Chapter 19
The second Harrison put me in the back seat of his sedan, I slid across and tried to get out of the car through the other door.
Apparently, the driver was on Harrison’s side and he locked it. I shot the driver a dirty look and sat there with my arms crossed, stuck in the Mercedes-Benz.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked through clenched teeth.
He didn’t respond, just stared at his phone, typing occasionally, refusing to look at me or answer my questions.
The Mercedes pulled into traffic. The apartment buildings went from rundown, seven- and eight-story tenements, to industrial-style high-rises covered in glass, to older but well-maintained brownstone buildings. It was a journey across the economic spectrum, ending in old money New York, where baroque motifs gave the entire block a beautifully elegant, historical feel.
We arrived at a brownstone building that looked to be about fifteen or so stories high and had a uniformed doorman standing in front of the glass doors, waiting to open them for us.
I wasn’t sure where we were, the Upper East or Upper West Side, but I knew I didn’t belong here. I crossed my arms over my chest and looked at Harrison, waiting for him to explain himself or at least tell me where we were.
He grabbed his leather laptop case and the tote bag filled with my clothes and got out of the car.
I didn’t follow.
As far as I was concerned, there was no reason to get out of the car.
He leaned down and peered inside with a furrowed brow. “Eddie, get out of the car and follow me inside, or I will pick you up and throw you over my shoulder again. I do not have time for your childish antics.”
One look at this man, and I knew he wasn’t bluffing. He would absolutely pick me up and throw me over his shoulder like a petulant child. Again.
And I didn’t think anyone walking along the streets here would be any more inclined to stop him than they would be in my neighborhood. If anything, they’d chastise me for disturbing the peace.
God forbid my kidnapping inconvenience anyone else.
I knew I was being dramatic, but I was cold, hungry, unemployed, and now homeless. That earned me the right to a pissy attitude in my book. With an annoyed huff, I slid out of the car and followed Harrison into the building.
The lobby alone was stunning, with a beautiful marble mosaic on the floor as well as other Gilded Age details like the fleur-de-lis in the molding and the stunning design painted around the base of the crystal chandelier that hung down from the two-story ceiling.
The doorman greeted Harrison by name and asked if his guest needed to sign in. I assumed that meant me.
“No, thank you,” Harrison said to the doorman. “It would be best for all involved if nobody knew she was here. However, she will be leaving each morning for work and returning late. Please see that the other doormen are aware of her presence and know which apartment she’s in.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Astrid,” the doorman responded, then tipped his hat to me and called me Miss. I was not aware people still tipped their hats. Maybe the rich paid extra for outdated chivalry.
“I’m putting you in apartment fifteen oh seven,” Harrison said. “At least until we can find something more permanent.”
“I don’t know what you think is going to happen here. But I am not okay with having you pay for an apartment for me or put me up in your little sex den.”
“I’m not entirely sure what a sex den is,” Harrison said, quirking a brow at me. “This is an investment building for me. I’m putting you in a furnished apartment that is usually rented out to corporate clients for long-term visiting executives.”
“It’s not like I can afford any better place to live. Where I live now is affordable.”
“That was my next question,” Harrison said. “Why are you living in the slums? Paralegals make more than crackheads. Are you dealing with some type of addiction, a gambling debt, or something?”
“Sort of,” I admitted.
Harrison looked at me, his eyes wide. He was not expecting that answer, so I clarified.
“I bet on my future with a high-interest student loan backed by the federal government, designed to keep the poor where they are while letting them dream of more,” I said, not bothering to hide my bitterness. “I’m trying not to start my career half a million dollars in debt, so I’m trying to pay off my undergraduate degree while also saving for law school.”
“You’re smart enough for scholarships,” he said.
I couldn’t help but laugh again at the arrogance and the complete lack of awareness of what reality was like for other people. It continued to astonish me.
First, he actually thought people gave a fuck about housing court. The idea he had that it was designed to protect the tenants and not the landlords was hilarious. And now he thought that scholarships were easy to come by or that they would actually make a dent in the cost of higher education. Or that even if you got one to pay for your tuition, it didn’t matter because you still needed money for food, rent, books, and countless other necessities.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked, not having the energy to enlighten this privileged dick about how the world worked for the rest of us.
“Because I need you at work, I need you doing your job, and I need to know that you’re safe. I can’t have my paralegal, the only one who knows the case that I’m working on, in danger.”
“I’m not your paralegal anymore.”
“Agree to disagree.”
He led me to the apartment, and when he opened the door, it took my breath away.
I didn’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this wide-open floor plan with massive bay windows and state-of-the-art kitchen appliances. It actually had a full kitchen. Not just a mini fridge and a hot plate tucked into one corner of the apartment, but a full kitchen with an oven and everything. The living room was massive, and then another hallway told me there was at least one separate bedroom and bathroom, if not more.
“Take a look around. Let me know if there’s anything else you’ll need.”
I spun around the living room and indulged for a moment in the fantasy of staying somewhere like this place. I dreamed for a moment that a home like this could actually be my life.
Then I turned and headed for the door before it hurt too much.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Harrison asked.
“Home, assuming I still have one. If not, I guess I’ll have to see if I can stay with a friend. Since you got me evicted and all.”
“No, you’re staying here,” he said slowly, like I didn’t understand.
I reached for the front door. “No, I’m not.”
Harrison grabbed my wrist, not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough to let me know that he wasn’t letting me out of the apartment. He got between me and the door, blocking the only path I knew out.
“Let me go, Mr. Astrid,” I said.
“I told you not to call me that,” he repeated.
“Fine, let me go, Harrison.”
“Better, but no.”
“I’m not your whore. You do not get to trade an apartment for sexual favors.”
“I never said you were my whore. I never treated you like my whore. Do you want to talk about what happened yesterday? Fine. If you want me to spank you again like the brat you’re being, I am more than happy to oblige, but you are not leaving this apartment.”
“I need…” My words trailed off as I tried to figure out what I needed.
I needed to know that I had earned my success honestly. I needed to not be attracted to a man who was not only my boss but engaged to be married to another woman. I needed to feel in control again, something I hadn’t felt since the moment I met him. I needed to get away from him and his seductive influence.
I needed him out of my life.
His hand moved to my face, cupping my jaw and tilting my head up so my gaze met his. “Tell me what you need.”
That warm, floaty feeling started to build in my core again, and I didn’t know how to tell him I needed to run as far away from him as possible. So I didn’t say anything.
“Okay, let me tell you what I need, and we can go from there.”
I nodded.
“What I need is very simple here, Eddie. I need to know that you are safe and will make it to work on time. I need this day to be over because it has been unbelievably long and wretched. I need you to let me do this for you right now. We can talk about it again tomorrow, and we can work out something more permanent, but I need to know that you are not going to freeze to death in your sleep. Or be accosted by crack addicts trying to sell your kidneys for a hit.”
“Fine,” I said, giving in. “I will stay for now.”
My eyes flashed down to his lips and then back to his eyes. We were standing close enough for the warmth of his body to radiate into mine, for the scent of the whiskey that he had drunk earlier to waft between us.
“Good, now let’s discuss what I want,” he stated.
My mouth went dry. Was this the part where he treated me like a whore who needed to serve him to earn my keep? Since my heart was in my throat, I just nodded.
His thumb moved over my lower lip. “I need you under me. I need to feel this sweet mouth wrapped around my cock. I need to hear you moan again.”
He pushed his thumb into my mouth, forcing me to suck it.
As he mesmerized me with the lust-filled look in his gaze, I could almost feel the sting of his hand on my ass like some sort of pleasurable, phantom pain.
Heat pooled between my legs. The dirty truth of it was, I wanted to be his whore. I wanted him to force me to my knees.
I wanted it… but it was the last thing I needed.
Tightening my abdominal muscles to brace for his inevitable rage, I wrapped my hand around his wrist and gently pulled his thumb out of my mouth.
I took a step back… and then poked the beast. “How does it feel to want?” I challenged.