Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“My compliments to Anton and Juan,” I say as I swallow.
I realize how hungry I am. The tension of the day had masked it, but it feels like my body is reclaiming what it’s been denied. Next up is jowl and throat of a cod head cooked with wild garlic, chives, and fig leaf oil served on a bone skewer and sitting on a bed of smoked tomato and pumpkin puree. The plaited squid preserved in sweet vinegar lays next to it. The presentation is worthy of a Michelin star.
I cut a piece of cod and chew appreciatively on the tender meat. It is delicious. “Is the North bedroom ready?”
“Yes, it has been thoroughly cleaned, aired, and made ready for Miss Fitzpatrick.”
I grunt as I cut a piece of the Japanese squid. “Did Greta bring some paperwork today?”
“She brought a sealed A4 envelope. I put it on your desk.”
“Did she bring clothes for my guest?”
“I believe she brought clothes, shoes, bags, and accessories. She also requested champagne and strawberries to be sent up to the North room later tonight.”
“Good,” I reply, the image of the woman who will arrive in a few minutes filling my mind. Instantly, I feel an acute anticipation building inside me.
“Would you like me to prepare anything specific for Miss Fitzpatrick to eat?” Muriel asks.
I lean back. “Probably not, but you can serve her breakfast in the morning.”
“Certainly, Sir,” she responds, as she refills my glass.
I press a button on my phone. “Is she on her way?” I ask in Russian.
“Yes, Mr. Ivanovich.”
“What happened after I left?”
“She went back to her apartment and stayed there until the limo arrived to pick her up. There was another woman there who came out with her.”
I know exactly who that was—her friend, Leila. I push my plate away. “How long before she gets here?”
“At this time of the night, I would say less than fifteen minutes.”
I end the connection and feel a strange nervousness building inside me, a rush of excitement I don’t often experience.
“Shall I serve the dessert now, Sir?” Muriel asks.
“I’m sure it’s delicious, but I’m not in the mood for anything sweet tonight.” Tonight’s dessert will be Leda’s hate and fury for the swan.
I sip my wine slowly while I contemplate what to do with her on her first night here. All kinds of wild and sensuous images slither into my mind, but suddenly it becomes as clear as crystal what I must do. I must not approach her at all tonight. It will serve as an unspoken torment, making her wait and speculate on my intentions. The anticipation will work in my favor. The end result will be a more explosive climax… for both of us.
I’d been thinking of waiting to receive her since we still had some details to discuss, but I decide that taking a shower, washing off all the grime and stress from the day, is a much more appealing option.
Nodding to myself, I rise to my feet and turn to Muriel. “My guest will be arriving in a few minutes. Please serve the sealed envelope that Greta brought together with the champagne and strawberries.”
“Yes, Sir,” she responds immediately, and I make my way up the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-Two
LARA
When I awakened that morning, I would have thought it insane of anyone who told me that before the day was out, I'd be prodded, poked, and tested for STDs to determine my 'suitability' to be a billionaire’s toy for a month. But as I get closer to the billionaire’s lair I recall everything the doctor said and did and feel like I’m the one who should be checked into a mental asylum.
I can’t help wondering over and over again—why me?
I’m sure he could get any woman in the world, so why get an unwilling one? Okay, not unwilling, but as far as he is concerned, one who gives the impression of being unwilling. With a sigh, I turn to look out the window as I’m driven through Manhattan.
I don’t even know where the driver is taking me, but I didn’t expect anything else from a man who thinks because he has lots of money, he can control women. At this thought, my heart plunges. The ugly truth is I am now one of those women he can control. I feel a strange sense of disassociation fill me.
This is not my life.
This can’t be my life.
I’m Lara Fitzpatrick. A little nobody estate agent trying to make my way in the big bad city. I’m not a billionaire plaything material. I’m sexually adventurous and if I’m honest not even particularly sexual. One of my exes accused me of being a frigid prude. I don’t think I’m that of course, nevertheless...
My phone rings, startling me. I pray it’s not my dad as I pull it out of my purse. Despite my attempts to dissuade him from calling me every ten minutes over the past hour to check if I’m okay, he’s refused to back down. I know he’s hurting, so I’ve tried to be patient, but right now my head is too messed up to deal with his guilt and remorse.