Page 59 of Feel Free to Scream

That’s as much of an acknowledgement that we’re doing this as I’m going to get from my adorable little prude.

“I’ll get some of the guys to move your things. Rest. You’ve had a long day.” Before I leave, I ask, “Would you like anything specific for dinner? We have a cook. As it’s your first night here, he’ll take your request—even if I don’t doubt he’ll pout about the short notice.”

“Oh, erm, no. I’m not fussy.”

“I didn’t ask if you were fussy. Is there anything you’d like to eat?” I repeat patiently, knowing that it’s more about her than me.

She’s not used to having a choice.

“I don’t know. I like steak? I don’t often have it.”

I smile. “Steak, then.”

We have a long way to go. But I believe I understand her enough to know, without a single doubt, that I’m going to enjoy the end result. And every step of the way.

24

CLAIRE

It’s crazy. This entire place, and the fact that I’m here, is positively insane.

Who has a designer apartment in college? His floor looks right out of a magazine’s front page. Something entitledModern Bachelor.

And this is my room. In exchange, he wants…no. I’m not letting myself think about what he wants.

Part of me wonders why he didn’t just bend me over the bed and have his way with me. Somehow, I think that would have been better. Instead, I’m left waiting in anticipation for what I know is coming, and freaking the hell out about it.

“Your duty will be to let me come inside one of your holes twice a day, every day. When I want, where I want.”

Twice a day. Who even does it that often? Is it normal? What’s the national average?

I’m still dumbly standing right where he left me when Keller returns, a rather large, ancient-looking brass key in hand.

“Your key. You can scan it at the front gate, the main door downstairs, and to get into the elevator. It’ll allow you onto this floor.”

“Scan?” I repeat, confused, because it looks, well, like a key.

“I mean, we like the aesthetics, and cards are annoying—easy to bend, break, or lose. But there’s a chip inside. Consider it your ID card on our side of campus. And speaking of cards.” From his back pocket, he retrieves a leather wallet, and slides a smooth black card out of it.

I’m shocked to read what it says on the front.

C. Fairmont. Keller Holdings.

“Anything you need. Furniture, clothes, all the cute notebooks in town,” he adds with a smirk.

“That’s…” I don’t even know where to start. When I finally find my voice, I ask the important question. “How did you get a card for me done so fast?”

He snorts. “My bank doesn’t exactly put me on hold when I call, little ghost. But I had it done this morning. I figured you’d need it eventually.”

I tend to struggle to look him in the eyes for long, but I make myself do it now. “You thought I’d need a credit card associated with your account?”

He shrugs, completely at ease. “Seemed like a likely scenario, and I like to be prepared.”

He makes no fucking sense. “Butwhy?”

“Because,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting, “I want to take care of you. There’s no limit, because I know you will be circumspect. I trust, in fact, that you’ll likely spend far less than you should. But remember what I said whenever you hesitate to use it: anything you need.”

This is point-blank crazy.

---