Chapter Two #3
"I'm desperate, huh?" I arch a brow. "Please enlighten me on how you reached that conclusion."
She stares at me, unflinching. "You could have had me years ago.
But you pushed me away and ruined my life instead, like a coward.
Now you can't have me, and that scares the shit out of you because no one tells you no.
So you're trying to buy me with threats and a job offer, just so you feel like you're still in control here. "
Something about the way she knows me so fucking well makes my skin tight and my pulse ring in my ears. I want to tell her that she's wrong, but…she isn't.
Goddammit.
"You want me to suffer for kissing you and causing that accident?" she snaps. "Fine. I'll play your little game. But you don't get to enjoy it unless you play by my rules. And we both know you'll agree to play by my rules. That's how fucking desperate you are."
"Let's hear these rules, then." I lean back, crossing my arms. "But keep in mind, I don't negotiate with anyone, especially not with you."
It's a lie, and we both know it. If there's anyone in the world that I'm willing to negotiate with, it's her. I'll do whatever the fuck I have to do to get her in my bed, to own her the same way she's always owned me. Because it's exactly like she said: I'm fucking desperate.
I should hate her for that. I don't. I never have.
Her lips curl into a savage smile. "You will with me." She takes a breath, steadying herself. "I'll be your little plaything for a month. But you're going to teach me everything you know."
She's serious. I can see it in her eyes.
"Business?" I ask. "Or something else?"
She holds my stare. "Everything, Asher. You don't get to buy me and then act like a gentleman."
"A gentleman?" A laugh slips out before I can stop it. "And here I thought you'd ask for something impossible."
"Oh, I'm not finished." She places her hands flat on the desk, her fingers spread wide. "Five million. That's the price. You get thirty days, and at the end, I walk away with five million dollars. No more blacklists. No more sabotage. No more of your fucking games. I never have to see you again."
She spits the words like they're poison.
For a second, I'm stunned she didn't ask for blood. But I shouldn't be. She's always been practical beneath the dramatics, and she never does what I expect.
"Five million," I say it flat, as if it's chump change.
Frankly, I'd pay ten times that to get her on her knees.
I am curious why she's asking for it, though.
Brielle has her own money. Maybe not as much as me, but enough to live comfortably for the rest of her life if that's what she wants.
If she's after mine, it's because she's up to something. "Is that all?"
She snorts. "Of course you'd think selling myself to you for five million is no big deal."
It is a big deal. And I'll pay it because I want her that badly. Even more, I want her to know exactly what she's worth to me, in real numbers, in bruises, and in broken pride. But I don't tell her that.
Instead, I let her stew, let her think I'm still considering it.
She breaks first. Again.
"When do I start?" she demands.
"Tonight," I say, not missing a beat. "I'll be there at seven to pick you up. Don't keep me waiting."
She blinks. I can see her recalibrating, trying to get ahead of me. "That's not much notice," she protests.
I stand, rounding the desk. She stiffens, like she expects me to come at her again, but I stop just short of her.
"I don't require notice, Brielle. You do what I say when I say it.
That's the deal. You want the money and your freedom, you play by my rules.
No renegotiations, no hesitation." I pause. "And no safewords."
"You don't get to beat me, Asher," she snaps.
"Beat you? Oh, princess," I smirk at her.
"Wrong kink. I won't have to lay a hand on you to break you and make you beg.
" I pause. "But just so we're clear, you told me not to be a gentleman, and I don't plan to be.
I won't be gentle with you. If you expect any part of this to be soft and sweet, prepare to be mistaken.
I intend to fuck you until you collapse. "
She'll fight me. She'll hate me. And she'll love every fucking thing I do to her. Because whether she wants to admit it or not, she's just as fucked-up and filthy as I am. And I intend to teach her precisely how good filthy feels.
She needs to learn to submit, not because she belongs on her knees, but because she needs to learn she doesn't have to control every goddamn thing. She doesn't have to wear that fucking armor every minute of the day.
"As if you're man enough," she practically snarls at me. "I'll be ready at seven."
"Good." I tap her chin with a single finger. She recoils, but I see a tiny shiver work its way through her. She may hate me, but she still wants me. It's enough. For now. "I'll send you what you need for tonight."
She doesn't like the sound of that at all. "What is it?"
"Nothing you haven't seen before." I let the words hang between us like a threat.
She's pale, but she doesn't flinch. "Fine. But if you try anything—"
"I'm going to try everything." I cut her off, my voice dropping.
"That's what you're here for. For the next thirty days, I get to do whatever the fuck I want to do to you and that gorgeous little body, Brielle.
I'll fuck you how I want, where I want, and when I want.
I'll be rough and rude and as filthy as I want to be. And you won't say no."
It won't even be because she wants the five million and her freedom, either.
We both know she won't say no because she's just as desperate to feel me all over her as I am.
She wants to be ruined. She wants to be owned.
She isn't here right now, agreeing to be mine for thirty days because she wants sunshine and rainbows.
No, she's here because she wants me to fuck my way into her soul and rip it apart.
A flash of something crosses her face. It's not fear, but something else, something that tells me just how right I am. It's excitement and horror locked in a cage match. Part of her wants exactly what I'm offering, and the other part is terrified to give me that kind of power. But she will anyway.
She turns on her heel abruptly. "Seven," she says over her shoulder. "Not a second earlier."
I watch her leave, committing every line of her body to memory. There's no satisfaction in the triumph, just a deep, gnawing need that only gets worse with every second.
When she's gone, I sit at my desk and stare out at the city that I own, or that owns me. I think about the next thirty days, about the ways I'll bend and break her, about the things I'll teach her and the things she'll learn on her own.
I think about the moment when she finally admits what we are to each other, and I realize that I asked for a month…but I'll never truly be satisfied with anything less than forever. And I can't have that.
Christ, I'm playing with fire here.
I pick up my phone and dial my driver.
"Deliver the package to her apartment," I say, already imagining the look on her face when she sees what's inside. "And if she tries to run, chain her to her bed."