This is chapter TWO for those of you who had the story on alert and came right here with the link. You can hop back to chapter one if you want a full refresher from the beginning.
Welcome back, readers! Or just welcome to those of you discovering GREED for the first time. The original one-shot was over fifteen thousand words, so for the sake of chapter length continuity throughout the entire story, I've split that chapter into six smaller chapters of fairly comparable size. Also, it was smarter to replace the o/s with the first trimmed chapter (rather than reposting it as a new story) because so many people put the story on alert, and I didn't want them to miss out on the extension. I'll post two a day from now through Tuesday, and then the new chapter of the extended story (chapter 7) will go live on Wednesday. I didn't want to overload new readers with too many chapters at once and figured this was the smartest way. My hope is to stick with posting a new chapter every Sunday and Wednesday. So, take your time over the next three days, and refresh your memory of where our characters journeyed, get into that GREEDy groove, and enjoy!
Chapters 2, 3 and the first part of 4 are a flashback...
$GREED$
Isabella had carved out quite a name for herself— discreetly, of course— in the few years since she graduated college. Yes, she had her degree in international business— even had the business cards to prove it. But to make it to the top, or at least be somebody who counted in that field, was entirely too long and arduous a journey. She wanted that money, that privilege . . . the clout that came with that position of authority, and she didn't want to wait to get it.
It was all about being the puppet master . . . the need for power. Isabella was always in complete control and planned every step meticulously. Even as a young girl, she knew what she wanted, knew how to get it, and more often than not, took it without apology.
Her childhood in Los Angeles was not a memorable one. She was frequently reminded that she was the inconvenient result of some one-night stand after an Aerosmith/Guns N' Roses concert back in '88. Isabella's father was never in her life. As for her mother, she was barely there, either. Her mom tried her best, but Renee was more of a train wreck than anything else. They fought like cats and dogs while her mom tried to force Bella to be young and carefree, and all Bella wanted was the routine and order Renee could never provide.
Once Isabella was accepted into college, she hugged her mother goodbye and left without turning back. Isabella assumed that Renee knew it was safer for the two of them to part ways with minimal contact, and she was thankful for her mother's insight in that regard. Isabella sent the woman a present on Christmas and her birthday, usually a gift card to a local grocery store, because Renee was just mindless enough to forget to shop for food at times. Singing in dive bars, painting and trying to sell her so-called "art" on Venice Beach, braiding hair and drawing henna tattoos . . . her mother was a jackass of all trades. Last she heard, some deadbeat guy named Phil had latched onto her and was mooching off her spectacularly sparse resources. They were a match made in mediocrity heaven.
At the University of Texas, Isabella excelled as a major in international business. Her GPA never wavered from a 4.0, but it wasn't all because of her intelligence. Oh, she was incredibly smart. But one day late in her junior year, she learned that her body— coupled with her knack for carrying on an educated conversation— was going to be her ultimate weapon.
Isabella always sat in the front row to ensure her professors knew she was serious and eager to learn, unlike some of the clowns and half-drunk frat guys who occasionally stumbled their way into the early morning lectures and labs. These amateurs made eyes at her, but she simply ignored them, knowing full well they weren't worth her time. She was usually able to get away from them before they got close enough to speak to her, but one morning, a putrid-smelling kid from Sigma Tau Delta sidled up to her. The Greek letters STD couldn't have been a coincidence.
"You know . . . I came here for you today."
Isabella didn't bother to look up; she just rolled her eyes and continued to pack her backpack.
"I usually ditch, but I've seen you here a couple times and knew I needed to get with you. Always so sexy with your glasses on, taking notes." He got closer to her ear. "That pen tapping at the edge of your lips when you listen to the lectures. I'd love to see what you'd look like with something else between your lips . . . both sets."
Isabella's mouth fell open while shocked humor played at her eyes. She could have responded in any number of ways, but decided to go for the obvious. "Do you realize you smell like a cesspool?"
Frat boy furrowed his brows. "A what?"
"A cesspool," she repeated loudly. "A large pit of raw sewage. Though some girls might consider you mildly attractive, sadly for you, I'm not one of them. My advice to you regarding future propositioning techniques would be that you shower first, to get rid of the combined smell of Drakkar, beer, vomit and splooge from your body before you try to talk to a girl. You might have better luck, Casanova."
He stood there stunned, as Isabella spun on her heels and marched out of the lecture hall past a chuckling professor.
"Miss Swan?" Isabella stopped short and looked over her shoulder. "May I see you in my office, please?"
Oh fuck. She berated herself as she followed behind Professor Lee, worried she was about to be in trouble for what just went on with sewage boy. The fact that she had an enormous crush on this teacher didn't make things any easier. He was young, probably in his early thirties. He always wore a tie, but never a jacket. His sleeves were usually rolled to his elbows, and the glasses he wore made him look positively succulent.
Isabella got off more times than she could count to the image of this man writhing underneath her.
He placed his briefcase on his desk and loosened his tie while she immediately launched into an apology.
"I'm sorry for being so rude out there, Professor Lee. I'm not at all interested in dating, and that guy just—"
He held his hand up. "I'm not about to scold you for what I just witnessed out there. Didn't you see me laughing? That idiot deserved it right between the eyes."
"Oh! Well, okay." Shifting on her feet, she smiled in relief and readjusted her backpack on her shoulder. "So, is there something else you needed?"
"Well, two things, actually. The first is that I was hoping you might be interested in being a teaching assistant for me. Interims just went out and you're earning perfect marks. I have a couple of one hundred level courses that I could use your help in. They'd be paid positions through work-study, if you'd like."
Give up her job as a file clerk in the alumni house to work next to this man several times a week instead? There was no contest.
"I'd love to."
"It would be a full year position. I'd need you through the summer sessions. Will that work for your schedule?"
"Oh, definitely," she answered eagerly as they both grinned. "I mean, I have no summer plans at this point. I could stay on campus."
"Excellent. The second thing I needed to talk to you about is a little more of a confidential matter, requiring complete discretion, but I think you'd be up for it."
"Okay?" She was unsure at this point, but willing to listen to anything this gorgeous man would speak about.
"I've learned that a student in our program will need some help this summer, but he won't be attending any classes on campus."
"He's a distance education student?"
"Not exactly, he lives here in Austin. He's considered a full-time student on campus but he's been watching recordings of my lectures, of all the lectures in the program. They'll need to be hand-delivered to him. Along with any of the required reading, handouts, tests, etcetera. The student who's currently helping him has plans to transfer at the end of the semester."
Isabella's gaze searched the room, looking for answers in her head as to why a student who lives in Austin won't come to campus for classes. She decided to leave it alone . . . for now.
"We can talk more about it as the summer session approaches. But as for the TA position, you can start whenever you'd like."
.
.
.
It didn't take long before she found herself working long hours in Professor Lee's—Garrett's— office. Between grading papers and helping him with research for his second doctoral dissertation, she felt completely comfortable going to his home on the weekends. Their chemistry was undeniable. She would've fallen into bed with him immediately if he asked her, but she knew she had to be careful. This was her education. If things went sour, he could report her instantly. But she wanted him so badly she could taste it.
And that's when it hit her like a lightning bolt. He had just as much to lose, maybe more. Not that she intended to hurt him . . . but if they started something, it would be just as risky on his part as it would be on hers. Knowing she had that kind of power over the situation gave her a rush of adrenalin and she launched herself at him.
It took no convincing for Garrett as she stripped him down and blew his mind while she blew his cock. The man saw stars. They spent the night kissing and licking and fucking and sucking until the sun peeked through his cheesy Venetian blinds.
"I hope this won't change anything," Bella hinted as she dressed. "I still want to work for you and help out with that student this summer."
Garrett leaned down to kiss her, grasping her chin gently. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
.
.
.
About a month later, Isabella found herself in the 2nd Street District, being buzzed up to the 52nd floor of The Austonian. The level of luxury surrounding her had Isabella's heart racing. She was headed to one of the penthouses, no less. Wonder what this guy's deal was? Clearly he had bank. Maybe if she flirted enough, she could get a rich boyfriend out of the deal. She really didn't do boyfriends, though. She liked sex, of course, who the hell didn't? But getting tied down into one relationship was only going to hinder her pursuit to have it all. When you settled with one, your options vanished.
No . . . single but enjoying life was the only way to be. Maybe he'd turn out to be a new fuck buddy who was generous with his wallet? That might work. Garrett didn't share his money with her, but he sure as hell fucked like a Greek God, and she passed his class with flying colors. It was a win-win in her book.
She pursed her lips, smiling to herself. You're so bad, Isabella. What? You're hoping to be a kept woman? More like aspiring to be a hooker. No, never a hooker. Maybe a high end call girl. Yep, that'll be the day. She rolled her eyes at her asinine inner musings and rang the doorbell once the elevator opened.
"Yes?"
"Uhh, yeah. I just buzzed you from downstairs? I'm Isabella Swan." There was nothing but silence from the other end of the intercom. "I brought over your books and syllabi for your classes this semester."
At least thirty seconds passed with no response. Is this a joke? Suddenly, a series of locks sounded like they disengaged and the door opened to . . . nobody.
What. The. Hell?
The only light that she could see was coming in from the floor to ceiling windows out in the living room, but she was in a darkened entryway.
"Just put everything on the table in the foyer."
Isabella looked behind her and saw a sleeve poking out from behind the large, open door. Turning back toward the table, she unpacked her backpack, laying out the three textbooks, a flash drive and two file folders of paperwork labeled EAM.
"Thank you," said the disembodied voice, its owner still hidden from Isabella's curious eyes. "That envelope is for you."
She glanced behind the centerpiece to see her name elegantly written in calligraphy.
"And what's this?"
"Your fee."
Her face scrunched in confusion. "I'm not supposed to be paid for this. I was just bringing it by because it's part of my job as Garr— err, Professor Lee's teaching assistant."
"It's not a problem. I'd be paying a messenger if it wasn't you doing the transporting. Take it."
Isabella was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Money was money and she could use every penny. Her apartment for the summer session was costing her an arm and a leg.
"So . . . did you need me to go over anything with you?" she offered, feeling awkward that she was carrying on a conversation with a large steel door.
"No, I'm quite capable. I'll see you in a few days with whatever else is assigned throughout the week."
Isabella nodded to the voice and hoisted her bag up onto her shoulder again.
"Okay, well . . . I'll see ya," she mumbled with an eye roll, walking out. The door slammed behind her and the locks re-engaged. "Or hear ya." She snorted to herself. "Fuckin' wacko."
A/N: Many thanks to my GREEDy team for their countless hours of help and encouragement: My sinful sisters from other misters, LayAtHomeMom and Hoodfabulous and, of course, my awesome Cabana Girls who've been with me since I published chapter one of Last Call, Born OnHalloween, Cejsmom and LaMomo, the most fantastic beta a Yummy could ask for. LOVE my team!
Thanks for reading! xo, Jen