably going to have to take a break from school to save money-”
    “Out of the question,” he cut me off shortly. 
    I sighed.  Things must seem so easy when you have all the money in the world to just throw around.  I would bet my life on the assumption that he’s never had to take out a college loan in his life.
      “I’ll provide for your needs and lodging.  You’ll not work, with the exception of required internships, and attend classes full-time to build up your grades.  I’ll pay off your student debt and the upcoming costs of tuition.”
    He said this coolly as he leaned back ever so slightly and assessed my reaction.
    My mouth must have hit the floor because he grinned and lifted his forefinger to my chin, gently forcing my mouth closed. 
    “Mason-”
    “I’d appreciate if you refer to me as Mr. Woodward while you’re on company grounds,” he interrupted me sharply. 
    I’ve never had to call him by that title.   He’s always been Mason.  This really caught me by surprise.
    “Right.  Mr. Woodward , this is very, very kind and generous of you… but you’ve already done so much for me.  I can’t leech off your generosity like this, freely taking from you just because you’re very…”  I looked around at my surroundings.  “Very successful.”
    Mason’s success was the least of it.  He came from very old English money, something he never cared to talk about with most people.
    Mason, er, Mr. Woodward simply chuckled, and I didn’t like the sound of it. 
    “Ms. Pryor, I do nothing for free.”  He stared down at me with a slight grin as he allowed that to sink in.  Again, he looked at me like I was the cornered mouse.
      “What about the charities and nonprofit organizations you sponsor?”  I challenged, although my voice wavered somewhat.
    “It’s all PR, Ms. Pryor.  Public relations are extremely important when establishing your name in the business world.  First impressions and reputation are of utmost importance.  Surely I do not have to give you a college lecture.  You’ve taken Society and Economic Change , I assume?”   Yes, but I assume you’ve never taken Poverty and Inequality.
    I stared up at him, my frustration piquing ten-fold. Right, Mr. Moneybags Mason, I thought to myself.  What about the times you helped my family, thinking nobody knew about it?  What about those times you rescued me?  That was not PR, because nobody