"Was I your first?" I ask him, seized by the demonic curiosity of my post-orgasmic haze. "Your first virgin, I mean."
"I don't know," he replies, going through his past memories, arching his eyebrows down towards his eyes, thinking as hard as I've ever seen him. "You're certainly the most honest."
The most honest? Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I'm too orgasm-addled to think about it right now, but I at least enjoy the compliment. I lie for a moment, catching my breath, as he does the same. Then, something strikes me; a sense of responsibility or duty I didn't have before.
"This job," I say, speaking to him on a familiar and cozy level I thought I'd never find, "the role of the girl who can't say no. When do I start?"
He breaks out into smile. I do so love to see those teeth of his, and that strangely duplicitous smug smirk. He springs to his feet, and for the first time I see his member; glisteningly wet, semi-flaccid, and remarkable simply for the fact I just had it inside me. Businessman-like as always, he apparently had the forethought to keep his pink shirt on throughout.
"The day after tomorrow" he begins, lowering his voice to an impersonal, cold tone; the one I imagine he'd use for business. "I'm going to give you a list. A shopping list, if you will. And your preparation for this role, as you put it, will be to find me every item upon that list."
A role; I like to think of it this way. It makes me feel less like an object, more like a professional. Less like the prostitute in Pretty Woman, and more like Julia Roberts herself.
"Sure. A list. I can do that," although something tells me I won't be buying Gucci handbags and sublime fur coats, "I can't wait."
As he slides his boxers back up his legs, and stretches for his pants, discarded messily upon the floor, he reaches inside the back pocket, picking something out and handing it to me.
"Expense account" he says tersely, pushing a silver credit card into my shuddering, trembling hands. I should perhaps be jumping up and down with the excitement of a shopping spree on the billionaire's dollar. As it turns out, I have more important things to consider.
I look upwards, my eyes slightly straining against the light of the sole light bulb hanging lonely in the centre of the ceiling. He's fully dressed, straightening his hair between the fingers of his right hand, before tucking his shirt in dutifully. A gorgeous, radiant, dapper man, standing proud like a cowboy in one of those old cigarette advertisements. I don't know if it's the light settling around his head like a glowing halo, or my growing affinity towards him, but for maybe the first time, I'm completely in awe.
I gussy up, pulling my dusty dress back around my knees, and straightening my long, black hair. As he seizes my hand, and draws me back downstairs, I realize I broke a nail on the carpet.
"I bet you're hungry," he states confidently, going back to the diligent businessperson he likes to portray. Nothing could be further from the truth, but I hang around regardless, sampling the gourmet delights of whatever billionaires prefer to eat. Few words pass between us, but I don't care. I think we shared enough tonight to warrant a few moments of comfortable silence together. We soon return to the Los Angeles night's sky, and stand hand in hand outside.
"I'll e-mail you the list tomorrow," and with that, he kisses me on the cheek, and hails a fortuitously positioned black car outside; a private driver, I later learn. "Goodbye Miss Everett."
Miss Everett. As I tell the driver my address - who complies wordlessly, speeding into gear - I can't help but toss those words over in my head. Miss Everett. He knows my first name; hell, he knows everything about my acting history, my past education, my cup size and what I look like naked. My phone number, my e-mail address, my pictorial range and countless other things I put on my resume. Yet he still calls me Miss Everett. And, don't get me wrong, I understand why; I'm an employee. From tonight, I am the girl who can't say no. But, this cold, impersonal professionalism can only go so far. Maybe I'm being naive, but I can't stop my cynical, nervous mind wondering; will I ever be anything but Miss Everett?
Ashley Spector
Want to read the next chapter in Chloe and Daniel's journey? Then be sure to pick up the sequel; available now!
The Girl Who Can't Say No: Surrendered To The Billionaire (Part Two) (A BDSM Erotic Romance Novelette)
After their last whirlwind encounter, Chloe feels ready to embrace the role of a lifetime; the girl who can't say no. With every dark taste and impulse her billionaire lover reveals, however, she quickly realizes that everything cannot be how it seems. Will Daniel Grant's secrets drive her away, or is the will of the aspiring actor too great to leave this role behind?
More from the author:
Off The Record: To Blackmail A Billionaire (Part One) (Free!)
Alyssia Bright is a strong-minded, iron-willed reporter for the New York Minute, desperate to kick-start her journalistic career. So when she's given the task of interviewing reclusive billionaire Jonathan Colt, she can't wait to get started! After she inadvertently witnesses a sordid tryst with an intern, however, Alyssia presents Jonathan an ultimatum: $100,000 in cash, just to keep quiet!
The Girl Who Can't Say No: Bound To The Billionaire (Part One) (A BDSM Erotic Romance Novelette) Page 6
