Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage.

Anaïs Nin

JENNIE

I take a step back from her, or I try to. She doesn't let me. Her eyes return to mine, and she frowns at what she sees. I try to back away again, and thankfully, she allows me to. She grabs my hand, though. I don't mind. It's easier than being pressed against her. I can't think when I'm so close to her, when I can feel her erection cutting deliciously into my stomach.

When she starts to drag me toward the stairwell, I relent, but not before giving Doyeon a helpless stare. She looks shocked, yet she still manages to give me a sassy eye roll at my attention.

I can almost hear her saying, "Puh-lease. I am not going to feel bad about you holding hands and dancing with Lalisa freakin' Manoban."

At the bottom of the stairs, I dig my heels in the ground, trying to stop our movement. Lalisa gives me an irritated sigh before turning to meet my stare, but I'm not focused on her face. I'm eyeing the little wet spot on her thigh, a wet spot that I made.

She follows my gaze and smirks before wiping it with the index finger on her free hand. I watch with an open mouth as—I kid you not—she dips her finger into her mouth and sucks.

"We'll take care of that later," she promises, before tugging me up the stairs. "When we get up there, play it cool. Just follow my lead."

I just nod, too shocked and turned on to say anything. Unencumbered by a bra, my nipples are straining painful against my dress, the friction pleasant and frustrating all at once. In my defense, the woman just licked my wetness off of her finger.

At the top of the stairwell, we're greeted by the group of men in suits. The same group Lalisa was looking at while she danced with me. These are the men she was putting on a show for, so I force myself to pay attention. To look for any clues that might help me. I may be pliant with Lalisa's demands, but it can't hurt to be more informed.

There are five men here. Each man is accompanied by a beautiful woman. All but one looks like a carbon copy of the blonde girl from the Hallway Incident. Tall and skinny. Small, perky breasts. Heavy make-up. Expensive highlights. Designer dresses.

They're all stunning, of course, which doesn't astonish me. It doesn't intimidate me either, because there's no way I can't feel beautiful after dancing like that with Lalisa. Plus, I may have been in the middle of nowhere for the last couple of years, but I still know what pretty looks like, and I know that, for most people, I fit the bill.

I stand there warily as a few of the women eye me up and down, not cruelly—for the most part—but judgmentally all the same. The man on the far end looks me up and down as well. The beginnings of an ugly sneer curl against his thin lips.

After a tense amount of time, Lalisa still hasn't introduced me, so I give a little awkward wave with my free hand and say, "Hi! My name is Jennie. I'm—"

Lalisa cuts me off, "My fiancée."

Her what?!

A few of the girls gasp.

I'm amazed I haven't myself.

Is this why one night stands get a bad rep? They up and leave you before you reach an orgasm, track you down a month later, threaten you, then pseudo-propose to you in front of a group of middle aged men and their wives?

"Your fiancée, eh?" a skeptical voice asks. It belongs to the man that has been sneering at us. "That's convenient timing."

Lalisa waves our joined hands a little, as if it's proof of the legitimacy of our alleged engagement. My hand, which has been sweating since before the news of her fake proposal was announced, almost slips out of her palm. She tightens her grip, which only makes me sweat even more.

Everyone else is still silent.

The sneering man's eyes narrow on my left hand. A smug look crosses his face. He looks all too satisfied. "Where's the ring?"

I can feel Lalisa's grip tighten around my hand in response. It's almost painful now. I mentally sigh. It's now or never, and I have a feeling that this is the favor she has been leading up to. What I've been auditioning for.

Pretending to be Lalisa's fiancée is better than carrying out a hit or drowning a puppy or any of the million other damning things I thought she would ask me to do. None of my guesses have even been close to being her fake fiancée, but when I really consider it, this is the best case scenario.

I can live my life normally and just nod my head if anyone asks me if we're engaged. So, I make my decision, resolving to commit to Lalisa's lie.

I give a fake admonishing gasp and say, "Lali! You were supposed to be keeping our engagement a secret, babe!" I playfully hit her chest with my free hand. Then, I lower my voice conspiratorially, turn towards the sneering man and say, "She wasn't supposed to announce anything until I graduate. I wanted to spend my time at Wilton without any fanfare." I hold up my left hand and wiggle my bare fingers. "Hence the lack of a ring." I mimic a disappointed sigh. "I guess the cat's out of the bag now."

When one of the other men says, "Wow. Wilton? That's very impressive, dear," Lalisa loosens her grip on my hand and gives it a quick squeeze. I know it's her way of conveying her approval. I turn to look at her, being sure to paste an adoring look across my face.

Damn, I'm a great actress.

My talents are lost on the sciences.

Lalisa leans in to kiss my temple. The kiss conceals the "thanks" she slips under her breath. I give a slight nod that I know only she will pick up and turn around to lean against her. She wraps her free arm across my body, and one of the girls lets out a long "awwww!" Meanwhile, I'm trying to conceal the way my heart is pounding out of my chest at her gentle touch.

I nod to the man that made the comment about Wilton and say, "Thank you. I'm very thankful to have gotten in. It's truly a wonderful school." And to make our fake engagement more believable, I gush, "You know, Lalisa actually went there, too." I look up at her with fake googly eyes and say, "She snuck into two of my lectures today and ended up answering all of my stats professor's questions! It was unbelievable."

The sneering man's face is red now. He looks irritated, which gives me the feeling that this charade is for him. And it seems to be working. He's clearly pissed.

"I think we've seen enough," he says. He turns to the rest of his group. "We have a lot to prepare for this upcoming week. I think I'm going to call it a night."

The rest of the group give murmurs of agreements and leave after saying their goodbyes to Lalisa and me. When they are gone, Lalisa signals to one of her guards, who nods before pulling a device out of her sleeve.

It's a long, flat stick, like the ones airport security uses to search for any metals. I watch in fascination as the guard waves the stick all around the VIP area, as if searching for something. A bug, probably.

The idea of those men placing a bug in here is disturbing. It makes me tense, and Lalisa squeezes me in response. It's then that I realize I'm still in her arms. My face flushes. I step away from her body immediately and turn to face her.

She studies me as I study her.

"You know," she begins, "you're a really good liar. If I didn't know better, I might have to reconsider believing you when you say you're not a spy for one of the other families. Or a fed."

She can't afford to. That's unspoken, but we both know it's true. I can tell those men are important, and now they think we're engaged. She needs me. And as long as she needs me, I'm safe in New York and can stay at Wilton. Because of this, I plan to ride the safety of this fake engagement out for as long as I can.

I'm silent for a moment before giving her a shrug. "I grew up in foster care. I learned how to lie when social services came around."

It's grim, but it's my reality. Some of the foster families used to starve me or made it known that they only took me in for the monthly check, but those foster families are better than the ones that beat me.

The ones that physically hurt me, and the families like Steve, are the most dangerous ones. You can always steal food and live with people that don't care about you, but you can't undo death. It's just not possible. So, I trained myself to lie to social workers about my living conditions, and in return, I would be allowed to stay in the "better" homes.

Lalisa nods. There's no pity in her eyes. Just understanding. "Then I made the right choice. You'll be heading back with me tonight."

"What?" Did I hear that right? "You want me to sleep at your place?"

She sighs, like it's a nuisance to explain her thought process to me. "I doubt they'll have eyes on you yet, but just in case, you will need to stay with me. There cannot be any doubt regarding the validity of this engagement."

No way. I didn't agree to that. I don't agree to that. I thought that, at most, I would have to go to a few events, look pretty and smile a lot. But moving in with her? That's asking for too much.

I take another step back, placing even more distance between us. "No. Absolutely not," I say, crossing my arms.

The more time I spend with Lalisa, the more confident I feel about talking back. I like the newfound fearlessness in me, even if the reason for it is currently giving me a death glare.

She narrows her eyes. "Need I remind you that you owe me a favor of my choosing? You don't get to say no, Jennie." She turns to one of her guards and says, "Let her friend know that Jennie will be coming with me."

I turn to the guard and say, "No. Let my friend know that I will not be coming with Ms. Manoban. Tell her to call the police if I do not come home tonight, for I will undoubtedly have been kidnapped."

Lalisa growls when the guard doesn't move. "Mino, ignore her. Do as I say," she barks, before forcibly dragging me into a hidden elevator, located behind one of the tinted glass panels.

I struggle against her hold, but it only brings me closer to her.

She laughs. "Keep doing that, sweetheart. It only makes this more enjoyable."

I stop moving and twist my head to level her with a glare. The scary bastard looks almost… pleased with herself. She presses a button on the panel. The elevator jerks to a downward start, and I stumble on my heels, unprepared for the sudden movement. Lalisa steadies me, tightening her grip around my waist.

"Let go of me," I demand.

A fleeting smirk graces her face. "Are you going to fall?"

I scowl. "No."

"Are you going to behave?"

"No, but I'll scream if you don't let go."

She laughs. "Go ahead. No one will hear you."

And when the doors open into an empty, private garage, I see that she's right.

I sigh. "Fine. I won't scream. Promise." I hold up four fingers, which I think is Scout's Honor or something like that.

She looks at my hand, rolls her eyes, and pushes one of my fingers down, so I'm only holding three up. Then, she nods and walks away after releasing me. I follow after her, reluctantly, though I'm actually not too concerned about my safety. I know I'll be okay for as long as she needs me, though I would appreciate it if she could turn down the scary factor a bit.

"You know," I begin, eyeing her warily. "If we're going to do this, you're going to have to be less scary."

"Less scary?"

I nod and make a sweeping gesture at her with my hand. "See? Scary."

She has a scowl on her face. Her arms are crossed, causing her biceps to bulge formidably. At my gesture, though, she releases her arms, but it doesn't make a big difference. She's still ripped, and it's still intimidating.

"I don't know what you expect me to do, Jennie."

"You could try smiling more."

I watch as her lips turn up into a forced grin. She looks like the offspring of The Lakeshore Strangler and the Joker. The sight is so frightening, I trip over my heels and nearly face plant onto the concrete. Lalisa steadies me, but I shove her arm off of me and scowl.

"Never do that again." The scowl is still on my face.

"Duly noted," she says dryly.

When we approach a fancy looking car, I see Lalisa play with her watch before the doors automatically lift like bird wings. As soon as she sees my gaping face, Lalisa just rolls her eyes and gets in. I slide into the passenger seat and jump when the doors automatically close as soon as my butt hits the buttery leather.

I eye Lalisa's magical watch in suspicion as she starts the car and drives out of the garage.

She sees my look and says, "It's a smart watch. It won't bite."

I have never seen a smart watch like that before. It doesn't even look like a watch. A camel colored leather strap is attached to the face of it. Though it has an electronic interface, the face is set to mimic the analog appearance of a regular watch. It's so realistic I can't tell the difference. The electronic screen is circular, encased in an expensive black setting that looks more like it belongs to a Rolex or Cartier than an electronic watch.

"That is so ostentatious," I say, thinking of all the suffering I've witnessed abroad.

"In a few years, it will be the norm."

"Yeah," I arch my brow, "for snobby rich guys."

"Smart phones used to be rare, but now they're everywhere. You don't think iPhones are 'ostentatious,' do you?" She eyes the iPhone I'm clutching in one of my hands.

Her tone is condescending, which annoys me, but I let it go. I don't know why I'm being so confrontational. It's not like I don't know the top one percent of the one percent exists. Hell, I usually don't even care.

But now, because she is a part of this lifestyle, I feel compelled to resent it. I also quickly realize my stupidity. I'm poking a bear that has been generous enough not to kill me. I should be curled into the fetal position. Instead, I'm angering it.

"Sorry," I relent, because I don't want to be bear food.

I'm too cute to be bear food. What do bears eat anyway? Fish? Plants? Bugs? Awkward brunettes with a penchant for running away from their problems? I don't look like any of those. Okay, well, maybe the last one describes me to a T.

She gives me a quick glance before returning her eyes to the road. There's a rare, dumbfounded look in those brown eyes.

I explain myself, "I'll stop being petty if you promise we'll revisit the discussion about my living arrangements after we wake up."

She nods. "Fine. I can agree to that. We'll talk about it in the morning, but it won't matter. You're living with me, and that's final."

My jaw drops. "You're impossible!"

A hint of a smile ghosts her lips. "I'm not the one who called the cops. You put yourself in this situation."

I shut up.

We drive a few more minutes in silence before she speaks again. "You're her replacement."

"Whose?" I ask, but I suspect I already know the answer to my own question.

"The girl you saw getting a pat down—"

"Manhandled," I correct.

She rolls her eyes but lets my interjection slide. "That girl you saw that night was supposed to be my fake fiancée, but you ruined that the minute you brought negative attention to her when you called the cops."

"Oh." And because I can't help myself, I ask, "Why was she getting manhandled?"

"She was about to go over the marriage contract with my lawyer. She already signed an NDA, but I didn't trust her not to have a recording device on her. It was supposed to be a quick and simple pat down. She was being difficult, not letting Bastian do his job. He may have gotten a little rough, but that's on her."

I nod. I also suspect that I'll be seeing an NDA soon. I'm astonished that I haven't already been forced to sign one, but the whole club ruse seems like it was spontaneous. Like Lalisa saw an opportunity with both me and those men there, and she seized it.

"Why didn't you pat me down?"

"I already did, Jennie."

"Wh—"

I stop myself as the realization hits. The dance. I thought she was feeling the curves of my body, but she was really patting me down. It's crazy how someone so book smart can be so stupid. You'd think my life abroad and as a foster child would impart on me more wisdom, but it obviously hasn't.

I redirect my line of questioning, noting gratefully that she's actually being pretty open. "Why do you even need a fake fiancée? You have to know how attractive you are." I don't even blush when I say this. It's simply factual. "You could, I don't know, maybe find yourself a real fiancée? Someone you don't have to force into this."

She's smirking when she says, "I didn't have to force Nicole into this. She wanted to all on her own. You were the one who ruined that. You led me to this."

There's no point in arguing against that, so I say, "A fake fiancée is a pretty drastic solution to anything. You're going to need to explain this to me if you want me to play along with your charade."

Her face hardens, reminding me that she's a predator. "You'll play along, because you have to." She sighs. "I'm only explaining this because it's pertinent to your role as my fiancée. I've been in the process of leaving the Romano family for a while now."

Shock eclipses my ire. "What? Nobody just leaves the mafia."

"I was never actually in it to begin with. I was an independent contractor, someone that was only called in to fix the messes on an as needed basis. I wasn't involved in the day to day operations."

Parts of my Google search say otherwise.

"But you own some of the mob businesses."

"It's just a small percentage of only some of the companies," she corrects. "I came in as a business consultant. They gave me a scholarship under a shell corporation that allowed me to afford Wilton's tuition. In return, I became their business consultant. But only as an independent contractor."

"And this was all legal?" I ask in disbelief.

"I didn't always fix situations through legal means, but in terms of my business consulting, that was mostly legal. I was paid a consultant's fee and even filled out a W-9 for my work. My income was taxed by the government, too. Fully legal."

I don't believe it. "But some of those businesses are money laundering schemes." I read that on a blog that follows the Romano family.

She looks startled by my knowledge. "Are you sure you're not a spy?" But the lack of heat in her tone tells me that she's only joking. "They make a lot of their money through legal means, but one of the on paper businesses is a money laundering scheme."

"Which one?" I ask.

She glances at me. "Are you sure you want to know? You can't un-know it, and this can be dangerous knowledge."

I think about it. I don't really want to know, but my gut is telling me that I need to learn as much about the situation, about her, as I can. Ignorance is often more harmful than knowledge. Just ask Mary Jane Watson when the Green Goblin dragged her all over the city. She's a damsel in distress, which I refuse to be.

I'll settle on being a scaredy cat with random bouts of courage.

I nod and say, "Un-know isn't a word, and the Lalisa Manoban the world knows wouldn't let anyone harm her fiancée."

She barks out a stunned laugh. "No, she wouldn't." She's silent for a moment. "It's the strip club chain."

I roll my eyes. "Figures."

"It's actually one of my more brilliant ideas. Stripping is a cash heavy business. The IRS knows and accepts this. The Romano family has their boys come in with their cash earnings, and they spend all that money on tipping the strippers and waitresses. The girls pool the tips, which go to Frankie Romano."

Frankie Romano is the head of the Romano family.

I finish for her, "Let me guess. The girls are legal employees that get paid in wages, which come from the tips and cover fee, while the boys keep their share of profits and tip the rest. The tip income and club employee wages are even taxed as legal earnings." I laugh. "You probably even have the tip policy in the employee contracts."

Lalisa looks impressed. "Exactly. The feds can't touch the Romano family. The only ones involved in the illegal dealings are technically just customers of the clubs. They'd have to target those guys individually, and even if they're caught, it doesn't trace back to the Romanos. There's no way to cut the head off the snake. Just a never ending supply of tails that are pointless to go after. Tails always grow back."

I study Lalisa's profile. This is the most animated I've ever seen her. It flows into her appearance, and she looks both refreshed and invigorated—and far less scary than usual. The effect is enough to make my heart skip a few beats.

I whisper. "You're pretty smart, aren't you?" I shake my head, clearing it of whatever just possessed me to compliment her.

She sighs, and it reminds me of why she's telling me this stuff in the first place. I need to know as much as I can about my new "fiancé."

"Not smart enough." Her fingers clench harder against the steering wheel. "I signed a contract for 10% of the earnings of all of the businesses I helped create for the Romanos. It was a lot of money, and I used it to invest in my own businesses. All of my businesses are under one company, Black Enterprises."

She pauses, allowing the information to sink in. "One of the board members is trying to vote me out based on my suspected mafia ties, and he can point out my shares in Romano businesses as evidence. Even if they're technically not illegal, those businesses are tied to the Romano family, which has a notorious reputation for organized crime dealings. They've mostly turned away from the hardcore stuff, but it doesn't paint the most favorable picture of me."

"The one that's trying to vote you out… He's the one that was sneering all night, right?"

Lalisa gives me a dry laugh. It's amused and irritated all at once. "Yeah, that one. His name is Jiyong Kwon. He thinks that, if the board votes me out, he'll be promoted to CEO. The man's after my bonus and power, and he doesn't care how he gets it. Hell, if he can get his hands on my majority shares of the company, he won't hesitate to take them."

"Is there grounds for your dismissal?"

"There's no proof that I've done anything illegal for the mafia, so he can't attack me from that angle. What he's been doing is painting me as young, inexperienced and unstable in order to prove that I'm a threat to the wellbeing of the company. It's a smear campaign, through and through. I haven't exactly made it hard for him, either. In the business world, I am young, which automatically makes me inexperienced to them."

She's only 25. Whereas I see that as something that only makes her achievements even more impressive, I can see how Jiyong can depict it negatively.

"As for my instability, all of the board members have wives, kids and homes. That's their view of stability. I'm single, have no family, and am living in a penthouse apartment."

"Which is where I come in," I say, putting the pieces together. I can handle this, being involved in an office dispute rather than a mafia one.

"If I have a fiancée, Jiyong can't argue that I don't think about the future, that I'm not putting down roots."

"And as a 'ghost,' they won't be able to pull up any dirt on me." I don't bother telling her that Jennie isn't even my whole name. It's not like I'm a criminal.

"Exactly. Couple in the fact that you attend an Ivy League and spent the last two years of your life volunteering, you're practically a saint. You're an even better candidate than Nicole ever was."

I can't help myself. "Why was she a candidate anyways?"

"She made sense, because she was someone I'd been fucking regularly." She says it so casually, I don't even blink. "We've attended events together a few times, she's pretty, and she has a clean record. It was believable. But you're the jackpot. You won't just not make me look bad. You'll actually make me look good."

I almost don't register the compliment. The way she says it isn't flattery. It just is.

I'm silent for a moment. "So, tell me. Why should I go along with this fake engagement?"

"Easy. You have no choice."

And just when I am starting to get comfortable around her, she says something like that. I'm almost thankful for the much needed reminder of the looming threat to my life. I was letting myself relax, which could have been the death of me.

I turn to her and give her a serious look, recognizing that I should nip the threat to my life in the bud if I can. "That's not true. At any moment, at any second, I have the power to give you up. What's stopping me from doing that?"

"I'm a dangerous person."

"That may be true, but I don't think you'll hurt me."

"No?" She's amused. It's written all over her face.

"No."

I remember her words from earlier today.

You're an innocent. You stepped wrong, but you're still an innocent.

After spending more time with her, I believe her now more than ever before. Maybe there actually is a line she draws, a moral code of conduct she possesses. Am I really willing to risk my life on a maybe?

I deliberate my next words carefully. "You won't hurt me. Not when there are better alternatives. You're a business woman, so sell this to me. Convince me to willingly agree."

Since I owe her and the deed has already been done, I've mentally committed myself to pretending to be her fiancée, but she doesn't need to know that. I figure if I'm going to be her fake fiancée anyway, I might as well get something out of it. I recognize an opportunity when I see one.

She stops the car at a red light and turns to stare at me, her eyes appraising. I don't understand what I'm seeing in them. Is that… admiration?

"Are you trying to renegotiate our terms, Ms. Kim?" There's amusement in her Brown eyes.

I nod and clear my face, taking a lesson from one of Doyeon's textbooks—you don't go into a business meeting with emotions. "As far as I'm concerned, we haven't even begun to negotiate."

The light turns green, and I watch as Lalisa turns right. We pull into the garage of a building. I catch a glance at the street name before we're driving underground. I am pleasantly surprised to learn that we're only a block from Wilton, perfectly within walking range.

Hell, Lalisa's place is even closer to the main campus than Vaserley Hall is. I'll be able to wake up later in the morning an—… I catch myself before I finish my sentence. I haven't even agreed to move in, yet I'm already making plans.

I'm silent as Lalisa drives the bat mobile deeper into the garage. I see another garage door, and when she presses a button, the door lifts. My brows lift, too. She has a private garage within the garage. Of course, she does. She parks beside a line of empty cars and kills the engine. Instead of exiting the vehicle, she leans her seat a little further back and looks at me.

"You're flipping the tables on me," she says, her eyes sparking with interest and something akin to appreciation.

I hold my ground, stomping out the stupid butterflies that jitter at her unspoken praise. "I'm just trying to make this a fair deal."

I study her, waiting for her to speak, to tell me whether I made a wrong move or the right one. As I watch a myriad of emotions flit through her face, I'm shocked to realize they're there. I thought she was cold, a killer, but since I stepped into Rogue today, she hasn't been the ruthless killer the city paints her as.

"Have you actually killed someone?" The words slip out of my lips before I can stop them. I cover my mouth, horrified by my lack of filter. "I-I d-didn't mean t-that."

She stares at me, studying the fear on my face. When she finally speaks, I'm dumbfounded by her words.

"Not in a while."

She reaches out for my trembling hands, causing my heart to still as she removes them from their position over my mouth and returns them to my lap. She lets go immediately after, but her eyes remain on mine.

"Don't do that," she says. "Don't be this meek, little girl. Be the woman that challenges me. That's the one I want to be engaged to. I have no use for the cowering little girl that shakes at the mere sight of me. I need the strong woman I know you are. The one that sees an opportunity and takes it. The one that just flipped the tables on me, demanding a fair trade… The one clever enough to test me when all she wanted was for me to slide my cock deep inside her tight walls."

I suck in a sharp breath, unable to exhale until I absolutely have to.

… Sink my cock deep inside…

Her words are on repeat in my head—the honesty, tenderness, and vulgarity all slushing around in there, causing my heart to quicken and my face to flush. This girl she described...

That isn't me, is it?

Nevertheless, I want to be her. I'm startled that she wants that, too. It's harder than it looks, though. When she's like this, honest and open, it's impossible to reconcile my experiences with this side of her to the one that pinned me against the wall on campus and stalked me to my classes, toying with my emotions and fear.

That's the Lalisa Manoban of legends. The one rumored to have executed a hit on more than a dozen members of a rival family in one night. This Lalisa, the one demanding me to be stronger, is even stranger to me than the killer alter ego. I don't know which side of her to expect, and it's giving me whiplash to accommodate my dueling perceptions of her.

I don't know whether to be fearful or fearless, so I endeavor to be a woman worthy of my own admiration. Strong. I shake away my nerves and replace them with courage—not because she asked me to, but because I'm sick of being weak when I'm capable of being strong.

I turn and make eye contact with her, ignoring the satisfaction on her face. "Why should I agree to this charade?"

She accepts my change in attitude easily, altering her tone to a sexy, dominating boardroom voice. "I've seen your finances and your scholarship situation. You have enough to pay for tuition, but you can't afford to keep living in the dorms. Your job at the coffee shop is enough to pay for the books and a little bit of rent, but what happens when the rent increases in Vaserley? And it will. It does every year."

"I've been looking at jobs in the city."

"And all the money you'll be making at an entry-level summer job will go to your rent. You'll be burnt out by the start of school. That's a shit plan, and you know it."

"I can move out of the dorms and find a cheap apartment," I protest.

"Nowhere near campus, because there's nothing cheaper than five grand a month in this area. This is prime New York real estate. Are you really willing to work that much just to live in a studio apartment?" She softens her voice until it's a seductive lull. "Move in with me, Jennie."

Gosh, the way she says my name is a lullaby. I hate that it's working wonders on my resolve. She really is the perfect predator—danger wrapped in a deceptively beautiful package. Except I'm smart enough to know better. I have to be, for my own sake.

"I've already paid rent for the rest of the semester," I say, weakly.

"Send me your leasing contract, and I can get you a refund. I'm familiar with real estate law."

Of course, she is.

"But what about Doyeon?" I ask, pulling out my last trump card.

"She'll get her own room in the dorms. It's a sweet deal."

"Until some stranger she might not get along with moves in."

"After the school year has begun? That almost never happens, and you know it."

"But… I don't even know you. You're connected to the mob."

"I haven't been involved with the Romano family's illegal dealings for a while, and when I was, I never hurt women."

I believe her. My internet research supports her words, and looking at her now, I can't help but believe her sincerity. No one is that great of an actor. Not even Leonardo DiCaprio can lie so convincingly. I'll admit that, and I'm the biggest DiCapriHo you'll ever meet.

I'm grasping at straws now. "You could just give me money in exchange for my services." I wince. I sound like a damn hooker.

Thankfully, she ignores my innuendo. "Any cash or electronic exchanges of money runs the risk of showing up on a financial background check, which Jiyong will undoubtedly perform. What I can do is alleviate you of some regular expenditures in a way that won't draw suspicion. If you move in with me, you'll save tens of thousands of dollars on rent without raising any eyebrows. I can also supply you with groceries, which would save you another $12,000 over the course of the year."

I choke on a surprised laugh. $12,000 a year on groceries? For one person? Does she eat gold?

She ignores my mocking laughter. "Once you graduate, you'll need a job. I can write you a letter of recommendation. As the CEO of a multinational company, it'll hold a lot of weight."

I sigh. Even I know that's too good of a deal to not accept. I can focus on my studies instead of working and worrying about rent. And when the time comes to get a job, I'll have a letter of recommendation from one of the most powerful woman in the city. I'm silent for a few more minutes, trying to think of more reasons not to agree and failing miserably.

She takes in my face and nods. "Good."

It's decided.

I've officially agreed to move in with Lalisa Manoban.