Page 29 of Pucking Fake

She jerks her head in a nod.

"We're consenting adults, baby. What happens between us is our business."

"Spoken with all of the confidence of someone with nothing to lose," she mutters. "You have a fortune in the bank and a legion of adoring fans. You get to walk away with your reputation intact, no harm, no foul. I don't have that luxury. I'll be your employee. You know what they'll say about me? I seduced you. I'm a puck bunny. I wriggled my way into your life just so I could wriggle my way into your bed. That's how the story goes for girls like me."

"That narrative is bullshit, Peyton. It isn't you."

"It won't matter once they find out you're sleeping with your employee. It's the story they'll tell anyway. I'll be the villain. And when you decide you're–"

"When I decide what?" I prompt when she breaks off, biting her tongue.

"When you decide you're finished with me, I'll be the one picking up the pieces," she says, avoiding my gaze. "And I'll have to do it without a job."

I stare at her for a long moment, caught off guard. This isn't about me, at least not entirely. This is old pain, the shit that took root a long fucking time ago and made her terrified to trust. She likes me, a whole helluva lot, but she's running scared because it's all she knows how to do.

"Who hurt you, Peyton?" I ask, a growl in my voice.

"Who says anyone hurt me, Logan? Maybe I'm just being a realist."

"Now who's lying?"

"Fine." She glares up at me. "You really want to know?"

"Yeah, I do." I can't kill the prick if I don't know.

"My father."

"What'd he do?"

"You mean aside from get my mother pregnant, tell her to abort me, and then spend my whole life refusing to acknowledge my existence? Nothing."

Jesus Christ. I'm going to find him and tear his throat out through his asshole.

"What's his name?" I growl, my hands clenched into fists.

"Doesn't matter. None of it matters. It was a long time ago. I answered the question. End of story."

Yeah, I guess she did. But she's lying to herself if she thinks it doesn't matter. It clearly fucking does because she's still bleeding over it. Whatever his name is…fuck him. He doesn't deserve her.

Hell, maybe I don't, either. I don't know. But I'm willing to work my ass off to be the guy who does deserve her. That has to count for something, right?

I don't know.

Maybe I should walk away. With Montaque hanging around and all the shit with Lauren, maybe that is the safe, sane thing to do. But I've never done the easy thing just because it's easy. I've always fought for what I wanted, even when the shit was hard,especiallywhen it was hard. And what I want is standing in front of me right now, scared to trust because her father scarred her in ways that no child should be scarred.

I'm not going anywhere.

I reach for her hand, tangling our fingers together.

"Take the job, Peyton," I murmur, turning her to face me. "Trust me enough to believe that I'm not like the prick who never deserved you or your mother. You're safe with me."

"Logan."

"You really think I'd do anything to hurt you, angel? That I'd let anyone else hurt you?" I ask, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Is that really who you think I am?"

She stares up at me for a long moment, her tongue peeking from between her lips, before she huffs a massive sigh. "No," she says reluctantly. "I don't think that, okay? I just…"

"Don't trust me."

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