The heir, the golden child, the boy. She used to pity him. Restricted from stepping out of line, perfect grades, competitive programs, and involvement in everything. Stephen never complained, never a word out of place.
Now, his behavior had its flaws. In high school and university, he got into a bit of trouble—with Chase. Stephen wasn’t allowed many friends, but Chase was an exception. Something about their mother knowing Chase’s parents…who passed away when he was a kid. He had ended up being raised by his aunt and uncle.
When she had walked out, and they had let her, Stephen hadn’t spoken a word. He hadn’t come to her defense, he hadn’t told their father he had been irrational with his demands. No, he had remained a loyal son.
Samantha glanced up, confirming no customers were roaming around, and then she picked up the call.
“Stephen.”
“Sir Hastings?”
Ding-ding.
Great, a customer had walked in.
“Nothing. I’m at work.”
“I could have said none of your fucking business.”
“Stephen.”
“You ask me the same question every time. My answer is always the same.”
“I don’t know, is it better than being someone’s Stepford wife? I think so.”
“Are we doing this again? Look, if you called to know if I’m miserable… I’m not.”
“Then out with it, I’m at work. I can’t be on the phone the whole time.”
Silence.
“Stephen?”
“I know how he gets. That’s why I left. So, sorry to burst his bubble, but I’m never coming back. I’d rather live in the streets.”
“And we both know you’ll never go against Dad, so. Here we are.”
She hung up, cutting off any chance for her brother to drop more nuggets of wisdom. Slamming her phone on the glass counter, Sam felt her heart racing. No backing down—she was an adult, after all. They would have to drag her back kicking and screaming.
Except, kicking and screaming was daddy dearest’s special move. He could turn her life into a living sitcom of horror, making her return against her will. The man had a PhD in manipulating situations, after all. He could have her declared insane, unfit…
Sam lived by one ironclad rule: do not make waves. As long as she didn’t turn into the family’s black sheep or do anything to dent her father’s picture-perfect reputation, she was safe.
Sure, she did as she pleased, but she tiptoed through life, ensuring her antics didn’t become anything attention-grabbing. The motto was clear—have fun, but make sure it’s not fun enough for the spotlight.
Samantha smoothened her bangs, running her fingers until she reached the blue hair tie keeping her ponytail up. Only fifteen more minutes of this torture, and then she could go home, open a bottle of wine, and pass out on the couch.
Piece of cake.
Resting her chin in the palm of her hand, Sam leaned on the marble counter, her elbow pressing into its cool surface. The store was as lively as a ghost town, leaving her utterly alone.
Stephen’s calls, her dad’s constant control-freak mode—it kind of ticked her off even more, especially considering what had happened with Chase.
Who did he think he was?
Her protective older brother? The very idea of having a crush on him made her despise herself. Sure, Chase Bennett was undeniably attractive—irresistible even. With his dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and a physique carved like a Greek god, he embodied perfection. She hadn’t seen his bare chest or abs yesterday, but she didn’t need to in order to know that he was chiseled to perfection.
Chase Bennett was all muscles.
The sudden sound of something slamming onto the counter jolted Samantha, causing her to jump in surprise and let out a startled yelp. Her hand instinctively covered her racing heart as her eyes widened, fixing on the source of her abrupt awakening.
Motherfreaking Chase.
Seriously?
She had been grinding away at this job for ages, right next to his shop, and she hadn’t caught a glimpse of him once. Now, he had appeared twice in two days? It didn’t seem fair.
She did struggle to hold down a job—not the point, Sam.
“Sam?” he asked, furrowing his brow as he leaned closer as if verifying that it was indeed her. Yeah, who else would find themselves in this embarrassing situation? It’s Sam! TA-DA! After a nice snappy, I’m a big girl talk…here she was.
“Anything else?”
“W-what?”
“Do you want anything else?” she said, before pointing at the chocolate bar with her chin. No small talk, no backing down. Part of her wasn’t convinced this was a complete accident. After all this time? Nuh-uh.
“Hm, no?”
Sam swiftly grabbed the chocolate from the counter, scanning it with a beep that broke the heavy silence between them. “A dollar forty-four,” she declared.
He looked at her, making no move to retrieve any money as if he were processing the situation. Seriously? He had seen where she lived, seen her beat-up car. Did he expect her to have a fancy job?
“A dollar forty-four,” she repeated, her patience waning.
“You have to give me the money. That’s how it works,” Sam reminded him, eyeing the coins intently.
“Yes, I know.”
He chuckled. “That’d be a good assumption.”
“Gimme two days. If I had the pieces…but you’ve got a really—really… really old car.”
“A falling apart piece of junk is all Samantha Hastings can afford?”
“Guess so,” Chase replied, the words clipped.
“Bus it is,” she mumbled under her breath.
Chase ran his fingers through his hair, flattening the mess of locks on top of his head. “I—Sam, can we talk?” he ventured.
She snapped out of it.
“Talk about what?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, are you?”
She didn’t like the way he looked at her, with those eyes. Because she despised pity and didn’t want it.
It wasn’t fair because it wasn’t shameful. She had worked hard to attain what she had…
But she was.
“I’ll wait outside,” he replied, beaming a smile of pearly whites.
Yeah, not fair.
She had seen him. From the corner of her eye.
She marched toward him, more determined than ever, and stopped once she was in front of him, her shoulders pushed back and her chin up high.
“So?”
“So what?”
It was innocent.
A very innocent question.
With no disgusting, mind in the gutter, second meaning.
“Mine,” she settled on answering as she yanked the helmet out of his hands.
If she said his place, he would keep badgering her. He would not believe she was fine. She would show Chase her place and he would see she didn’t need his help and she wasn’t some damsel in distress. It was the perfect opportunity since her roommate wasn’t around to get the wrong idea.
And she didn’t need Chase to think there was something there.
There wasn’t.
“Need help hopping on?”
“No.”
He smirked, a burst of laughter escaping him as he nodded. “Okay then.”
But after a few seconds—or was it minutes—of struggling, and feeling the vibration of Chase’s back as he held back laughter…she got on.
“I know how much you hate me, but if you don’t grab on, you might end up flying backward.”
Fine.
She reached for his sides, grabbing his jacket with her fingers and holding on to the fabric.
