Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
I watch her for another minute, the way she tries to hide her smile, the way her knees bounce with adrenaline. Tomorrow Kat will wake up and maybe want to run, but for now, she’s here. With me. And I can’t wait to see what I can make her do.
I pour another whiskey, then offer her the glass. She takes it, sips a tiny drop, and chokes a bit.
“God this stuff is strong.”
I smirk.
“I like my liquor, and the stronger the better.”
She smiles at me then, a real smile for the first time tonight.
“Anything else?” she says, meeting my eyes for the first time.
I shake my head. “Not tonight.”
She stands, gives me a shy bob of the head, and disappears up the stairs.
I sit there until the fire dies, my cock so hard it’s a wonder I don’t pass out. I could have taken Kat right then, but what fun would that be? The hunt is always better when the prey wants to be caught.
I finish my drink, and let the night close in. Tomorrow, we start for real.
My new PA is up before me, like a good girl. I hear the soft thud of her feet in the kitchen, then the hiss of the espresso machine, then a strangled little curse when something shatters.
I take my time coming down, but when I do, Kat’s standing at the window, phone in both hands, arm stretched out like she’s trying to get a radio signal from god. The robe she’s found in the guest closet swallows her, but when she lifts her arms, it hikes up and the backs of her thighs are all soft, ivory skin, thick and luscious. She’s muttering under her breath, probably inventing new curse words, and the way her hair is a tangled mess just makes her look more delicious.
“Looking for something?” I say, and she jumps a foot in the air.
She spins, cheeks bright red, but squares up right away. She’s getting bolder. I like it.
“I’m just trying to check in,” she says. “I haven’t been able to call or text anyone since I got here.” She holds up the phone. “Is there WiFi?”
I shake my head. “There is, but it’s been broken for ages, and the repair guy still hasn’t come out.” I let the weight of that settle, but not for long. “If you need to reach someone, I have a satellite phone. For work, mostly, but you can use it.”
She digests that, her jaw tight. “Do you always keep people this isolated?”
“Only the ones I want to keep.” I smile to soften it, but there’s no point pretending. She knows what this is. “You can use the satellite phone any time, Kat. I’m not holding you hostage.”
She nods, but she doesn’t believe me, not yet.
She pours herself a cup and sits at the island, legs swinging like a schoolgirl, eyes fixed on her cell. I watch her in the glass, the way her blonde hair tumbles down her back, the way she glances at me when she thinks I’m not looking.
“Do you regret your decision?” I ask, pouring my own coffee.
She shrugs. “No.” She trails off. “I just didn’t know I’d be so isolated.”
I walk to the table, open my laptop, and pull up a file I prepped last night: the new contract. It’s written in plain English, no bullshit. The offer is simple—$50,000 for two months of work, with very clear duties. Sexual in nature, performance-based, filmed for reference but not for publication. Confidentiality absolute.
I print a copy, sign my name at the bottom, and set it on the table in front of her.
“Read it,” I say. “If you’re out, say so. You keep everything you’ve made so far. No harm, no foul. But if you’re in, I need your signature, sweetheart, because once we’re in, we’re in.”
Kat stares at the paper like she doesn’t recognize it. For a second, she doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. I can feel her mind racing—money, reputation, the fear of being ruined by this. I don’t interrupt.
After a minute, she picks up the pages, flips through. Her eyes dart over the lines, then up to me, then back down. I watch the way her hands tremble, but she keeps going. She finishes and sets the contract down. Her face is a war zone.
“Is this for real?” she says in a quiet tone. “Fifty grand for two months?”
I nod.
“That’s more than my mom makes in a year. You could feed a family on that money.”
I give her the straight line: “Something tells me you’re worth every penny, sweetheart.”
She laughs, shaky, and for a second I see the girl from the Polaroid—unsure, but so, so hungry for someone to tell her she’s beautiful, and worthy of being worshipped.
She’s quiet for a long time.
“I want to finish school,” she says finally, voice breaking a little. “That’s what all this is for. I just—” She shakes her head, trying to chase off the tears that threaten to show. “I’m not… I’m not that girl. I never even had a boyfriend who…” She lets it die.