Chapter 3

Kerry couldn’t figure out what the hell Clifton Condon’s endgame was.

She retreated to the locker room, peeled off the suffocatingly tight hostess uniform, and changed back into her own clothes. When she finally made her way downstairs, she expected to be met with an empty lobby.

Instead, Clif was already there.

He was slouched in the VIP lounge, legs crossed, looking like a man who hadn’t just painted a wall with someone’s blood.

Kerry walked over, stopping exactly three paces away. She didn’t sit. She just looked at him, her face a mask of polite composure. "Thank you for stepping in back there, Mr. Condon."

Clif’s expression gave absolutely nothing away. He flicked a lighter, lit a cigarette, and said, "Sit."

Kerry didn’t move.

Clif exhaled a slow, deliberate cloud of smoke. He looked at her through the gray haze, letting the silence stretch until it was almost unbearable. "Ms. Jones," he said softly. "Please sit."

Her eyes flickered. A flash of sharp surprise, followed immediately by defensive caution.

Clif read her face effortlessly. "It’s very easy for me to find a woman," he said, his tone flat and arrogant. "I don’t need to use coercion, and I certainly don't need to play the hero to get one into my bed. However, there are plenty of women who try to use the 'tutor' route to get to me. There are too many opportunists these days. I have to take precautions."

Ah.

Kerry’s mind raced, rapidly recalculating the board. That explained the bizarre, whiplash contradiction of his behavior upstairs. He’d been testing her. Seeing if she’d throw herself at a billionaire the second he flashed his wallet. It's always better to carry a little self-awareness in your back pocket than assume you're irresistible, she thought.

The realization shifted her features from guarded to a perfectly engineered look of embarrassed understanding—all in the span of a heartbeat.

A warm, professional smile bloomed on Kerry’s face as she pulled out a chair and sat down. "I understand completely. I’m so sorry, Mr. Condon. I was being presumptuous. Please forgive me."

Clif didn't care how fast she could switch faces. He didn't even care how genuine her smile was. A faint, almost imperceptible curve touched the corner of his lips, accepting her graceful pivot.

Kerry didn’t waste time. She pulled her meticulously prepared resume from her bag and slid it across the glass table.

Clif didn't even glance at it.

"I don't need to read it," he said dismissively. "I’ll give you a one-month trial. If you can actually teach him, name your price."

Kerry smiled. "Vanguard is a standardized agency, Mr. Condon. Our prices are fixed; there’s no private negotiation. But since I’ve heard you go through tutors quite frequently, may I ask a blunt question? Is the high turnover usually due to the parent's standards, or the child's behavior?"

Clif raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "Interviewing candidates is a parent's right. Are you going to blame me if they couldn’t pass the test?"

Kerry tried very hard not to think about his twisted version of a 'test' upstairs. "Of course not," she said smoothly. "You are the most... forward-thinking and responsible parent I’ve ever met."

Without missing a beat, she pivoted. "Can we talk about your child?"

At the mention of the boy, a flicker of genuine, helpless exhaustion crossed Clif’s otherwise ruthless face. "Twelve, thirteen-year-old boys are at the age where even dogs find them annoying. My kid... well, the dog actually doesn't mind him. It's just people who find him intolerable. Whether you can handle him or not depends entirely on your own skillset."

"Being mischievous is a child's nature," Kerry offered diplomatically. "It’s their right."

Clif’s gaze sharpened. "I’m not hiring you to be his playmate. And I'm certainly not hiring you to be his nanny."

A smart woman would have sensed the danger radiating off him and backed down. Kerry, however, just kept her voice perfectly level. "Of course. If I were a nanny, I wouldn't be charging these rates."

Clif gave her a long, calculating look. "I’m calling you a teacher," he said dryly. "I expect your actions to speak louder than your words."

Tonight had been a rollercoaster, and Kerry was far beyond categorizing this interview as either a disaster or a success. But she’d gotten the job. She’d survived.

The actual business portion of their conversation lasted barely five minutes. Clif clearly despised small talk. He took her number, told her to arrive on Monday for her first official session, and then stood up. "Where are you going? I’ll have my driver take you."

"Thank you, but no," Kerry said, rising to her feet. "My boyfriend is coming to pick me up."

A fleeting look of disdain flashed through Clif’s eyes. She's still guarding against me. He didn't care enough to take it personally, nor did he bother arguing. She was beautiful, but not beautiful enough to make him force her into his car.

They walked out of the club doors moments apart. Kerry's phone buzzed. "I just finished," she said into the receiver, quickening her pace toward the street. "I’m walking out now, give me a second."

As Clif’s driver pulled the Bentley Continental up to the curb, Clif casually glanced toward the street corner.

A man was standing under the streetlamp, waiting for Kerry. He was wearing a police uniform. Clif watched as the 'cop' jogged up to Kerry, said something in a hushed tone, and ushered her into the passenger seat of an ordinary sedan.

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