Chapter 29 – Pleasing the Boss

“Something more appropriate,” I say, enunciating the word he’d used with Adly. “Less tempting, I’m guessing.”

He’s silent for a grip of seconds. “I doubt you could ever be less tempting, Ms. Shaw.”

I take a deep breath, telling myself to let the subject go, but I can’t. “I don’t know what to do with that statement, Mr. Seymour.”

He’s stoic when he replies. “That makes two of us.”

We ride in silence for several minutes, my head in a fog, thoughts flying in and out of my mind without fully showing their shape. My body, however, is buzzing everywhere. Like I’ve had too much caffeine or someone sl*pped me an Adderall. It’s not a mind/body balance that I enjoy, and so I struggle to find something to hold on to.

Out of the blue, a question arises. “How did you even know I was home?”

“Hm?” The low vibration in his throat does odd things to my already sensitive girl parts.

“You were already on your way when you called me. It’s Saturday. I could have been anywhere. How did you know I was home?”

“Elvis told me.”

My husband’s name skates over me like a ghost. Haunting me though he’s alive and well and still very much my spouse. I hate thinking about him when I’m sitting next to Hadrian, but I hate even more the feeling that Elvis is somehow orch*strating all of this. As though he’s the one who decided what I’d give to Hadrian and the cost. A glorified pimp for a high price call girl.

“Elvis,” I repeat, trying to detach myself from the two syllables.

“Yes, Elvis. Your producer?” Funny how he leaves out the more meaningful relationship tie. “I saw him yesterday. And the day before. Pretty much every day this week. He’s a little tedious in large amounts, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that. He’s been keeping you apprised of the contract negotiations, hasn’t he?”

“Uh, for the most part.” What I’m really thinking is how glad I am that he kept talking so I didn’t have to defend Elvis when he called him tedious. I’ve never felt that way about Elvis, but having to say so now would feel weird. “Any snags?”

“All standard procedure,” Hadrian assures me. “Your lawyer will make sure your interests are met before you sign. Mostly, we’re debating the scope of marketing and airtime and when we’ll go live. Logistics. Nothing worth talking about at this point.”

“Our agreement isn’t mentioned at all?” My tone is sarcastic, but I’m honestly not sure there isn’t a side contract being worked up along the other one.

“No. But it stands. I take verbal agreements as seriously as anything on paper. Were you worried I’d forgotten?”

“Worried? No. No.” I sound too defensive to my own ears. “I just didn’t think attending art shows was what you had in mind when we made this arrangement. Unless you think I’m going to be posing.” I’m suddenly horrified by all the sexual things he could have me do that I didn’t exclude originally. “I should add nothing in public and no group anything to my stipulations.”

“It’s too late for stipulations. I said I wanted to spend time with you, and that means however I want to spend that time. If I want you to attend an event with me in public, then you will.”

“I meant…” I don’t know how to phrase what I mean.

“Go ahead, Brystin. Say it.”

He’s trying to rile me up on purpose, and even though I know that, I feel sufficiently riled. “I meant the sexual part of our arrangement. That is still one of the terms. Right?” I hate that I sound like I’m asking out of hope.

“Ah, yes. Yes, still very much a term, but you need not fear. That part of our arrangement is very much private. I’m not a man who likes to share his toys.”

I shiver at the way he refers to me as his, and my p**sy spasms again at equating me as just a plaything. There’s obviously something wrong with me in the head.

I hug myself tighter so he won’t see that my n**ples are rock hard.

“But in case you’re worried that the sexual terms of our arrangement are being neglected, you’re welcome to blow me while we drive.”

I swing my head in his direction, anxious to see how serious he is and find him unreadable. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve given road head, and honestly, I’m not really scared that’s what he wants from me. I’m more scared that I might like it.

Then I remember I’d offered a clause the last time we spoke. “I told you—I’m waiting for evidence.”

“Something to look forward to then.”

And goddammit. Now I’m also looking forward to s**king off the man who shouldn’t deserve my l*ps on his c**k.

A beat passes. “I drove all the way to Edison, New Jersey for you. That isn’t evidence?”

“No. That’s called insanity.” But I spend the rest of the drive thinking about those words—for you—and wondering exactly what he thinks I need him to prove.

* * *

I’m still mulling it over half an hour later when we pull in front of a shop in Greenwich Village with the word Mirabelle’s on the window. It’s not the kind of place that usually has a valet, but as soon as we’re parked, a woman who was waiting on the sidewalk approaches us and says she’ll deal with Hadrian’s car.

Without any concern for his mega expensive automobile, he hands over his keys.

“Are you sure you’re going to see your car again?” I ask when it’s just the two of us standing on the sidewalk.

“I hope so. I’ll have to pay my driver double if I call him in on his day off.”

Whatever he pays his driver, it isn’t as much as that car is worth, but if Hadrian isn’t worried, I’ll try not to be as well.

While I’m thinking about money… “You know I can’t afford this place.”

He scoffs. “As if I wouldn’t be buying.”

“Just making sure.”

The door in front of us, which has a keypad and a bell rather than a knob, opens for us as if on cue, and a brunette woman with a pixie haircut greets us when we step inside. “You’re Hadrian? Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you, all of which you probably don’t want me repeating. I’m Mira, by the way. I see Jesi has taken care of your car.”

Hadrian glances at me as if to say, see?

While Mirabelle’s is a posh fashion boutique that requires an appointment, I’m positive this kind of white glove treatment only belongs to those with a billionaire status.

Must be freaking nice.

The bubbly shop owner continues, barely taking a breath. “Adly said you had some sort of emergency, and that you’re in a rush, and she gave me the details about the event, so let’s get to it right away. I have a room ready and waiting.” Finally she addresses me directly. “And you are—”

“The emergency.” I reach out my hand while she laughs. “Brystin Shaw.”

“Oh, I like the name!”

“I was just thinking how much I like your name.”

“We’re very original.”

“I suppose it’s probably our parents who deserve the credit, but I’m happy to take it for myself.”

---