Chapter 2 #2
“Does he have nothing better to do than hassle decent companies? Tell the son of a bitch to try Madame Zola’s.
I heard she has the kinkiest women working for her in the city and from what I understand, Christian is a sadist. Maybe he needs to feel the lash of a whip for a change.
Or he can try one of those online dating services, although after spending a few minutes with him, his dates would likely do everything in their power to disappear off the planet.
” I was forced to take a deep breath, coming close to hyperventilating.
“Wow. That’s all I can say. Do you know him?” Poor Amelia appeared as if I’d just dragged her down the middle of South Beach naked.
I raked my hand through my hair. There was no doubt I looked like a mess, as if a truck had run over me.
On top of the disastrous financial situation, there’d been no water in the pipes of my bleak little home that morning.
A shower had been a no-go and finding a plumber available within two weeks would take an act of Congress.
I was facing staying in a hotel for a few days.
Money I couldn’t afford to lose.
“No, but I know men like him. Too many of them. I don’t want anything to do with a son of a bitch with a God complex.
” I’d been too embarrassed to tell anyone about our earlier encounter.
Okay, so it was years ago and I should get over it.
Obviously, he’d left a lasting impression, like going through your first root canal.
“It’s a lot of money. We’re talking a lot.”
“I do have scruples, Amelia. I know we need the money, but if he calls you again, just tell him politely but firmly that the answer is no. If he pushes you, I’ll deal with him.
” How in God’s name would finding a fake wife actually work for a man of his stature?
I couldn’t imagine the clauses attached to the ironclad contract that my attorney would need to go over.
For a hefty additional price.
Just the thought of what he could expect was abominable.
No. The scruples would stand, even if it meant eating ramen noodles for the next six months.
She cringed visibly, which caught my eye. “What?” My demand was a little strong.
“Well, you see…” The words faded as she glanced quickly over her shoulder at the closed door.
I followed her line of sight and exhaled. “Let me guess. He refused to take no for an answer.”
“Well, he just kind of showed up demanding to talk to you. I tried to get him to leave, but he isn’t budging. I don’t know what to do.” Now she was whispering.
After I stood, I threw out my hands. “No need. I’ll handle this.
I’ve eaten men like him for breakfast.” I smoothed back my unwieldly strands of hair I’d been tugging and twirling around my finger all morning, rubbed my hands down my wrinkled skirt, and headed for the door with my head held high.
The man was going to get a piece of my mind.
I threw open the door, taking long strides into the waiting room directly outside. A tall man stood with his back to me, staring at a shitty piece of art I’d purchased at a yard sale years before. I was certain he was criticizing my choice and tastes.
For some sick reason, I was curious if he’d remember me.
“Mr. Elliot.” I was proud of myself; my voice was strong and firm, even and devoid of emotion.
He slowly turned around and I was forced to tip my head to look him in the eyes.
Holy shit. The years had been good to him.
Too good.
He was every woman’s fantasy on steroids and at that moment, that very awkward moment, I could see him fitting the sugar daddy mold.
Whoa. Hold on.
He wasn’t smirking or leering.
Just looking as annoyed as I remembered.
I was tall for a woman, but he was… huge. Much larger than I remembered. Or maybe I’d done my best to mentally emasculate him after the interview.
Broad shoulders filled out a perfectly tailored suit jacket, the form-fitting cut accentuating his muscular, long arms. The dark suit was in direct contrast to the crisp white shirt and vivid cobalt tie bringing out the ice blue coloration in his eyes.
Ice blue.
Another sugar daddy moment.
His features were chiseled, his jaw seemingly cut from stone and his thick, wavy hair highlighted his aristocratic bones. There were reasons he was considered the hottest looking man on the East Coast. Damn it.
But I could feel the electric buzz of superiority from where I stood, the crackling effect enough to create prickles down both arms.
He eyed me auspiciously, allowing his heated gaze to fall to my flat shoes. Why had I foregone my usual signature black heels?
While there was obvious initial disdain, there was not a single hint of recognition in his eyes. I could be one of a billion people.
Score another asshole point.
He stood still, watching me.
His silence was unnerving.
Air crackled.
“Ms. Blair. How lovely to meet you,” he said in a voice that could only be described as deep and ethereal, the tone a husky statement of dark and filthy things to come.
The tone was entirely different than before. Seductive. Then, he’d been condescending from minute one. Now, he needed something, even if he’d refuse to admit it.
I stood still, caught in a dark web.
Get it together.
Now he smirked. “Hmmm…”
A single syllable yet hot, so hot that I shivered.
He took a step closer, coming so close the air was compressed.
“While you’re right in that I do have women trailing behind me like lapdogs, I assure you I don’t shit money. I have all I need. And as far as a whip, I’ll be the one wielding the thick leather strap.”