Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 137205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
My skin heats with embarrassment. He has to know what we were just doing.
Oh my god, could he hear us?
As if nothing is amiss, he takes a step back so we can get out of the car.
Calvin leans forward and grabs my heels off the ground, but leaves my panties and hosiery. He kneels on one knee and lifts my foot, then eases it into the shoe just like he did that night in the dungeon.
The memory makes my stomach sink, but it’s at odds with the pleasure and arousal I just experienced at his hands moments ago. My body is a mess and doesn’t understand what I’m doing to it.
Once I have both heels on, I should theoretically be able to get out of the car on my own, but my leg muscles haven’t fully recovered. I falter and have to grab Hollis’ hand to keep from falling down.
“Thank you,” I say once I’ve righted myself, humiliation deepening and warming my face even more.
Hollis nods indifferently and retracts his hand as I move past him. Calvin gets out behind me, and I glance back just as Hollis tells him, “She tripped.”
Amused, Calvin says, “I saw. It was very gallant of you to catch her.”
Hollis scowls and flicks me a glance that feels almost accusing. “Didn’t want her to twist an ankle.”
“Of course,” Calvin responds, his tone level.
“For you, I mean. Obviously, it doesn’t matter to me if she twists an ankle.”
I shoot him a mild glare. “Gee, thanks, Hollis. Does the queen know about you? I think you might need to be knighted.”
Calvin smirks and releases Hollis from this mildly unpleasant conversation.
I’m still mean-mugging the man when Calvin’s hand finds my waist and he leads me toward the entrance to my apartment building.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s stop tormenting poor Hollis.”
“I don’t understand why he’s being so weird about me all of a sudden,” I state, shaking my head. “He was like that all day. I said one mildly nice thing to him and he acted like I ripped off my clothes and begged him to fuck me. Am I not allowed to be nice?”
“He’s probably extra sensitive about it right now. I did just have a man shot for having dinner with you.”
“I guess that’s true,” I mutter, but it’s more generous than I want to be about it. “I’m gonna start calling him Sir Hollis just to be a dick.”
Calvin opens the door and lets me go so I can step inside. “I don’t think so. If you’re going to be calling anyone sir, it’s going to be me.”
Chapter Thirty Four
Hallie
Over the next week, things begin to change.
When we get back to Calvin’s place after the show, there’s a blue silk chemise waiting for me on the bathroom counter. It’s lingerie, soft and cool to the touch. I change into it before bed. I imagine since he already had me in the car, he’ll let me go right to sleep, but I imagine wrong.
The next day when he comes home from work, he gives me a shopping bag with a pair of fuzzy slippers inside. There’s a pair of Jimmy Choo glitter pumps and a pretty pink dress that I change into before dinner, too, but I appreciate the balance.
He let me grab a few of my things from my apartment after the show that night, so I start to settle back into my routine even though I’m staying at Calvin’s house. Chef Ryan makes us dinner every night, and most days he stops by to make me breakfast and lunch.
I still don’t get my phone back, but I stop asking for it. Calvin lets me check it each evening when he’s home, and I imagine I’m getting brownie points by giving it back without complaint.
I am not, however, gaining any brownie points with Charity. Toward the end of the week she starts asking me if I’m mad at her, which isn’t something Charity ever really does. I’ve never left her hanging and ignored her as much as I have since I started staying at Calvin’s, though.
Deadline on my current project looms, too. I spend more time working, and even though Calvin isn’t around to see it, he brings it up at dinner one night and tells me that when I complete whatever I’m working on, he wants me to cut my workload in half.
“In half?” I echo, my fork frozen midway to my mouth.
“Yes.” He grabs the stem of his wine glass and takes a sip. “You work too much.”
I sputter. “I work too much? You work as much as I do.”
“That’s the point. As much money as I have, there’s no reason for you to always be so busy.” He spears a tender sliver of beef and brings it halfway to his mouth before meeting my gaze. “I’ve ordered you a credit card, it will be here sometime this week. Use that for expenses, save all the money you’re making from work, then you won’t need to work as much.”