Page 4 of Redline
"Trust me, if I wanted your attention, you’d know," I fired back, my voice low and vibrating with a fury that burned right through my grogginess. "And I'm not here for your father. Or you. I'm here for a degree, and currently, I'm here for coffee. So move."
"A degree. Right. Because my family’s estate is famous for its tutoring services." He leaned in even closer, so close I could see the golden flecks in his dark brown eyes. "There are only two reasons a girl like you is in this kitchen. Either my father finally followed through on his threat to bring in outsiders to monitor me… or he’s gotten desperate enough to let his flings stay the night in the pool house."
His smirk sharpened, becoming something lethal.
"What's your name?" he asked, his voice a dangerous murmur. "Or should I just call you 'Temporary'?"
"Bold of you to assume you’ve earned it. I usually prefer a tone that comes with better manners," I snapped, trying to shove against his chest. It was like trying to move a mountain of granite.
"Carter?"
The voice cracked through the tension like a whip. My dad rushed into the kitchen, his shirt half-buttoned and a look of sheer panic suddenly taking over his face. He froze, his eyes widening as they landed on the towel-draped disaster looming over me.
Dominic didn’t jump. He didn’t even look startled. He slowly—agonizingly slowly—straightened up, pulling his arms back but leaving the memory of his body hanging in the space between us. He turned his head toward my father, the smug smirk still playing on his lips at the sound of hearing my name.
But as he looked past me and locked eyes with my father, that sharp smirk faltered. The arrogance didn't vanish, but it hardened into something severe and impenetrable. He lookedat the weariness in my father’s face, the professional set of his shoulders, and the realization finally snapped into place.
"Dominic," Dad said, his voice regaining its footing as he stepped between us. "I’m Landon Hayes. I’m your new coach. And this is my daughter."
The worddaughterbarely landed before Dominic’s attention twitched—subtle, instinctive. His gaze skimmed back over me, quick and assessing, like he was recalibrating something he hadn’t planned on before snapping his attention forward again.
Dominic didn't shake his hand. He didn't even acknowledge the gesture. He just stared at my father with a look of pure, unadulterated venom. The previous personality was gone; in his place was a person who looked ready to burn the whole estate down just to see the sparks.
"Huh," Dominic said, his voice full of bored spite. "So my father wasn't kidding. He really did hire…you."
He said "you" like it was a dirty word. Like my father was a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his racing boot.
Dad faltered, his hand dropping to his side. "I’m looking forward to working with you. We were excited for the call."
I stayed quiet, holding the words back so hard it hurt. I looked at Dominic—at his dark hair, his dark eyes, and the sheer, unearned confidence radiating off him—and I realized I didn't just hate him. I hated everything he represented. The waste. The arrogance. The way he looked at my father—who had more talent in his pinky than Dominic had in his whole, sculpted body—like he was the outline for failure.
"I'm sure you were," Dominic said, his voice smooth enough to cut. "A comeback must feel… exciting. Even if it’s a desperate one." His attention settled on me again, the smirk returning sharper than before as he glanced toward my dad. "I apologize about the noise last night. Didn't realize the help was sleeping so close to the action."
Dad blinked, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "Noise? What noise?"
A heavy, sudden silence blanketed the kitchen. My father looked genuinely clueless, completely untouched by whatever psychological warfare Dominic had been trying to wage.
And that's when it clicked.
Dominic didn't just apologize for the noise to be a jerk; he'd brought it up because heexpectedmy father to be the one who had spent the night fuming in the room next door. The extra volume, the rhythmic thuds against the headboard, calling me one of his father's tramps—none of it had been about passion or a genuine mistake. He knew we were arriving last night—or at least that my father was. I was still trying to make sense of his initial comments about me. Not that they mattered in the moment. It had been a calculated, twisted power play aimed directly at his new coach.
Except he’d missed.
My lips twitched into a slow, satisfied smirk, and I watched the exact moment the same realization slammed into Dominic.
His eyes flicked to mine, his own smirky confidence freezing. I saw the split-second his brain mapped out the layout of the pool house and realized his mistake: Dad was on the other side of the building. I was the one who had been in the firing line of his little show. He hadn't established dominance over his new keeper; he’d just looked like a noisy, desperate child to his coach’s daughter.
"Noise?" Dad repeated, looking between us for an explanation.
I didn't give Dominic the satisfaction of jumping in to save his pride. I leaned back against the counter, crossing my arms and letting my smirk widen just enough for him to see it.
"It was nothing, Dad," I said, my voice dripping with calm, bored amusement as I held Dominic's gaze. "Just some persistent, high-pitched whining. I thought it was a dying animalat first, but I guess it was just someone trying way too hard to prove they still have an engine under the hood."
"Actually," Dominic interrupted, his voice dripping with a mix of genuine fury and redirected interest. "How old did you say your daughter was again, Landon?"
He hadn’t.
"Nineteen," Dad said, sounding caught off guard by the sudden shift in atmosphere.
