Penny
One hundred and seventy-two sheep make it safely over the fence with a cheery little “Baa!” before I give up on counting the floofy buggers.
My eyes drift open and I sigh. Of course I can’t fall asleep when I slept for most of the day.
Now that I’m no longer distracting myself with imaginary shepherding, the memory of what happened tonight with Jacob comes flying back.
I wanted to soften him with food.
I made him hard with kisses instead.
It’s been a few hours since it happened and I don’t know how I feel about it. I know how I’m supposed to feel—disgusted, angry, probably even afraid—but I don’t.
It was shocking… and flattering. A little empowering too.
Yesterday, my unexpected arrival took Jacob by surprise, and he’s been cold and controlled since then. Until tonight. Heat burned in his eyes as he looked at me, and he was obviously embarrassed by his body’s reaction.
I thought kneeling for him and kissing his feet made me subservient and weak. I was wrong. For a moment, while he exerted his will over me, I had him under my control.
My stomach flutters at the thought, excitement zipping through me.
I rub my face. “Stop that!”
That wasn’t exciting. It was inappropriate. Extremely inappropriate!
He took it too far, and I took it further by being a little too committed to the task. I badly wanted to show him my apology was genuine because I want his forgiveness as much—if not more—than I want his financial help.
Then I can finally forgive myself.
Some might say I’m carrying an unnecessary burden. I was a stupid kid influenced by my mom to do something terrible.
While that’s true, I was old enough to know I was doing something wrong. I knew I was hurting Jacob on purpose.
When he asked me to apologize in a way that satisfied him, I gave it my all because of guilt. It might have been too much, and it didn’t change his feelings toward me like I hoped. I think he hates me even more now.
He returned home after his trip outside with great displeasure written all over his face. I was sure he was going to tell me he changed his mind and the deal is off. It’s possible he might do it in the morning.
I rub my forehead, careful not to touch my bruise. God. This entire situation gives me a worse headache than when I smacked my head against the window.
“I need you to shut up and let me get some sleep, brain.”
But, no, the jerk keeps going, returning to another unwanted replay of my apology.
I’m sorry I was a dirty fucking liar. Please forgive me.
The kiss.
Then I lift my head and there it is. The obvious bulge.
And it wasn’t small either, especially when he stood up.
My phone pings. I’m so grateful for the distraction, I snatch it up from the coffee table. I had intentionally waited until it was past Aunt Dee’s bedtime to text her that I wouldn’t be home for the next few weeks. She probably stayed up late and saw it.
I unlock my phone and the wallpaper I painted of a lit candelabra in a gloomy cathedral hall illuminates the dark living room.
No, it’s not a reply from my aunt.
Cedric: Where’s my money, honey?
I dart a look at the date. Oh, no. How could I have forgotten I was supposed to make a payment today? Maybe the doctor was wrong that I didn’t have a concussion.
What do I say?
I don’t want to tell him I’m not in Toronto. He might think I ran away. It was the first thing he warned me not to do. “You’ll regret it if you do,” he had promised with a creepy smile.
This wouldn’t have been an issue if he would accept e-transfers, but he only wants cash payments. Most likely because it’s easier for him to hide his shady dealings from the authorities.
Me: I can’t pay this week. Can I do it with the next payment?
By then, if all goes well, I’ll be able to pay off everything.
Cedric: Just this once
Cedric: Late fee $100 a day
One hundred dollars a day?
He’s such an evil asshole! By the time my two weeks are up with Jacob, I’ll have almost fifteen hundred dollars in additional debt.
Cedric: I’ll waive it if you come to my office for a daily kneeling and cleaning ;)
My upper lip curls. “Fuck you, you fucking creep.”
I lock my phone and return it to the coffee table, then I squeeze my eyes shut and summon more sheep.
* * *
When you set off on a journey without a solid plan, make sure you at least pack enough underwear, or you might wind up going commando under your leggings.
I make a face and tug the crotch lower to stop the seam from rubbing against my naked bits. One set of change of clothes isn’t going to cut it for the next two weeks.
If Jacob lets me stay after what happened last night.
Another replay tries to enter my mind. I focus on towel-drying my hair, wishing for my hair dryer and all my products I left at home.
I smell like Jacob because I had to use his shampoo. Well, the bottle that bragged about its many uses in large, manly silver text. It has a distinct for men kind of musk, but I like it.
I hang the towel, my mood improved after my shower. My morning started off shitty at six-thirty when I called Madeline to tell her I won’t be able to come in.
Bailing on my job for two weeks with zero notice? I wasn’t surprised when she fired me. If Jacob doesn’t let me stay, I’m more screwed than before I came to see him.
“Positive thoughts, positive outcomes,” I mumble.
Actually… no. Telling myself to “think positive” is giving permission to negative results.
If the bad thing happens, it’s because I didn’t think positively enough.
No. If the bad thing happens it’s because I didn’t fight hard enough for what I want.
I’m not going to accept it if Jacob tries to back out now. I won’t return home empty-handed.
I point at myself in the mirror.
“Bitch, we’re going to see this thing through.”
I leave the bathroom, coming to an abrupt stop.
Jacob is sitting at the kitchen table, in the same chair he sat in last night. He’s even in the same sideways position, one arm propped on the back of the chair, the other arm on the table.
He’s wearing a blue, long-sleeved polo shirt from the water company and a pair of dark jeans. With his sleeves pushed up a little, I’m yet another straight woman gripped by the strange allure of a man’s forearms.
Another thing grabs my attention. My tablet and phone are stacked beside his arm.
I frown. They were in my bag when I left to take a shower.
“Why do you have my stuff?” I demand.
“Take a seat.”
I hesitate following his order.
Something isn’t right. Last night, he blindsided me when he imitated my mother by giving with one hand and taking with the other.
If you want even a penny from me, you have to earn it.
You’ll do whatever I like.
I would rather face what he has in store for me on my feet, but I reluctantly take a seat like he ordered. He turns and faces me, his expression and voice cold as usual.
“While you’re here, you’ll do all the chores. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, and so forth.”
“So I’ll be your maid.”
Aside from cooking, he literally described the hotel job I just lost. If that’s all he meant by “whatever I like,” then this won’t be so bad. Working for him is much better pay.
“Do you have a problem with that?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Good question. We tend to take free will for granted. It seems like a given for most of us. That complacency is a blindfold, Penelope. Free will isn’t a given, it’s a precious gift we should treasure and a valuable resource we should protect.
Because there’s always someone who wants to steal it and have it under their control. ”
A slow smile curves his lips and my body tenses. His smile is the kind a handsome villain in a movie would wear as he reveals his dastardly plans.
I lay my palms on the table, staring at my phone and tablet in rising alarm.
Communication access, financial access, my identity, and my artwork, which is a source of income. That’s my whole life on two devices within his grasp, far away from mine.
My free will under his control.
I glare at him. “Give me back my things.”
He ignores me. “When it looked like I might lose to you and your mother, I researched prison life to see what would be waiting for me. I learned new inmates go through an intake process. During this process, they take your belongings, your clothes, and perform a strip search. Stand up and remove your clothes.”
I don’t know what to say at first. I can’t even move except for my eyes and lips opening wider.
“Jacob…” I breathe out. “What you made me do last night was inappropriate. What you’re asking me to do now is worse. Way worse!”
He scowls. “For the next two weeks, you’ll immediately follow my orders. Protesting is disobedience. What happens when you disobey me?”
Three strikes, you’re out.
I stare at him with wide eyes then dart a glance at my devices.
Would he stop me if I grabbed my things and left?
I doubt it. He would be better off if I did. I would be worse off if I did. After my struggle to get back home, I’d soon be “kneeling and cleaning” for Cedric Rourke. A lot more than that too.
Jacob’s implication is clear. I’m not his maid. I’m his prisoner. The barbed wire fence discouraging my escape is the worse reality waiting outside the warden’s house.
I rise unsteadily. The chair legs scraping on the wooden floor is loud in the tense silence.
I don’t want to do this.
I can’t.
My lips part to plead with Jacob again. The determined glint in his eyes and his forbidding expression makes me close my mouth.
“Protesting is disobedience” is the sort of thing a dictator would say, and dictators don’t listen to pleas for mercy.
With shaking hands, I peel off my shirt then hold it up to my front. My skin is warm from embarrassment and Jacob’s unwavering stare.
“Are you really going to help me when the two weeks are up?” I ask, my voice shaky.
“That’s a pointless question. If I say no, you’ll be out the door. If I say yes, you won’t know whether or not I’m telling the truth.”
“I’ll believe you if you say yes. Please. I just need to know that this game you’re playing will be worth it in the end.”