You were laying in Bruce's bed early in the morning after another night of playing coy and insisting you were too much of a lady to do anything aside from cuddle—even of you secretly wanted more, staring at the text your brother sent you, asking how long it would be until Bruce trusted you enough to give you his credit card. You didn't know, to be honest.

You couldn't think about it without feeling dread in your stomach. It started as a con, you and your brother had pulled dozens. You flirt with a wealthy man, string him along for a while and then take his money to make up for the horrible childhood you had. You never felt bad. Billionaires were scum. Bruce was different, though.

The door opened as Bruce emerged from his shower in a T-shirt and lounge pants—the kind that looked too casual for someone as rich as him but made him even more attractive than an expensive suit.

You shut you phone off as he tossed his towel over the back of a chair. "Morning," he muttered, opening the curtains to reveal the bright sun. "How'd you sleep?"

"Um...fine," you murmured, trying not to let your gaze linger on the muscles of his back. "Can we actually talk for a minute?"

You knew coming clean would make him hate you, maybe even have him arrest you. But you couldn't keep lying, even with the pressure from your brother.

Bruce frowned, but nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed as you sat up, suddenly feeling self-conscious of the nightgown you were wearing—purposely (and successfully) having been trying to tease him so he'd be more willing to cave and give you what you wanted.

"What is it?" He asked, brushing the hair from your face.

You turned away from his touch, guilt sprawled across your face. "I- I uh-" you took a breath. "I don't think we should see each other anymore," you said quietly.

Bruce looked a little surprised. He was quiet for a moment. "Is this about you trying to steal my money?" He asked after a bit, his voice calm and steady, without much emotion behind it.

What? You thought, eyes widening.