Page 158 of Kiss the Villain

Of course, there’s no girl, and Kayden is far from impressed by my riches and prestigious background.

Like, the man truly hates it when I overspend and keeps giving me this frown as if he doesn’t know how to fix it.

I bought him a car—a slick Aston Martin Vantage—because he doesn’t have one. When I took him to his building's underground parking garage and dangled the keys in front of him with a“Ta-da!”he looked at me with that poker face, then raised an eyebrow. “You’re replacing yourbabyMedusa?”

“Over my dead body.”

“Because she’s sospecial?”

“Yes, she is, and stop being jealous of a car.”

“I will when you stop calling herbaby.”

“Wow. Petty.”

He scowled and I laughed. “Anyway, this is for you.”

“For me?”

“Uh-huh. What do you think?”

“You bought me a car?”

“Yeah.”

“An Aston Martin?”

“Obviously.”

“Why?”

“Because you have to walk too far in this shitty weather, and I can’t drive you all the time.”

“You bought me an expensive car because I walk in the rain?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing.” I grinned, trying—and failing—not to sound too eager. “I’m rich, so this didn’t even scratch my trust fund.”

“Clearly.” He gave the keys a side-eye. “Return it, Gareth.”

“But why? You don’t want to commute to college comfortably?”

“This is flashy and will draw attention. No one would believe a college professor can afford this.” He pinned me with an austere look. “And I don’t need you to be mysugardaddy.”

I swallowed, my chest falling at the rejection and his stoic tone. “I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

He let out one of those soft sighs mixed with a smile and stroked my hair—the same hair I’ve been letting grow long because he likes yanking me up by it and running his fingers through it until I fall asleep.

“It’s the thought that counts. Thank you, my little monster.”

Then he gave me what he called an “appropriate gift.” A custom-made gold bracelet with two crossed arrows that match my tattoo engraved on the top.

Best. Gift. Ever.

I’ve been wearing it nonstop since he clasped it around my wrist.

That said, hestillwouldn’t accept the Aston Martin. I left it in the building’s garage anyway for when he needs something for non-work use, then got him a boring Range Rover. He frowned at that, too, but at least he’s driving it most of the time. That’s a win, I guess.

After that, I couldn’t stop myself. I started buying him rare whiskey, imported coffee beans, high-end watches, only accessible because of my last name, custom-tailored suits, and a personalized leather briefcase.

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