by B. B. Hamel
“That’s right. I’m surprised you know that.”
“I wanted to be a doctor for a long time.”
“What happened?” I ask, and regret it immediately.
She looks down at the contract. “Life,” she says, and I feel like an asshole. She goes back to reading, the moment lost between us.
What a stupid question to ask. I know she’s clearly not a doctor, though I can’t help but wonder why she’s doing this. From what I can tell, she’s normal, though very attractive and intelligent. I don’t know her at all though, and people have their reasons. It’s just another mystery I’ll have to unravel. I want to get to know the real girl sitting across from me, not just the girl she’s going to pretend to be. I don’t want her to be some slave that makes me happy. I want to own her completely, not just because I’ve spent money on her.
It’s a dangerous feeling, but I can’t help myself. She finally makes it through the contract and signs her name at the end before spinning it around toward me.
“Thanks,” I say.
“You’re welcome.”
She watches me as I start reading. I glance up twice before smiling at her. “Your turn to watch me?” I ask.
“Exactly.”
I can’t help but grin and she smiles back. “I’ve tasted my own medicine and it is bitter.”
She laughs. “A friend of mine used to say that a long time ago.”
“It’s a good one.” I flick the pen, twirling it around my fingers, an absent-minded gesture. “Go ahead and watch if you want. We might as well get comfortable with each other.”
“Good point,” she says, and puts her chin in her hands. “Don’t be shy, Ethan. I’ll just sit here quietly, judging and such.”
I laugh and shake my head. She’s clever and funny once you get past her nervousness.
I go back to the contract and begin to read.
The Syndicate
Herein, Ethan Locks (“The Client”) and Aria Taylor (“The Seller”) enter into a legally and emotionally binding contract with The Syndicate. Breaking of any stipulation, in spirit or in letter, results in a voiding of this contract. Consequences will be swift and merciless. Nothing protects a bastard, a cheat, or a thief.
The Client agrees to provide all basic needs to The Seller for the duration of the contract, here listed as One Month. The Client agrees not to harm The Seller without her consent. The Client agrees to allow The Seller to contact The Syndicate at least once a day, and The Client will submit to all inspections by The Syndicate.
The Seller agrees to obey The Client unless it risks her safety. The Seller agrees to do everything in her power to satisfy The Client. This includes but it not limited to sexual favors, housework, emotional comforts, public displays, gifts, and so on. The Seller is owned by The Client and is bound to do her duty.
The contract goes on from there, dropping into ever more legalistic jargon, but that opening is fascinating. It’s unlike any contract I’ve ever seen, and the bit about thieves and retribution is fascinating. The Syndicate is obviously a serious and professional group just based on their facilities, but this contract hints at something much more.
I skim the rest of it. Everything seems standard, laying out NDA clauses, liability clauses, and finally payment. The amount I bid on her is listed there at the bottom. I smile and turn the page toward her.
“Did you see this?” I ask.
Aria glances down and looks back up at me. “I did,” she admits.
“How does that make you feel?”
She pauses for a second, clearly searching for words. Finally, she says, “I’m not worth that much money.”
I stare, surprised. I didn’t expect that response, but it hints at something much deeper to her.
“You’re worth more than two million,” I say.
“Maybe,” she says, looking away.
I watch her for a moment then turn the contract back to me. I flip to the last page and sign it, not needing to read the rest of it.
That moment sealed it for me. I have to have this girl. I need her. I want her more than I could ever have imagined. Not just because I’m paying two million dollars for her, but because she fascinates me. The money is nothing. But her submission, her obedience, her genuine seduction... that’s worth it all.
Once the pages are signed, the door suddenly opens and the young woman steps inside. “Are you all ready, Mr. Locks?” she asks.
“I am,” I say, standing.
“Good. Please, bring that contract and follow me.”
I look at Aria and she smiles at me. “See you later,” I say.
“Yeah. See you.”
I smirk at her for a second longer then turn and follow the woman out of the room.
My heart is hammering and I don’t know what’s going to happen from here. I just signed that insane contract and now it’s official. I’m going to pay these people then take Aria home with me.
I own her. She’s mine. I bought her for an absurd sum of money and I get to do whatever I wish with her for one month.
And I wish to seduce her until she’s begging for me, genuinely begging for me, out of her mind with desire.
4
Aria
I feel better as soon as I get a chance to change into normal clothes.
Meeting Ethan for the first time made me feel things I never expected. He wasn’t at all what I assumed he’d be. He’s interesting, attractive, smart, and funny. He made me feel comfortable, despite that one tiny blip in the conversation. I actually found myself wanting to be around him, and not just because I’m getting paid.
I still can’t believe how much he spent. If I make it through this and everything goes as it should, I’ll walk away with over one million dollars. I won’t ever have to do anything like this again. I’ll pay off my debts, find a new apartment, find a new job, or maybe even go back to school. I’ll have options again. I’ll be free.
But only if I get through this.
As soon as Ethan leaves, ponytail comes back and takes me into the back rooms again. He instructs me to get changed, which I do, and he brings my bags. Once I’m in street clothes, and feeling much more comfortable, I carry my two bags full of all my earthly possessions out through a back door and into a big black sedan.
Ethan is sitting in the other seat, waiting for me. Once ponytail closes the door, I realize that I’m really doing this. I’m really going home with this man.
“Welcome,” he says. “Ready?”
I nod. “I’m ready.”
“It’s not a far drive. I live downtown.”
“Really?”
He nods as the driver pulls out. We head down Broad toward the center of the city. “It’s an old house. Well, six old houses. I bought them up and renovated them a few years ago.”
“You live in... six houses?” I can’t help but laugh.
“I know, it’s absurd. Too much space for just me. Truth is, I spend a lot of time in the office.”
“Good thing I’m coming to stay with you,” I say, smiling. “Someone will finally give your house some use.”
“That’s one benefit,” he says, grinning back. “Truth is, I have a full staff back at the house. They keep it all running without me. Plus, there’s Jenkins, and he lives there full time.”
“Jenkins?” I ask.
Ethan looks a little bashful, which is incredibly endearing on him. “Jenkins is my butler.”
I laugh out loud, shaking my head. “You’re kidding?”
“I’m not kidding,” he says, laughing along with me. “I really have a live-in butler named Jenkins.”
“That’s the most cliché rich person thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I know.” He grins and leans back in his seat. “It’s all status stuff. I don’t need Jenkins, but he does make my life easier.”
“How so?”
“Simple stuff,” he says. “Jenkins runs the household. Pays the bills, manages the staff, makes sure food is ready when I’m there, makes
sure nothing is wasted. You’ll meet him soon.”
I suddenly feel very, very nervous. We drive into a more residential area of town, one of the richest neighborhoods in the city. I’ve been here before, of course, but only while walking through. I live in the south part of the city, or at least I used to. Now I’m homeless, but I probably won’t tell him that.
Nobody wants some homeless, ex-addict girl living in their house. I need to keep some things secret from Ethan, because otherwise I’m afraid he won’t like the truth.
The car pulls up out front of a large beautiful building. It looks like an old brick row home, but it’s much wider, with many windows. It’s immaculately kept, which I assume is the work of Jenkins.
“Home sweet home,” Ethan says, getting out of the car. He comes around and helps me out, even carrying my bags. He waves off the driver, tips him, and sends him off.
The car speeds away and we walk up the stoop. Ethan hits a button on the buzzer, pauses a second, and then another buzzer sounds. He pushes open the door and we step inside.
The entryway is beautiful. The floor is all hardwood, gleaming and immaculate. Modern art is hanging on the walls. There’s a stairwell to the right, a door to the left, and a French door to the right, next to the stairs.
Ethan walks straight ahead and I hurry to follow him. I gape at everything we come across. The hall opens up into a large open space that’s obviously at least two townhouses wide. There’s an immaculately furnished living room area with a ceiling that goes up at least two stories. Back into the other townhouse, to the left is a large modern kitchen with beautiful appliances. I can’t help but stare all around me.
I’ve never seen anything so nice in my whole life. I knew he was rich, or at least I knew it on some abstract level. But now that I’m seeing his actual objects and the house he lives in, I can really appreciate it.
The place looks like a museum or a high-end hotel or something. It’s absolutely spotless and nothing is out of place. As we move into the kitchen and Ethan tosses his wallet and keys onto the counter, a door off to one side opens and a man steps out.
“Jenkins,” Ethan says, smiling. “We have a guest.”
“Do we, sir?”
Jenkins is an older man, short and thin, maybe in his sixties. His white hair is slicked back but his crystal clear blue eyes are sharp and intelligent. He looks at me appraising, but he doesn’t smile.
“Nice to meet you,” I say to him.
“Charmed,” he responds without looking at me.
“This is Aria. She’s going to be staying with us for the next month.”
Jenkins pauses and I catch the slightest surprise on his face. “A month, sir?”
“Yes, Jenkins,” Ethan says. “Please prepare the second room for her.”
His surprise is even more evident. “The second room, sir?”
“Am I speaking clearly?” Ethan looks at me, smiling.
I just shrug, feeling too awkward to respond.
He sighs and looks back at Jenkins. “Don’t give me a hard time, please.”
“Of course not, sir.” He turns to leave.
“And be nice to Aria, damnit!” he calls out as Jenkins disappears.
“He doesn’t like me,” I say.
“He’s just an old curmudgeon. Doesn’t like change.”
I smile at that. “You have a butler.”
“I have a butler.”
“A cranky, old butler.”
“It’s a regular British estate.” He grins at me. “Want a tour?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well, right this way, miss.” He offers his arm and I take it with a laugh.
The whole house is actually six townhouses in one, three on the front block and three on the back. There are ten bedrooms and fifteen bathrooms plus a gym, an indoor pool, a large entertainment room, a small theater, and more. Ethan almost seems embarrassed as he walks me through the place, like the extravagance is too much.
Truthfully, it almost is too much. There’s more money in this house than I’ll ever see in a lifetime, or at least that was the case before I landed this job. I know people that live on less per year than he has invested in end tables.
It’s mind-boggling. The comfort, the wealth, the power, I just can barely understand it all. I’m exhausted and it’s late at night, probably around two in the morning, and I feel like I’m running on fumes.
We finish back up in the main living room. “So, what do you think?” he asks.
“It’s... big,” I say.
He laughs. “I know. It’s absurd.”
“Do you use it all?”
“Hardly,” he admits. “I’m barely even here to be honest. I have guests staying here all the time and the place is mostly for them.”
“So you live in a hotel.”
He laughs, pouring himself a drink. “Pretty much.” He gestures at the bottle of whisky. “Want one?”
“Sure,” I say, although I don’t like whisky. He pours and hands me the glass. I accept it and sip it.
He laughs at the face I make. “You don’t have to drink that if you don’t want it,” he says.
“I’m sorry. I’m not much of a whisky drinker.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He takes the glass from me and pours it into his, making it a double.
“I guess I’m not sure how to act in this situation.”
“I know. Strange, right?” He shrugs, sipping his whisky. “Just be yourself. What do you like to drink, anyway?”
“Wine,” I say. “Anything white.”
“Perfect. I have two thousand bottles.”
“Seriously?”
He laughs. “Seriously. Like I said, it’s a hotel.” He walks to the refrigerator, opens a small drawer toward the bottom, and pulls out a white. He opens the bottle, pours me a drink, and hands me the glass.
“Cheers,” he says. He clinks and sips. I look around the room, wondering how the hell I found myself in this situation.
I don’t belong here. Jenkins must have seen through me the second I walked through that door. He knows that I’m trash, that I don’t belong in a place like this with a man like Ethan.
Worse, maybe Jenkins knows what I am. That I’m a hooker for Ethan. That he bought and paid for me and now I’m contractually obligated to do whatever Ethan wants.
Not that I really mind, to be truthful. I would have gone home with Ethan for free if he wanted me. But with the money involved, things are different. I know I need to please him, but I’m not sure how to go about doing that.
“Come on,” he says finally. “Let’s go to your room. It’ll be ready by now.”
I reach down and grab my bag but he waves me off. “Jenkins will bring that up. Come on.”
I frown, leaving the bag, and follow him. We go back upstairs, but instead of moving down the guest wing like last time, he leads me to the right and down a short hallway.
“So, this is my private wing,” he says. “The door at the far end is my room. And this is yours.” He stops in front of a door with the number two on the front.
“The second room,” I say, smiling. “Very clever.”
He shrugs, grinning. “Easier this way.” He opens the door and we step into the room.
It’s gorgeous. There’s a bathroom on the left as we walk inside. In the center of the room is a large four-poster bed. There’s a small fireplace with a fire burning in it, a television with a couch in front of it, a small table, and another room toward the back.
“Bed, bathroom, living room, and there’s an exercise room off the back,” he says. “Balcony too, if you want to use it.”
“You really do live in a hotel,” I say, laughing. “But the nicest hotel I’ve ever seen.”
He grins. “Glad you like it. You’ll be in here for your stay.” He walks over to the dresser and picks up a phone. “Use this to call down to the kitchen. There’s someone on staff twenty-four seven, so if you’re ever hungry, just call and ask. You can also reques
t laundry service or cleaning if you want. Really, call and ask for whatever and Jenkins will make it happen.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “I bet he’ll conveniently forget my requests.”
“Probably,” Ethan says, grinning.
I walk over to the bed and run my hand down the comforter. It’s beautiful and soft, the sort of bed I’ve always dreamed about as a little girl.
“This is too much,” I say finally. “Really, Ethan. I can stay in something simpler.”
“I’m contractually obligated to provide you with all of this,” he says, and walks over to me. “Besides, I want to spoil you.”
I turn toward him, my heart beating fast, and I take a sip of my wine to cover my embarrassment.
“It’s why you’re here,” he says to me, stopping close. “I want to spoil you rotten, Aria. I want to give you things. But most of all, I want to make you feel things you never expected.”
“Like what?” I ask, a little breathless.
He steps close to me, his body inches from mine. His hand rests on the small of my back as his lips come closer to mine. I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he veers to the side, stopping next to my ear.
“If you have to ask, you’re not ready to hear the answer,” he says softly, and I feel a chill run down my spine.
He pulls back, giving me this devilish smile, and I want him to come back. I want him to tell me what he’s going to make me feel. I’m flushed and excited, and I can feel my pussy is already tingling and dripping wet. It’s crazy that I feel this way. It’s supposed to be just a job, but Ethan isn’t work. He’s charming and gorgeous.
“Good night,” he says, turning away.
“Wait,” I say. “Don’t you...?”
“What?” he asks, cocking his head.
I looked away, frowning. “Nothing.”
He walks toward the door and I watch him go, wishing he’d stay. As he opens it, he pauses and turns back to me.
“Oh sorry, I do have one rule for you. Stay in this room. If you want to leave it, you have to get permission from me. Understood?”
“Okay,” I say, nodding.
“I won’t keep you prisoner, of course. And if you want books, magazines, movies, a computer, anything, just ask. But don’t leave without permission.”
