We all had morals. I did too. 

But the money I got offered if I succeeded in this... well, it blew all my morals to shit.

Glancing out of the car window as the black Lexus drove along a long country road surrounded by serene trees, I let out a deep sigh that fogged the glass.

A few days ago, I was approached at my job at a coffee house by a guy who introduced himself as one Mr Richard Anthony Devon the Third. An owner to some big and apparently successful empire that couldn't survive without an heir. Only, due to recently performed tests, it appeared the guy who seemed to be mid-forties had no more good swimmers left to provide him with said heir. That blows, were my words.

But, to every problem there is a solution, Mr Richard Anthony who-gives-a-crap the Third then said to me. And that solution turned out to be human and in the shape of his younger brother, Harold Xavier Devon, next 'king' of the so-called empire he was running, should Richard die before his time. If Harold was to say, oh, I don't know, get a woman pregnant and she would have his child, then the magnificent Devon-clan would have an heir and their bloodline would pompously continue.

And that's where I inexplicably came in.

"Why me?" I had asked, staring absolutely damn confused to my core at Mr Devon. If he had that much money, why not contact Beyoncé or the Queen herself? Why some lowly barista at a coffee house?

"Why not you?" He had replied. He had lifted his espresso cup and then tasted it with a look of disdain. He put the cup back in its saucer. "You're young, you're healthy and you got your whole life ahead of you. Why shouldn't you take the offer?"

Ah, yes. The offer; To sleep with his brother and conceive his child.

"You're kidding me," I said. Because he was. He had to be. Nobody was this insane. Right?

And that's when he had pulled out the check. The check that—and this was putting it nicely—held a motherfucking, cocksucking, ass-wiping amount of money on it, should I accept the offer to get his brother to sleep with me and, yes, impregnate me. He was paying me, a complete stranger, to fuck his brother and to have his child.

How's that for an offer you 'can't refuse?'

At first I laughed – loudly. Then I stopped because I realized he wasn't kidding. Then I had proceeded to laugh again because I couldn't actually believe he wanted me to do that. I wasn't a goddamn prostitute and I certainly wasn't a baby-maker. I was 18 for crying out loud. Some days I felt I wasn't even done being a baby myself.

– And then he had handed me the check and it shut me up better than a ballgag.

So I knew it was horrible to even think about it, but it was just so much money. More money than I had ever held in my hand before in my life and probably ever would again. With it I could not only buy my own entire island, but probably also get a lapdance from the fucking Queen of England herself. And, more importantly, I could secure myself a good future for just the 'tiny' unethical act of getting a guy to knock me up.

"Seriously, why me?" I had asked again. He couldn't just have spotted me on the street and thought 'oh, she looks nice, let's make her have a baby with my brother'. I seriously doubted that. I mean, I wasn't a bad looker, but I was no Megan Fox either. I was more like a Mila Kunis, but she was a hot piece of ass too, just not... you know.

"Like I said, you're young and you have your whole future ahead of you," Mr Devon said with a debonair smile. "Have you ever heard of the Devon Scholarship?"

I plainly shook my head.

"It's a very prestigious scholarship that allows you to pick almost any college of your choice, Ivy League included. If I'm not mistaken, you're saving up for med school, are you not?"

Holy fucking hell. He had done his homework on me, too. Who was this guy? "Who the actual hell are you?"

"A very powerful man, Ms Berry," He had leaned over the table and looked me perfectly in the eye. "If you don't accept the offer, I will move on to the next candidate. I'll give you three days to think about it if you're interested. My number is on the back."

He nodded towards the unsigned check in my hand, and with a gulp, I watched him get up from his wobbly cafe chair and escort himself out of the cafe with no less than four bodyguards tailing him. I looked out of the window and watched him get into a limo. Kiss my mothereffin' asshole.

So there I had been, a check in my hand with enough money to buy myself a castle with money still to spare, and not a fucking clue what to do. I doubted even Google had an answer for this.

So I had given it a weekend of thought, as offered, that included exorbitant amounts of alcohol, whereafter finally, I had accepted Richard Spermless's offer. Now, it was just up to me and my boobs to make his little brother so horny, he shot a load right up my cooch.

Shouldn't be too difficult, right? There was just one tiny problem.

Harold, his younger brother, was a reserved man, he had explained. He was also a mathematical genius who spent his days cooped up in his giant house, solving some of the hardest mathematical problems that existed. He consulted other mathematicians around the world, which, apparently, was his actual job; doing math for a living. Yikes.

After calling Mr Devon and telling him I accepted the offer, Mr Devon told me right there and then that his brother couldn't know anything about this little... plan. I was going to go there with a cover as a high school girl soon-to-be college student, who needed some math tutoring before starting, but in truth, I was there to honeytrap his brother and trick him into sleeping with me.

It was essential that he didn't find out, Mr Devon said, or the whole thing would fall apart and I wouldn't see a dime of the money. He warned me that his brother was smart, so I would have to play the part well. I had three whole months, or the whole of the summer more specifically put, to fool him into putting a baby in me. Luckily for him, the check was large enough to bring out my inner Meryl Streep.

And that was why I currently found myself stepping out of the Lexus that now held parked in front of a house the size of a Kardashian ass. I couldn't believe some people actually lived like this for real. With like, more than one bathroom with toilets that actually flushed deuces.

I stepped up and rung the doorbell to the ridiculously giant house that was just one pavilion away from being a mansion. Located on a great big lawn with a long driveway, you wouldn't think a camera shy mathematician lived here. Maybe a Roosevelt, but definitely not a math nerd.

I waited patiently while the doorbell chimed for what seemed like minutes, a play of bells that had me fighting my eye-roll. This dude had better be worth it. Old or not, boring or not, he'd better be worth my damn time and uterus.

And then the door finally opened.

"Yes, may I help you?"

Standing in front of me was a man with a busy expression and a phone to his ear, but he certainly wasn't old. Or boring.

With crisp dark-brown disheveled hair, honey colored eyes and a jawline that should be declared in customs, he absolutely didn't strike me as a typical mathematician type. He wore a set of black-framed glasses which high-lighted the amber in his eyes, but also didn't downplay the firm, straight structure that was his nose. Glancing down at his body, he was dressed in a button-up shirt, tucked beneath a brown cardigan and paired with standard issue black slacks. He even wore loafers on his feet. Simple and comfortable, and yet none of it hid the promising figure that hid beneath.

My mouth dried up, but my pussy gushed at the sight of him. That couldn't possibly be him, could it?

"I, uh, am looking for Harold Xavier Devon... the mathematician?" I tried, having to swallow first before I could speak.

"And you are?" He demanded to know, eyeing me up and down like I had him. He briefly took in my simple summer dress and sandals.

"I'm Cassandra Berry. Your brother referred me to you?" I bit my lip when his eyes narrowed. "I'm, uh, the student?"

"You're Ms Berry?" He said, as if he didn't believe it one bit. "You're the student I need to tutor?"

"Yes, that's me. Am I too early?"

Mr Devon looked me up and down once more, then quickly muttered into his phone, "Percy, I'll call you back. Finish scanning the algorithm I showed you." He then ended the call and shoved it into his pocket, before opening the door for me. "Come in, Ms Berry, you're perfectly on time."

I instantly smiled and dragged my luggage inside, but not seconds later Mr Devon took them for me. "Thank you. It's a lovely house you have, if you don't mind me saying."

"It's a family heirloom," He told, his voice changing into almost a mockery one.

"An heirloom?"

"It's a private joke. It's the smallest of all our estates."

"Oh."

"This way, please," He said and begun walking up a grand pair of stairs, carrying my luggage with him. "You'll be staying in the east wing."

I followed him up, nervously fidgeting with my dress, pulling it down a bit and exposing more of my cleavage. So far he hadn't even looked at anything but my appearance yet, giving my prominent features no attention. Maybe he was just a gentleman.

Which was of course the last thing I needed.

We stopped at a door where Mr Devon led us inside, showing me where I would be staying. It was a magnificent bedroom, fully stocked with fresh towels and clean sheets. It even had a mini fridge.

"Feel free to get comfortable," He said, setting down my luggage by the giant closet the room included. "Dinner will be served in a few hours, we'll talk then. I'm afraid I'll be busy for the next couple of hours, but feel free to give yourself a tour of the house," He walked to the door again and granted me one last look before leaving. "Just call my house staff on the phone if you need anything. I'll be in my office."

"Alright. Thank you!" I called after him, but hell, he was already gone. I huffed a little after the door closed, feeling rather unimpressed. So much for being a gentleman. It seemed his work was more important than his house guests.

Oh, but who was I to care or judge. I was just here to fuck him.

~~~

Hours later, after taking a shower and getting refreshed and known around the house, I was sitting at the dining table, waiting for my future baby daddy to show up. It had been nearly twenty minutes of me drinking his exquisite wine alone before he finally appeared, speaking on the phone again. He was mumbling a few words that hardly made sense before he thanked the person and hung up.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting. I'm running late on a deadline." He apologized.

"It's no problem," I lied and watched him expectantly as he sat down, folding his napkin in his lap, still not looking at me. "I've been enjoying the wine, so I'm set. But how's that going, by the way? Your work-stuff?" I tried to act interested.

A muscle tugged on the corner of his lips, but he still didn't turn his eyes up towards me. Instead, he poured himself a glass of red wine and sipped it. "It's going great. I'm helping a friend with his new thesis on Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture and his way of understanding the depth of finite and infinite rational points. It's very interesting. What do you think?"

"About..." I swallowed hard, trying to think of something that wouldn't blow my cover. "About... all that? It sounds interesting in theory, but I'd obviously have to look at it myself to create an opinion." At least that gave me some time to Google up on who the hell Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer were.

"Hm." Mr Devon thought a little, then sipped his glass again. "That could certainly be arranged. Let's eat for now."

I agreed and then dug into the meal in front of me, the kind servants of his house having reheated the food for us after the long wait. We ate in silence, Mr Devon barely looking up or paying any attention to me. I cleared my throat a little, but still nothing. I might as well have been a part of the decor.

"So, Mr Devon," I therefore started, thinking I should say something to get this show on the road.

"Harry, please," He said. "Mr Devon is too formal if you're going to be staying here all summer."

"Harry," I smiled, picking up my wine glass. That was progress. He had a nickname. I think I preferred that over 'Harold'. Harold sounded too old for him. "Well, I was just merely wondering how you were thinking this tutoring of ours were going to work on a day-to-day basis?"

"The tutoring can work however you please. I don't have anything specifically planned. What are your own thoughts?"

"My own thoughts?" That caught me off guard. I thought fast. "Well, uh... I don't know how your normal day works, but, I figured I could sit in some hours while you worked and maybe learn some tips and tricks—"

"—and then maybe at some point, you'd just open your legs and hope I'd climb inside you?"

My fork dropped to the floor. As did my jaw.

I slowly looked up and saw that he had finally lifted his eyes and was staring at me with a highly raised, stern brow. A knowing brow.

Well, fuck. Einstein knew.

• • •

Welcome to The Mathematician. To the OGs who remember some of it, don't spoil anything. The first few chapters will be very similar to the ones you remember, but it changes a few chapters in. I hope you'll like what I've done with it.

Disclaimer: I'm not a mathematician. Any math shown in this book was sponsored by Google.