Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
“No, Miss Elliott, you do not. You did a really shitty job there, so you’re being let go.”
“I need—”
“I know,” I snap. “You’re a fucking maid. Rich girls don’t need to work, which means you need money. Are you ready to learn your new job?”
I sure as hell would, because I’m making this up as I go along. I’m in unchartered territory here. My colleague and friend, Nate, will laugh his fucking ass off when he gets wind of this.
“Are you going to hurt me?” Her eyes lose their fire as tears well in them. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Releasing her, I push back in my chair, putting distance between us. She rubs at her jaw, frowning at me.
“I want to punish you.”
She blinks at me as though she’s waiting for the punchline. The punchline is, there is no punchline. I just want to punish her. Among other things…
“Like spank me?” She laughs—fucking laughs at me. “No.”
“My punishment is far more creative than your young mind could ever conjure up.” I flash her a devious grin. “We could start tonight.”
“Listen,” she says, “I think I should go. I’ll quit if that makes you happy.”
I roll in my chair toward my desk and pat the smooth surface. “You quitting will make me happy, yes, and save the jobs of every person in that company.”
She deflates at my words.
“But,” I continue, “I want to give you a new job. One you can actually do. One that pays a hell of a lot more.”
“I’m not going to be some Pretty Woman prostitute,” she bites out. “I’m not Julia Whatshername and you’re not Richard Grieco.”
“Gere,” I correct.
“The fact you know that means you’re old.” She rolls her eyes, her makeup-free lashes batting against her apple cheeks. “You’re old enough to be my dad.”
“I’m only thirty-five.” I clench my jaw. Almost thirty-six.
“My dad will be thirty-seven this month,” she sasses, cocking her hip out to one side. “Is that what this is? Some creepy ‘call me Daddy’ gig? Because, if so, ew. No.”
I try not to outwardly cringe.
So, I guess I am old enough to be her father.
Lovely.
“Focus, child,” I growl. “I’m not paying you to be my whore. If you want to fuck me, that shit is going to be for free.”
She gasps. “I’m not sleeping with you!”
“Yet,” I say with a smirk. “What I’m paying you to do is easy. I want to punish you. More like humiliate you, to be clear.”
Her head cocks to the side. “Why?”
“Because it gets my dick really hard.”
She chews on the inside corner of her bottom lip, her hazel eyes darting to my crotch and lingering there. “That’s weird.”
“You have no idea.” I pat the desk. “Sit here and we’ll get started.”
“You can’t humiliate me if no one is here,” she volleys back. “It’s just you. Defeats the purpose.”
“We’ll work up to public humiliation, my dear.”
Her cheeks flame crimson. “How much?”
There she is. Everyone is a born negotiator when money is up for grabs.
“Make me an offer,” I say, flashing her a wolfish grin.
“What will I be doing?”
“Nothing too difficult. Just something to please me. Five minutes.”
“Five hundred dollars,” she blurts out.
A low baller, I see.
“A hundred dollars a minute?” I bite back a laugh.
“Take it or leave it, buddy.”
“I’ll take. And take and take. Now sit on my desk.”
She frowns, stalling for a moment, but then lifts her chin before stomping over to the edge of my desk. Under her breath, she curses before hoisting herself onto the smooth surface. The desk is tall enough that she swings her feet back and forth beneath her like a child.
“Where’s your phone?” I ask, leaning back in my chair.
“Why do you want my phone?” Her eyes are wide and horrified. “You’re going to record it?”
“What is it?”
Her neck burns bright red. “I don’t know.”
“No, Miss Elliott, I’m not going to record it. You’re going to record it. A little gift for later.”
“Why?”
“Because it embarrasses you.”
“You get off on embarrassing me?” She pins me with an annoyed glare.
“Absolutely.”
“Fucking freak,” she mutters as she yanks her phone from her pocket. “Whatever.”
“Lean on your elbows and put your feet up on the edge.”
“What are you going to do?” Her voice is shrill and shaky.
“Nothing.”
“I don’t get it,” she grumbles.
“It’s like art,” I explain. “All in the eye of the beholder. Do as I say. Stop wasting our time. The clock starts when you obey.”
She holds my stare for a long moment before finally letting out a harsh, exaggerated sigh. Her body trembles as she moves to get into my requested position. It’s cute how she tries to awkwardly keep her thighs closed, but the position won’t allow it.
“Are you recording?”
“N-No.”
“There’s a timer on your phone. When the recording gets to five minutes, you’re done.”
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
“Are you like going to…”