Making A Deal With The Bad Boy

Marc Warren is the son of wealthy CEO Kellan Warren. Marc has made so many mistakes in his life; he wants to start over. So when he asks his dad for money for his new start, his dad doesn't go along head first. He tells his son that in order for him to get the money, Marc must get a respectable girlfriend, and take her to Prom. Just when Marc is going to see his dad to confess the bad news, he gets stuck in an elevator with Sybil Mathews. A pale girl with big, curly dark hair and pretty hazel eyes, and suddenly, Marc knows he’s just found the solution to all of his problems.


1. Stuck In An Elevator

A/N: I would really like if I could get some opinions on this. Please? Like, maybe?

I stare numbly at the glowing button on the keypad, waiting, for the elevator doors to shut. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the doors as they jerk back open to reveal a tall figure waiting behind them. He's wearing dark jeans, a white shirt with a black leather riding jacket. My eyes  flicker to his face and I quickly turn my head to hide my sudden blush.

It's Marc Warren. He's the guy that the girls drool over because he's rich and wealthy, and boys all secretly envy. Personally, I think they envy him because he can get any girl he wants. He simply winks at them and they fall to the floor to become a puddle of hormones.

Most of the teachers at school either hate him or are afraid of him, because he has a reputation of talking back, and becoming violent when he's angry. Sophomore year, he knocked a classroom's door off it's hinges because the teacher wouldn't let him in after the bell. And last year, he drove his dad's Jaguar into the front wall of the school. My dad told me it might have been because his parents were divorcing. Mr. Warren just paid for the damages and did his best to ignore the media, even when the picture of his son was on every newsstand all over the country. Mr. Warren is the founder and CEO of Warren Enterprises, one of the biggest and most prominent companies in the entire world.

I always kind of figured that's why they haven't kicked him out of school yet. I mean, he's done so many terrible things, it's a wonder he isn't locked up in some penitentiary. Mr. Warren must make some mighty large contributions to the school district.


In the elevator, I discreetly move closer to the wall, away from Mark as he presses the top floor button. He steps to the other side of the elevator and it becomes quiet as we glide up past the floors. I hate elevator silences. They always make things very uncomfortable and awkward. Especially with this guy in here. I start to fumble with my backpack, digging for my iPod Classic, but in the process, the bag drops, and half of the contents of the inside are exposed across the elevator floor. Then I'm on my knees and glance up to see just how far my things have gone, but I quickly look down again as I see Marc getting down as well to help me. Stuffing my things into my bag as fast as I can, I try to avoid looking at his face and brushing his hands with mine.

"Thanks," I say and get to my feet, my iPod tightly gripped in my hand.

He stands up, too. "You forgot this."

Blood flow to my face revives my blush as I snatch the hot pink tampon from his hand and shove it into my bag.

Then he turns away as if what had just happened - didn't. Like he wasn't bothered in the slightest by handing a girl her tampon.

I turn away, too, plugging my London Bulldog headphones into my ears and start scrolling through my artists.

Before I can find something to listen to, the elevator stops suddenly, the main lights go out and the emergency lights kick on at our feet. The AC cuts off, too, so it's quiet.

Marc steps forward in front of me. He presses the emergency call button.

"Yes?" we hear come through patchy and faint.

"Mrs. Flynn, it's Marc Warren. I'm stuck in the executive elevator with Connor Matthew's daughter Sybil," Marc says, and my eyes widen in alarm. He knows my name.

"Are you both alright?"


"I'll call 911 right away."

"Yeah, you do that."

I sink down to the floor in the corner, my knees against my chest. he turns away from the key pad and starts pacing. I bring my iPod around to the front of my face, look at the songs and just pick something random. "Lonely Boy" by The Black Keys begins to blare in my ears.

Eventually, as we waited, Marc sits down against the wall opposite, facing me. I still try to keep my eyes focused on anything but him. After what seemed like forever - like, 45 seconds - I feel him staring at me. I glance up and look away again. I was right. He's staring at me.

Doing my best to ignore it, I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the cool wall. For the past few nights, nightmares have gotten the best of me, keeping me up at night. I'm almost asleep when I'm jerked awake by Marc pushing his foot against my leg.

I press pause and finally look at him straight in the face, and I'm momentarily stunned by the combination of blue eyes and dark hair. My eyes are drawn to the tattoos peeking out on his neck from the collars of his shirt and jacket. The partial swirl of black ink isn't enough for me to identify what they are though.

"What?" I ask.

"What are you listening to?"

"Stuff," I answer.

"Well, can you turn it down?"

"Uh.. yeah?" It sounds more like a question. I grab my iPod and turn the volume down like he asked.

"How do you know my name?" I ask him. "I didn't know you knew I even existed."

He gives me an are-you-stupid look, but answers anyway. "Your dad is the head of the legal department of this company," he says. "Plus, we've had almost every class together since we were eight. I'm not stupid."

"Well, how was I supposed to know that?" I ask, unable to help the sarcasm that hangs onto my words. "You're hardly in class anymore."

I think I can handle his glare, but after a few seconds, I crumble under his scrutiny, shifting away and close my eyes again.

"Hey," he says to me. I turn again, eyes open.

But he doesn't speak, like he's hesitating.

"What?" I ask again, a little bit impatiently this time.

He gets to his knees, crawling across the floor to get closer to me. So close I think I can smell him.

"What are you doing?" I question.

"Will you go to Prom with me?" he asks.

I'm so not expecting this. My eyebrows snap together and I look at him suspiciously. I am not the type to normally get asked out. My hair is too bushy and I don't wear makeup or the latest designer clothes. Or, so I hear from the populars on Facebook. And now, Marc freaking Warren is asking me out? To Prom?

"Are you that desperate?" I ask. 

"No," he replies.

"Then what the heck are you asking me for?"

He rolls his eyes. "It's not going to be a real date."


"I have this deal with my dad that if I get a respectable girlfriend and take her to Prom, then he'll give me what I want," he explains.

"And you think I fit the role of 'respectable'?"

"You have a GPA of 4.5, and you're not exactly hot," he says. "Plus, your dad works with my dad. So are you in or out?"

"if you were trying to butter me, you did a very poor job. Because first, you never tell a girl you want to go out with, as a real girlfriend or not, that you don't think she's attractive. It's rude. And second -"

"In or out?" he persists.

"What's in it for me?"

He thinks. "You can have my Mustang GT 500."

"Do I look like I'm into sports cars?"

"... No," he says slowly. He looks me over, from head to toe. Then he says, "You can have my Shakespeare books. They're first editions."

My eyes widen. "You have - Wait, what?" I sputter. "You read?!"

"No," he says. "I sit there and wait for the words to jump off the page and start dancing."

"I knew it."

He glares at me again, and it's like I can literally see the gears in his head working as he counts to ten, and immediately I feel guilty for provoking him.

Once his anger is under control, he sighs heavily. "My grandmother thought I could learn a few things from them, but all they're doing is collecting dust on my shelves."

I bite my lip and don't reply.

"So," he says. "You be my girlfriend and I give you the books. Deal?"

"Fake girlfriend," I remind him.

"Only behind closed doors. To everyone else we're madly in love and want to make this work."

"How long, exactly, are we supposed to carry out this charade?"

"Until Prom is over, or until I get what I want from my dad."

"And what is that?"

He looks away. "It's, uh, personal."

"I see."

"It's not anything bad, it's just ... something my dad wants me to work for. He thinks a good girl will make me behave."

It's silent and I take in all the information I've just had thrown at me. Then he holds out his hand. "Deal?"

'Deal," I say and take his hand in mine.


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