Chapter 8 HARPER
“Okay, so we’re going to start with Codman’s exercise,” I told Tyler as we sat in his living room ready to begin the session. “I’m going to need a table that’s a bit high. Kinda like the one in your dining room.”
His expression morphed into one of concern and something like skepticism. “The fuck do you need a table for?”
“For your pendulum swings. It’s more effective than just standing. I’ll demonstrate once you provide me one.”
Rolling his eyes, he stood up and brushed past me without a word. I thought he was going to bring a table or something until he paused and glared at me, waiting. I scanned the room, unsure why he was staring.
“What?”
“You need me to tell you to follow?”
I flicked my tongue against my teeth, pressing my lips together as I inhaled a deep breath. “Um, yeah, of course I need you to tell me to come along. It’s your house, isn’t it? And the sessions are normally held in the living room so where are we going?”
“You asked for a table. I have one in my room,” he said, turning to continue his walk.
I froze to the spot. Different scenarios of why working in his room was a terrible idea flashed through my mind. I couldn’t be in his room—not because I didn’t trust myself, but because that would feel too intimate. Sessions in the living room meant anyone could walk in to watch—and I doubted Tyler was the kind of teenager to keep his room door open.
“Is there a problem?” Tyler asked, irritation clearly laced in his voice. “D’you need the table or not?”
“Actually, you’re the one who needs it,” I muttered. Then quickly added when he scowled. “Uh, I was thinking you’d bring it down.” His brow rose. I winced. What in the world was wrong with me? “Sorry. I meant someone—can’t you get someone to bring it down?”
He ran a hand down his face. “Look, I don’t know what the hell is running through that mind of yours right now, but I promise, it’s the complete opposite of my intentions.” He extended his hand, sweeping it in a semi-circle. “Clearly, you can see we’re home alone. You’d think we’d have a nanny or something, but my mom is pretty capable as a housewife. So, until she’s back from the store, it’s just you and me. Got a problem with that? Because honestly, I think you’re secretly squealing at this opportunity. But I promise you, you’re about to be very disappointed.”
I didn’t know what stunned me more—the fact that he’d just said more than two words, or the sheer level of cockiness dripping from every one of them.
I held out my hand in a placating gesture, disbelief plain on my face. “Okay, for my sanity sake, I'm going to pretend you didn't just say all that, and we're going to go upstairs, get this session with, so I can go home as soon as possible—”
“Prove it.”
“Excuse me?”
He closed the space between us in three strides, towering over me like some grumpy powerhouse. “Prove to me that you're not one of those boy obsessed girls in our class that take every chance they get just to snag themselves to the school's captain so they can become popular.”
My jaw dropped. But he wasn't finished.
“Prove that you didn't use your mom's connections with my family to try and get this job. That you didn't talk her out of passing me to one of her colleagues.”
“What—”
“I know you don't need this job. I know you don’t even care about the money that much. You just wanted to get popular, look cool in school—that's why you're here. And because of that, I promise you—” He inched closer, leaning slightly to my level that our nose almost touched. “Now that I've figured you out, I’m going to make each and every one of our sessions miserable for you. Until you can't handle it anymore, then you quit.”
I knew I should have said something to clarify things then. Or better still, I should have kept my mouth shut. But being patient with him because he was going through a hard time didn't mean I had to stand and let him walk all over me. I was going to prove it to him he wasn't all big and mighty like he thought—like everyone thought at school.
“Challenge accepted.”
A snort escaped him as he stepped back, his eyes flicking past me to someone behind before he turned and headed for his room.
“Hey, darling.”
I whipped around to find Mrs. Mercer struggling to keep the grocery bags tucked under each of her arms from falling as she slid the door closed with her foot.
“Let me help you with.”
“Oh, thank you, dear. You’re such a sweetheart.”
“It’s no problem,” I replied, taking both bags and following her while she led the way into the kitchen.
“How was school today?” she asked. “Anything interesting?”
“By interesting, if you mean did Tyler finally find his smile and was social again—then no.”
“Ah, so you think Tyler smiling would be interesting?”
My cheeks flushed. “No. I mean, yeah. But not in the way it sounds like.”
She laughed, pushing open a door to reveal a kitchen just as massive as the living room. I tried not to show my amusement, but the space, the layout, the pristine white everywhere—hell, if I lived here, this would easily be my favorite place to spend time.
‘Let me have that.” She reached for one of the bags in my hands and began arranging the contents into their positions. I dropped the other one on the counter to assist her. “So how’s my grumpy sunshine? Hope he isn’t stressing you out?”
I considered telling her about his habit of belittling me, but thought better of him. “He’s still taking his predicament hard and doing his best to shut everyone out. Still, this is just our second session—I can handle him.”
“I know you can, dear. Just don’t take anything he says out of anger to heart, okay?”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Okay.”
“Great. I’ll fix you both something once I’m done sorting out the groceries. In the meantime, you can go finish up your session with him. I’ll take care of things here.”
My mood sank. I was having more fun spending time with his mom than with him, and the idea of going upstairs to face the cocky air-head was about as appealing as a root canal. I almost begged her to let me stay and help.
Finding his room, following his mother’s description, was quite the experience. I knocked on the wrong door three times, and with every door I pushed open, I lingered to admire, deliberately trying to while away time. I knew the Mercers were rich—richer than my parents, who weren’t doing badly themselves—but every room I peeked into made it clear the wealth they’d amassed went far beyond anything I’d imagined.
After stepping out of what I assumed was Mrs. Mercer’s painting room, I caught the thrum of loud music farther down the corridor and followed it. The bass reverberated through my chest as I neared a door left ajar. I rapped lightly against it before stepping inside.
Immediately, the door slammed shut.
I spun, pulse hammering, to find a shirtless, angry-looking Tyler staring me down.
I swallowed.