The Two Week Arrangement (Penthouse Affair, #1)

Presley

As I enter the cozy, fragrant coffee shop, Michael waves me over to his seat in the corner. Yes, he even snagged us the super comfy armchairs. Just seeing him lifts a little of the workday’s stress off my shoulders.NôvelDrama.Org holds © this.

He stands up to hug me and points to one of the two steaming mugs on the table. “I ordered you a dirty chai.”

“I love you.” I sigh.

He shouldn’t be using his limited funds to buy me things—heck, I’m paying his tuition, it might be my money in the first place—but after this kind of day, it’s nice to have someone remember my favorite drink. We sit down, and I take a grateful sip.

“So, how’s school?” I ask. Unable to resist teasing him, I add, “Meet any nice boys yet?”

He groans, though he’s still smiling. “I’ve been too busy getting my ass kicked by this music theory class. Why, have you?” He wiggles his perfectly groomed eyebrows at me.

Okay, I walked into that one. “Not unless you count my new boss,” I mutter.

My devastatingly handsome new boss whose ridiculous sex appeal distracted me all damn day. It’s so unfair . . . I’ve never met a guy who lights up my body with electricity from one look, and he’s totally off-limits.

“Right, your internship started today. Tell me about that.”

“I’ve only been there one day, so really not much to tell.” I sip slowly to cover my nerves.

“You know what I mean. How do you feel about the place?”

“I feel like a blithering idiot.” I heave a deep sigh. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I can’t stop worrying I’m going to screw something up and blow it.”

“I’m sure you made a great first impression. You always do.”

“I don’t know . . .”

I stare into my chai as I stir it, imagining my career being sucked into its swirling depths. I must sound as unconvinced as I feel, because Michael pokes my upper arm.

“Hey, pay attention. I’m not just saying that because you’re my big sister. You really are the total package.”

I force a smile. “Thanks, baby bro.”

He frowns—I must sound thoroughly unconvinced—but he lets it go.

“So you said there was a reason you wanted to meet up today?” I ask.

Michael looks supremely uncomfortable. “Yeah . . . well, mostly I just wanted to hang out, but . . . I got a bill from the school a couple days ago, and there’s a bunch of extra charges they didn’t tell us about before.”

Oh, for crying out loud.

“Like what?” I set down my cup. I sense my composure’s about to be tested and don’t want to spill my drink everywhere.

“Um, like transportation, athletics, a studio fee for my conditioning class, campus fee, orientation fee . . . I forget what else. It listed like a half dozen things.”

What the hell is a campus fee? Is that the price you pay to be able to attend class on school grounds? What does tuition even pay for if all this stuff isn’t covered?

I rub my forehead to ward off the impending stress headache. I’m afraid to ask, but I have to. “How much?”

He hesitates, averting his gaze. “Nineteen hundred dollars.”

Forget spilling my chai; I might have thrown it across the room if it were still in my hand. Almost two freaking grand—when I can barely afford an extra cup of coffee a week.

I close my eyes and pull in a deep breath. “Okay.”

I’ll figure this out. I have no freaking idea how, because I already had nothing to live off of for the next three months except my meager savings. But I’ll come up with something.

You never know . . . maybe Dominic will decide you’ve failed the trial period and fire you after only two weeks.

“Y-you don’t have to pay the full amount. Some of it is optional.” Michael rushes to explain, his hands raised in placation. “Like for my choreography class, we’re putting on a performance at the end of the semester, so they’re charging us for costumes and theater time and stuff. But I can always just drop that class and—”

“No. Don’t worry, I’ll get the money.” Somehow . . .

“Okay, if you’re sure . . . thanks a million. I’ll pay you back someday.”

I catch the subtle sparkle in Michael’s eyes. He’s clearly excited about that performance, which only hardens my resolve.

I can do this. I have to.

“You don’t owe me anything,” I say, squeezing his arm. “We’re family. If we don’t look out for each other, who will?” Not our father, that’s for damn sure.

Michael’s pocket beeps and he checks his phone. “Whoops. I hate to ditch you, but the last bus back to my dorm will be here in five minutes. Love you, sis!”

“Love you, too,” I say, standing again for a good-bye hug.

Now what? I was just starting to feel better about work, but after hearing about Michael’s surprise expenses, I’m wound tighter than ever. I’m hungry, and since I’m not done with my drink yet and I’m in desperate need of something to eat, I head to the counter and order their last slice of banana bread.

“We’re mortal enemies now,” someone says from behind me.