UNDER THE SURFACE “MY MIDDLE FINGER TO MR. BILLIONAIRE”

X MARKS THE SPOT.

Troy's POV.

I was mid-bite into a cold slice of pizza when it hit me—I had tutoring with Olive today. I groaned, slumping back against the couch in the lobby, surrounded by my brothers.

Lucas was sprawled out, his feet on the coffee table, spamming the controller while Adam's intense focus was locked on the screen. Ryan was buttoning up his shirt, clearly in a rush to head out, while Ethan's music thrummed faintly from his guitar—probably some depressing rock ballad.

"I've got tutoring today," I announced, dragging a hand over my face.

Lucas barked out a laugh without looking away from the screen. "Teacher-student orgasm, huh?"

Ethan smirked, not taking his eyes off the instrument. "Didn't know you were into nerds."

"Yeah," Lucas chimed in, grinning wickedly. "Gonna help her study reproduction?"

I rolled my eyes. "It's not like that."

Adam gave me a deadpan look as he fixed his tie. "Yeah, just like it wasn't like that when you dated Jessica Turner last summer."

Lucas snickered. "Double trouble. Impressive."

I glared. "Can we focus, or is this just roast Troy day?"

Lucas smirked. "Every day's roast Troy day."

Ryan adjusted his watch, barely paying attention. "Just make sure you don't knock her up. Dad's got enough problems."

I groaned again. "You guys are impossible."

"Don't worry," Adam drawled. "If you fail the session, you can always bribe her with your abs."

Lucas added, "Or let her test friction on the mattress."

I lobbed a throw pillow at him, which Lucas dodged with a laugh.

Ryan shot me a warning look. "Don't mess this up. We don't need Dad on our case again."

I saluted mockingly. "Yes, sir."

Ryan ignored me, already halfway out the door. "Try not to embarrass yourself." He left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Adam snorted. "He's right. You'll probably get schooled."

"Whatever," I muttered, standing up. "Go back to losing."

Adam grinned lazily. "I never lose."

"Right," I drawled, giving them both the finger as I left to clean my room.

——

My room was cleaner than it'd been in weeks, thanks to a panicked half-hour session of tossing clothes under the bed and hiding questionable magazines in my closet. The desk was wiped down, papers stacked haphazardly in a way that suggested organization—if you squinted.

I glanced around, satisfied, before hearing the sound of heels clicking on marble. I peeked out of my room just in time to see Lena, our nanny, escorting Olive inside.

Olive's gaze flicked around the opulence of the house, unimpressed.

Her eyes narrowed when they landed on Lucas, who was lounging against the staircase banister, shirtless and grinning like a predator.

"Well, well," Lucas crooned. "If it isn't Miss Basketball."

Olive crossed her arms. "If it isn't Mr. Flirt-and-Fail."

Lucas feigned a dramatic wince, clutching his chest. "Feisty. Turns me on."

Olive smirked. "Keep talking. Maybe I'll finish the job."

Lucas looked genuinely delighted. "I could show you my room."

"You'd like a broken nose with that?"

Lucas barked a laugh. "Maybe."

Lena sighed, looking thoroughly done with their antics. "Stop harassing the guest, Lucas."

"Just being friendly," Lucas said innocently.

Lena shot him a withering glare. "Go shower. You smell like a frat house."

Lucas wagged his eyebrows at Olive before heading upstairs. "Offer's still open if you need a study break."

"I'll pass," Olive shot back, unimpressed.

Lena sighed. "Miss Greene, this way."

Olive followed her down the hall, tossing a glance over her shoulder.

Lucas made a kissing face before disappearing.

They stopped in front of my door. Lena knocked briskly. "Your tutor is here, Troy."

The door swung open, and I leaned against the frame, my arms crossed, my expression casual. "You clean up nice."

Olive c****d a brow. "Impressive, right?"

I chuckled, stepping aside. "Come on in, Miss Violence."

Lena's lips twitched—her version of a smile—before she turned and left, muttering something in Spanish about "boys and their egos."

Olive glanced around my room, unimpressed by my attempts to make it look less like a bachelor's disaster zone. She eyed a suspiciously lumpy pile of laundry under the bed but said nothing.

I leaned back against my desk, my arms crossed. "So, ready to make me a genius?"

Olive plopped her bag onto the desk with a loud thud. "You're a lost cause, but I'll try."

I grinned, unbothered. "Love the enthusiasm."

Olive rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you'll need it."

My smirk widened. "We'll see about that."

I leaned back in my chair, eyeing the thick algebra textbook like it had personally wronged me. Olive flipped it open with a thud, glancing up with a smirk.

"So, big shot," she said, twirling her pen. "What's your problem with math?"

I leaned back lazily. "It's boring."

She deadpanned, "Well, failing classes is thrilling, isn't it?"

I grinned. "Oh, I don't know. I've been getting by."

She arched a brow. "And by 'getting by,' you mean barely passing?"

"Barely counts," I shot back.

Olive shook her head. "Okay, genius. Let's start with the basics." She scribbled on a sheet of paper:

{2x + 5 = 15}. Solve for {x}.

I stared at it.

Squinted.

Tilted my head.

Olive blinked. "Are you waiting for it to solve itself?"

"Relax," I scoffed. "I got this." I grabbed the pencil and scribbled something.

She glanced at the paper and groaned. "Twelve?"

"Yeah?" I looked proud.

"Do you know what a variable is?"

I leaned closer, flashing a cocky smirk. "The number I just solved, obviously."

"Wrong," she deadpanned. "The variable is {x}. And you didn't solve anything except my patience."

My eyes narrowed. "Alright, smartass, what's the answer then?"

Olive crossed her legs, a slow grin spreading. "Watch and learn." She worked through the problem, breaking it down step by step.

I watched, my lips pursed. "Okay, but you're overcomplicating it."

"Oh really? Enlighten me, Einstein."

I crossed my arms. "Just... skip the steps."

"Oh, sure. Maybe I should also skip breathing." She tapped the paper.

"You need to isolate x. Like, imagine it's you and a girl at a party. Your goal is to get her alone, right?"

I smirked. "Sounds about right."

Olive rolled her eyes. "Exactly. So, the five? That's her annoying best friend who won't leave."

I chuckled. "I hate that girl."

"Right. So you gotta get rid of her," Olive continued. "Subtract five from both sides." She did so. "Now you've got {2x = 10}. The best friend is gone. But oh no, here comes her annoying cousin—"

I laughed, genuinely amused. "You're serious?"

She ignored me. "The two is her clingy cousin. You have to divide by two on both sides to get her away." She scribbled the final step. "Boom. {x = 5}. You're alone with the girl."

My eyes lit up. "Okay, that makes sense."

"Of course it does," she drawled. "I had to dumb it down to your level."

I shot her a look. "You sure you're not into me? You talk a lot about getting me alone."

Olive scoffed. "Trust me, if I wanted to seduce you, I wouldn't need algebra."

I laughed, genuinely entertained. "Oh yeah? How would you do it then?"

She smirked. "I'd teach you calculus. Girls love a guy who can find the limit."

I burst out laughing, clutching my side. "Okay, Olive. Point for you."

"More like game, set, match," she corrected. "Now focus."

An hour later, I was pinching the bridge of my nose like I had a migraine. "How do people do this for fun?"

Olive sighed. "It's math, not a horror movie."

"I'd rather watch a horror movie," I muttered.

Olive leaned forward, grinning wickedly. "Okay, Bayson. Let's make this easier. We'll use your dating history."

I smirked. "Oh, this should be good."

She grabbed the paper. "Let's say {x} equals the number of girls you've dated."

I leaned back. "Okay, I'm liking this."

"Of course you are," Olive said dryly. "And let's say {y} equals the number of girls you've ghosted."

My smirk faded. "Hey—"

"Oh, I'm not done." She scribbled furiously. "So, if {3x + y = 20} and you've ghosted five girls, what's {x}?"

I squinted at the problem. "Uh... five?"

Olive blinked. "Seriously?"

I crossed my arms. "What? That makes sense."

"You think you've only dated five girls?"

"Well, not exactly—"

"Oh, please. This is Westwood. You've dated half the cheer squad."

I grinned. "You keeping tabs on me?"

Olive rolled her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. Focus." She broke it down. "Subtract five from both sides. You get {3x = 15}."

I looked at her blankly.

"Divide by three," she pressed.

"Oh." I wrote down the answer. "Five."

Olive tilted her head. "So, five girls?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it. "Okay, maybe ten."

She smirked. "And you wonder why I call you dumb."

I leaned closer, my eyes glinting. "Oh, I know I'm not dumb."

"Then prove it," she challenged. "Get this next one right."

I arched a brow. "If I do?"

Olive considered. "I won't call you names for the rest of the session."

I grinned. "And if I fail?"

"I'll make sure everyone at school knows you have a nanny," she shot back.

I groaned. "You're evil."

She winked. "And you're bad at math. Focus."

——

The study session finally wrapped up, I leaned back with a groan. "You're brutal."

Olive smirked, gathering her books. "And you're finally passing algebra."

I shot her a crooked grin. "So, same time next week?"

She shrugged. "If your brain can handle it."

I chuckled. "Oh, I can handle you, Olive."

She rolled her eyes, but a hint of a smile tugged at her lips. "Keep dreaming, Bayson."

She stood and made her way out, tossing a casual wave over her shoulder. I watched her go, a slow grin spreading across my face.

Yeah, I was definitely looking forward to next week.

I stood by the window, staring out at the driveway where Olive's figure disappeared around the corner. A wry smirk tugged at my lips. Despite her eye rolls and relentless sass, she's a hell of a lot more interesting than most people who cross my path. She's fire—quick to burn, impossible to ignore.

I glanced back at my desk, where a beaten-up leather purse sat like a forgotten relic. The smirk vanished.

"No way..." I muttered, striding over and flipping it open. Sure enough, tucked between crumpled receipts and half-dead pens was Olive's student ID.

I snorted. "Well, well, Miss High and Mighty forgets things too."

I could return it. Sure. Or I could keep it as leverage. Imagine her storming back in, all rage and venom, demanding it back. That could be fun.

But before I could decide, the door flew open, and Lucas strolled in with a towel draped lazily around his neck, wet hair dripping. "Hey, lover boy. Missed your chance?"

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up."

Lucas grinned. "So what's her moan like, huh?"

"Nice one," I deadpanned. "Did you think that up in the shower or while you were admiring your own reflection?"

Lucas clutched his chest. "Ouch.

Careful, you'll hurt my feelings." He glanced at the purse. "But seriously—what, did she drop her dignity along with that?"

"Pretty sure that's your specialty," I shot back. "At least she remembers my name."

Lucas laughed. "Whatever. I hear her talk to you, and I'm amazed you can stand with both balls intact."

I rolled my eyes and headed for the door, deciding to chase her down.

"Oh, off to be a hero?" Lucas called after me. "You got a cape in there too?"

"Yeah, right," I shouted back. "I'll tell her you said hi!"

I jogged down the stairs and out the door, my heart pounding just a little too hard. The gate was already swinging shut, and Olive was long gone. "Sh*t."

I turned back, hoping to slip inside unnoticed, but of course, Ethan stood leaning against the entryway, arms crossed.

"Was is that heated, she forgot her purse?" Ethan drawled.

I glared. "Shut up."

Ethan raised a brow. "Is she your type."

"She's not," I lied.

"Yeah," Ethan mused, "You're more into the ones who call you 'Daddy'."

I grimaced. "What's your point?"

Ethan smirked. "Just that it's cute watching you chase after her like a puppy."

I flipped him off and stomped back upstairs, tossing the purse onto my desk. It stared back at me, judging.

I needed an excuse to tease her again. And oh, I had one.

———

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