Page 21 of The Arrangement

Chapter 12

Sebastian

Isat there looking at my phone right after I sent the text, giving her full access to my media storage. I wonder if she knew the kind of power she had over me. Fuck, why was I sweating? I got up, anxiously pacing around my living room as I received a ping to my email inbox giving me a heads-up that someone was in my online storage. Okay, so she clicked it.

My stress level was through the roof; as much as sex work had become normalized, it was still stigmatized, and in my family, being the only male? It was social and financial suicide, not just for me but for my grandfather. And anything that fucked with his money was taken care of immediately. I knew that he would demand any investment he had made into my and my sister's future be paid in full immediately, reminding me that my father was a poor excuse for a man and it was my job to make up for his failures.

However, this was also the only way I'd been able to make that kind of money without my grandfather Charles's involvement. Everything I made in his company, I put back into my college debt, saving enough to look like I was living off the wage he paid me.

I hated thinking about my debt to my grandfather; so instead I allowed my mind to wander back to when I firstmether.The day Georgia Clark showed up. Her hand-me-down uniform and old sneakers that had been cleaned to look new, but their laces were worn. Her brown hair in its kitchen-scissor haircut with coke bottle glasses that sat precariously on the end of her nose while she stared at the blackboard with the intensity of someone curing cancer. I knew I had my work cut out for me when she showed up in a few of my classes, never talking unless she was asking a question or answering one from the teacher.

The girl always had a ratty notebook in her book bag that went everywhere with her, but she never used it while taking notes. I saw it open in the library while she ate a sandwich, which the librarian pretended not to see, as she always sat alone anyway.

The last semester of high school, I worked my ass off, but it was one day in science after I had stayed up too late studying. I just wasn't my sharpest. Clark was. She won our little battle that I don't even think she knew we were fighting.

That day, my grandfather took the keys to the car that I had paid for and didn't return them until six months later when he saw I was walking to and from my job at a grocery store that I had gotten behind his back. He told me it was bad for his image for his grandson to be walking to work or to be working in a grocery store, to begin with.

Fuck, I needed a drink. I poured myself another healthy glass of red that we had been sipping on earlier and ordered takeout; my fridge was the only thing that really looked like a bachelor lived there—a few cases of beer, an old ketchup bottle, and some takeout from three nights ago that looked suspicious at best.

I hadn't taken on a collaborator besides Natalie. Ever. We worked so well together, even better because she wasn't even straight. There were no worries for emotions to get involved, and she really was my best friend next to Fletcher, the only other person who knew about my side gig. And now that I was stress drinking, I remembered why I kept my circle so small when it came to this. My heart skipped as my phone vibrated in my pocket, nearly causing me to spill my drink.

Fletcher: How did it go?

Me: Good I think, gave her paperwork to look over. We meet up again tomorrow after work to discuss things.

Fletcher: I told you that she was a good idea! It's a win-win, plus you get to hook up with the girl you liked in high school; how many guys can say that?

I reared back a bit, confusion falling over my features as I set my wine glass down.

Me: I absolutely did not have a crush on her. I was dating Liz at that time anyway. Clark was annoying as fuck, and a know-it-all.

Fletcher: Bro, you were obsessed with her. Remember when you would count how many times she stayed after class? Or check out the books she did at the library?

Me: I was examining the competition, you know how my grandfather was at that time. It had nothing to do with attraction.

Fletcher: Whatever, man, say what you want, but don't think I don't remember how you checked out Wuthering Heights from the library just because you saw her reading it one day.

Me: We were literally reading it in class Fletcher, which you would have known if you ever showed up.

Fletcher: Actually, smart ass, no, we read Dickens, Wuthering Heights was on a list of like 10 classics for extra credit.

Fuck. Fletcher might have been right about that one.

Me: Whatever, I'm going to the gym, I'll keep you updated.

Fletcher: Okay, go jerk off to Bronte or whatever you nerds do.

I flipped off the phone as I took another sip from my glass, draining it and rinsing it immediately, just for the fact that I needed to be doing something with my hands while my head raced.

Maybe I should go to the gym. I checked the time: 9 p.m. Fuck it. A workout would help lift this anxiety off of my chest.

It did not,in fact, lift my anxiety. Clark had texted me after the gym last night to confirm our meet up of 8 p.m. to see if she could move it to 9 p.m. Of course, I was a gentleman and said yes, even though I had been sitting on my sofa with my leg bouncing up and down. Because she'd seen my face, she'd seen my videos. She knew Natalie. Fuck, what if she uses this against me?But why?She would have just as much to lose if something like this got out. Right?

I shot a quick text to my sister Maria, checking in with her and bullshitting about her day just to calm myself down.

I jumped as soon as I heard a knock on the door; it was soft and hesitant, almost as if the person on the other side didn't actually want me to answer. I quickly looked at myself in the mirror: grey sweats and a white henley. Something informal, something that showed I was comfortable.

I was not, in fact, comfortable.

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