“Yeah, but you didn’t!” I hate the savage pain in my voice. “You waited until now, waited until I trusted you, to go behind my back. Waited until I wanted you.”

It’s hypocritical, of course. I read her text message. But somehow me reading one tiny text message from a guy she’s never even mentioned doesn’t feel as huge as what she’s done. We’re both guilty of snooping, true. But she knew this was something I wasn’t ready to share. She didn’t give me the chance.

“I didn’t know that! You’re being melodramatic and ridiculous, Paul.”

I shake my head. “You want to know the real reason you’re still here? The real reason that I didn’t throw you out on your tight ass the second you walked through the door, like I did the rest of them?”

Nervousness flits across her face. “Because we connected?”

I make a harsh buzzing noise. “Nope. See, Olivia, I have to tolerate you for three months or my dad throws me out.”

Her jaw slackens a little, telling me she definitely didn’t know about my father’s ultimatum.

“Yeah,” I said, feeling a little victorious at the pain on her face. “The cozy afternoons by the fire? All those painful, vapid dinners while I listened to you ramble about your childhood? Those were all carefully manufactured to make sure you stuck around long enough for me to get my inheritance.”

Her lips press together. “Stop.”

I don’t stop. I go in for the kill, moving closer and bending my knees just a little, so I’m in her face, eye to eye. “Oh, and about last night’s kiss? And that kiss by the fire? And every other time I’ve tolerated your girlish, boring touch?”

She turns her head away, but I place the tip of my finger against her chin and force her to look at me. “Those weren’t about us. I had to make sure you felt wanted to keep my dad from cutting me off.”

Her eyes go dark and furious as she meets my gaze, and this time it’s her turn to push back at me. “Poor, poor Paul! You mean your father actually expects you to be a contributing member of society instead of a sulking coward? I had no idea you were being so victimized!”

I feel rage roll over me. She doesn’t know anything. She doesn’t know about Lily’s leukemia, or the fact that only I know that Alex’s death wasn’t mercifully fast, or that the only way Amanda can afford to pay rent and the costs of Lily’s treatment is because I’ve sold out and taken my dad’s money.

“Get out,” I snarl.

She gives me a condescending look. “You sure you want to do that? It hasn’t even been two months. You kick me out now, you’ll actually have to make a living on your own like the rest of us.”

I bark out a laugh. “Like the rest of us? Exactly which of your possessions did you pay for yourself? Hmm? Which of those didn’t come from Daddy? We both know this is a token job. I don’t know how much my father is paying you, but I do know you’re not doing it for the money. I’d wager you haven’t even deposited a single paycheck.”

Her eyes flash guiltily, and I don’t know if I’m relieved she’s not doing it for the money or furious because it means she’s doing it for some other nefarious reason that I can’t yet figure out.

We stand there for several seconds, glaring. Two spoiled, damaged disasters.

“I’ll pack my stuff,” she says finally, starting to move around me.

I grab her elbow as she passes. We turn our heads toward each other just slightly, each breathing hard, neither meeting the other’s eyes. “Stay,” I say gruffly. “We’ve used each other for this long. Might as well see it through.”

“I’m not going to stick around because you want to mooch off your father.”

“Fine. Then stick around for whatever selfish reason you came here for. See it through. Finish using me like I’m using you. Then we can walk away unscathed.”

Green eyes meet mine, and I see what’s plainly written there. Bullshit.

She’s right. It’s gone on far too long for either of us to walk away unscathed, but I’m beyond caring at this point.

If my initial goal was to get Olivia Middleton to stick around, my new goal is far darker.

I’m going to break her the way she’s breaking me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Olivia

Okay, so I’m just going to come right out and say it: Paul overreacted.

Yes, I overstepped a little by Googling him. Do I regret it? Most definitely.

But he’s acting like I went snooping through his drawers in the middle of the night. This isn’t Paul’s diary we’re talking about. Like he’d even keep a diary. (Although he should. Maybe then he’d work through some of his issues and wouldn’t always act like his python cane is all the way up his ass.)

That news story I read? Public information. It’s not like I even had to dig—it took about twelve seconds on Google. The thing that’s really pissing me off is that if I had half a brain, I would have looked all of this up before arriving in Maine, before even agreeing to the job.

Maybe if I had, I would have known that Paul Langdon was worryingly close to my own age. I would have seen that senior-year portrait from his high school yearbook and known that once upon a time he was almost painfully handsome.

Of course, none of that would have prepared me for the fact that the twenty-four-year-old Paul is even more alluring to me. No amount of generic news articles would have prepared me for my fierce and automatic reaction to him.