Terms and Conditions (Dreamland Billionaires #2) by Lauren Asher

He sighs, and I just know deep down in my heart that he is about to turn me down. For some reason I can’t bear the thought, so I do something stupid. Something so incredibly stupid I’m sure I will regret it tomorrow. But I’m too enraptured by his story to care about what might happen.

“What if we make a deal?”

The corners of his lips lift. “I’m open to negotiations.”

“What’s something you want?” I drop the bomb back on his lap. I’ll let him be the one to decide what he wants most and then see if I’m up for the challenge.

“I want an equal exchange…” He pauses, and my breath stalls in my chest.

Another kiss? A real date? A blow job? The options are endless really. A warmth travels from my head to my toes at the thought of what he might choose.

“What do you have in mind?”

“I’ll tell you about my mother if you tell me about your learning differences.”

If my life had a soundtrack, this is the moment the DJ scratches the record, making me feel like a total dud. The air escapes my lungs like a deflated balloon. What the hell kind of deal is that? And more specifically, how the hell did he find out?

I cross my arms and throw up a barrier. “Who told you?”

“No one.”

“Bullshit. Was it Cal?” I’m about to tell Declan to pull over and let me take over, solely so I could go find Cal and rip him a new asshole.

He shakes his head. “I found out on my own.”

“How?”

“I knew the signs.”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “You expect me to believe that? Exactly how gullible do you think I am?”

His face softens. “My mom was the same way.”

“Your mom? The same one who was a history major?”

He clutches onto the steering with white-knuckled fists. “Just because she struggled with reading doesn’t mean she hated it.”

I feel like a dick for assuming otherwise. To be fair, I’m struggling to keep up with all this information. There is no way I can process Declan knowing about my dyslexia and his mother struggling with the same disorder all in one conversation.

“I should have known you would figure it out.”

“There was no reason for you to hide it in the first place.”

I clench my fists against my lap. “You don’t get to judge my choices.”

“I only want to understand them.” The softness of his voice tears me up inside.

I stay silent.

“Please.”

I release a shaky breath. Declan doesn’t say please ever, so it makes me weak enough to open up about my past.

I stare out the window. “I spent my whole life feeling different than everyone else. First, it started with teasing and being made fun of. Little things like teachers calling me lazy or classmates gossiping about how I was stupid. I was held back a year, which led to more embarrassment because all my friends moved on to the next grade without me. Eventually kids got bolder. Their words became harsher and their actions meaner. It didn’t take long for someone like me to start believing those words, especially when your own father called you a disappointing idiot every day.” My voice cracks.

Declan reaches out and forces my fist open so he can lock our fingers together.

“It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. With my parents’ divorce and all the stress with that, I stopped caring about class despite my mom trying her hardest to get me into tutoring. Nothing was working, and I think she was losing hope too. My shame and anxiety kept growing until I would cry every day before school. I shut down with everyone, so my mom took a chance and found me a therapist so I could open up to someone about what was happening.”

His hand gives me a reassuring squeeze.

“With my therapist’s help, I started building myself back up and found projects I was good at that had nothing to do with school. That’s where my plant obsession started. Turns out I had a calling for bringing my mom’s dead plants back to life.”

“I thought therapy was supposed to fix our problems, not create more of them.”

The tension in my chest eases as I laugh. “It helped. One plant turned into two, and eventually I started building a whole collection. My therapist called it a coping strategy.”

“I suppose it can be considered a better solution than drugs.”

Our eyes connect, his filled with a lightness I wish would remain for long spans of time. “Once I got the emotional stuff down, I was much more open to tutoring. It took a while, but I finally started succeeding in school.”

“And then what?”

“And then I graduated high school with a lot of help. I wasn’t ready to commit to a university yet after all the difficulties I went through in school, so that’s how I ended up at the temp agency you partnered with.”

“And then you drew the short stick and had to come work for me.”

My nose scrunches. “You went through assistants like one would go through underwear.”

“It’s not my fault they didn’t meet my expectations.”

I shake my head. “Whenever you fired someone, the remainder of us were forced to drop our names into a hat. I was lucky up until that point, but then—”

“You were chosen,” he finishes for me.

I nod. “I showed up to your office on Monday knowing I wouldn’t make it to the end of the week. But then…”