Chapter 17

Even after they had settled into the low-slung leather seats of the blue sports car, Clif’s words kept echoing in Kerry’s head.

Because she’s too beautiful.

It was fifty percent provocation directed at Darby Tucker, and fifty percent pure, unadulterated arrogance. The sports car carved its way smoothly down the mountain road. The cabin was dead silent. Kerry kept her eyes lowered, staring blankly at her lesson plans, acting as though her heart wasn't hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

"Don't take Dustin’s words to heart," Clif said suddenly, his low voice cutting through the quiet.

Kerry didn't miss a beat. She looked up, her expression a perfect mask of professional composure. "Understood."

Clif kept his dark eyes locked on the road ahead. "Do you actually know what I'm talking about?"

"Dustin is a child," Kerry said smoothly. "But I am an adult. I know what lines I shouldn't cross, and I know what games I shouldn't play. I will do my absolute best to avoid any family matters that don't concern me."

She was telling him exactly what he wanted to hear: I am an employee. I will not overstep.

Clif went quiet for a few seconds. "You’ve got skills," he noted dryly. "That kid is not easy to handle."

Kerry savored the subtle layer of genuine praise hidden in his flat tone. She allowed a small, calculated smile to touch her lips. "Maybe our personalities just mesh well."

"Let's sign the official contract then," Clif said casually. "I happen to have some free time today."

He dropped the bomb so lightly that Kerry’s surprise was delayed by a full half-second. She turned to look at his sharp profile, struggling to maintain her nonchalant facade. "We're signing the official contract? Already?"

Clif didn't even glance at her. "If you don't want to, we can forget it."

Oh, hell no. Kerry wasn't about to play hard-to-get with a billionaire whose moods shifted like a weather vane. She instantly broke into a bright, eager smile. "No, of course I want to! I just didn't expect it to be so fast... Thank you for trusting me, Mr. Condon."

"You did a good job," Clif replied. "I won't mistreat you."

Did a good job. The phrase bounced around Kerry’s head. This was only her second time at the estate. Was he praising her for surviving his son's psychological torture room? Or was he praising her for acting as the perfect human shield against Darby Tucker?

She couldn't read him completely, so she chose the safest route: playing dumb. She eagerly assured him she would dedicate herself to Dustin's education, letting the unspoken tension slide away.

By two o'clock that afternoon, Vanguard's office was enjoying its daily lull. The tutors without afternoon classes were gathered in the breakroom, brewing coffee and trading gossip.

Ever since Kerry had publicly slapped May Payne down yesterday, no one dared to chew on Kerry's name behind her back. Furthermore, now that she was officially anchored to the Condon family ship, the gossip had completely pivoted to jealous awe.

"I heard Cole personally flew to New York to recruit her," one tutor whispered, swirling her latte. "Talk about foresight."

"Well, with a face like hers, are we really surprised?" another snickered.

"Careful," Liz Pearl, Vanguard's resident sharp-tongue, warned with a smirk. "Watch your phrasing, or you might sabotage your own closing rates if a client overhears you."

"Closing rates? Please," a third woman sighed. "None of us ordinary mortals are ever going to land a whale that makes us an overnight sensation like her."

"Aptly put," Liz laughed. "No one shoots to the top quite like our Ms. Jones."

Right as the laughter peaked, a receptionist scrambled into the breakroom, hissing that Kerry was back. The crowd instantly scattered like startled pigeons.

Kerry didn't walk into the bullpen alone. Trailing right beside her was a towering, six-foot-two presence that instantly sucked the oxygen out of the room.

It was Clifton Condon.

Most people in Seattle had lived their entire lives without ever seeing Clif in person. He was a myth, a ghost of the financial district. Yet here he was, casually strolling through their mid-tier tutoring agency. The entire floor collectively stopped breathing. From every cubicle, eyes tracked Clif as Kerry led him straight into the VIP reception room.

Meanwhile, inside her corner office, Maggie Dolley was fuming. Kerry’s public stunt yesterday had severely undermined Maggie's authority. She had spent the entire night tossing and turning, plotting exactly how to fire Kerry and rip this thorn from her side before Cole Shimp returned from his business trip.

Knock, knock.

"Come in," Maggie snapped.

Kerry pushed the door open, her face arranged in a perfectly pleasant smile.

Maggie refused to smile back. "What is it?" she asked coldly.

"A client is here to sign," Kerry said. "I have him waiting for you in the reception room."

Maggie fought the urge to roll her eyes. "You met a new client?"

"It's Mr. Condon," Kerry replied. "He wants to upgrade the trial contract to an official one."

Maggie’s heart plummeted straight into her stomach. Why is it him again?!

Just seeing Clif yesterday was enough to give Maggie heart palpitations for a week. It was glaringly obvious that Clif was personally backing Kerry, practically daring Vanguard to try and cross her. And Maggie absolutely could not afford to offend a man who could buy and sell Vanguard before breakfast.

Swallowing her rage, Maggie forced a look of pleasant surprise. "He's passing the trial period already?"

Same world, same question, Kerry thought in amusement. Aloud, she said, "Yes. Mr. Condon informed me in the car on the way here. I didn't have time to give you a heads up."

Maggie internally cursed Kerry's hypocrisy, completely unaware that Kerry was telling the absolute truth.

Terrified of making the billionaire wait, Maggie practically sprinted out of her office, following Kerry down the hall under the intense, inquisitive stares of the entire staff.

Pushing open the heavy glass door of the VIP room, Maggie found Clif lounging on the sofa. He was wearing a black silk button-down. It was the kind of fabric that made most men look greasy and sloppy, but on Clif, it looked effortlessly lazy, untamed, and violently expensive. He was a walking clothes hanger; he could have worn a burlap sack and people would have called it high fashion.

Maggie was terrified of him, but as a woman, she couldn't help but admire the view. Rich, powerful, and built like a god. Who wouldn't be intimidated?

She immediately plastered on her best executive smile. "Mr. Condon. My deepest apologies for keeping you waiting."

Clif barely glanced at her. "Let's be quick. I'm here to sign Kerry Jones's official contract."

Maggie sat down stiffly, strictly all-business. "Of course. How many sessions would you like to purchase? I'll have the paperwork drafted immediately."

Ignoring Maggie entirely, Clif looked directly at Kerry. "How many is appropriate?"

Kerry hid her surprise. Why is he asking me? Unwilling to look like she was price-gouging, she offered a conservative, middle-of-the-road estimate. "Based on the high frequency of six classes a week, that’s twenty-four classes a month. Why don't we start with a three-month block?"

Clif’s dark eyes didn't even blink. "Don't bother with the odd numbers," he said flatly. "Let's just make it a hundred."