Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
He doesn’t get it, and I know better than to throw this incredible gift in his face. I guess I’m just going to have to accept his largesse and try not to feel too spectacularly guilty as a result. I have a job to do where Marcus Waterstone is concerned, and I am going to keep doing it no matter what.
“What would have happened if I was bad tonight?” I ask the question with a little smirk. “Would I have gotten a less nice apartment?”
He chuckles. “The real question, is what would have happened if you’d been a perfect little pet tonight?”
“Wow! What?” My exclamation is genuine, as I realize he has an almost endless capacity to spoil me if he wants to.
“You’ll find out one day,” he smirks. “I am certain I can get you to behave yourself eventually, with the right training and reinforcement. For now, this is a much safer place for you to stay.”
Much safer. Much nicer. Much bigger. Much everything-er.
He is spoiling me. That’s one way to look at it. The other way to look at it would be to say he is controlling me. He quite literally has me where he wants me. He also has complete control of my life, and everything in it.
I’d be freaking out a lot more if this didn’t all completely play into my plan. If I had known I could get Marcus Waterstone to effectively take me economic prisoner when I decided to write my expose, I’d have been unable to contain my excitement.
“I can’t believe you’re being so generous,” I say, starry-eyed. Privately, I know that paying for an apartment like this is the equivalent of me giving an unhoused person a nickel. It means absolutely nothing to him. His wealth is so vast he could have hundreds, if not thousands of women stashed away in various apartments all over the world. In fact, the fact he just did this for me means that’s actually quite likely. I should look into that. There may be other tenants of this very building living at Marcus Waterstone’s pleasure.
“I’m being careful with the toy I intend to play with,” he says.
I wonder if he wants to be appreciated, or if this is all just a game to him. I wonder how boring it must be to be the kind of rich he is. There are no real stakes in his life. Even if he loses almost everything, he would still have more than most people ever had.
“You look at me with so much curiosity. It makes me wonder what is going through your pretty head,” he comments.
“Women don’t usually look at you with curiosity?”
“Women usually look at me with self-interest,” he says. “And desire, of course.”
“Of course,” I smile. He’s very self-aware, and arrogant to—well, beyond a fault. But who is ever going to pull him up? Marcus is above every law that was ever enacted.
He’s untouchable.
A little yawn escapes me at what is probably the absolute worst time for such a thing to happen. A billionaire tells me how hot women find him and I yawn? Nope. That’s not going to do me any favors.
“You’re tired,” he says, stating the obvious.
The sun is rising. I was too distracted by him to notice the way the glimmer of light on the horizon had steadily been growing brighter and brighter. It’s not until the sky turns a deep red and orange, silhouetting the skyline against it that I appreciate the incredible view from this place. I thought we were too low to see much, but there’s a gap between buildings that creates a canyon-like vista.
I can see the sun emerging and reflecting off of thousands of panes of glass between here and the horizon. It is an incredible view, almost hallowed in some way.
“Charlie?”
“Hm?” I turn back to him, almost having forgotten he was there at all.
“Bedtime,” he says more firmly.
“Oh. Sorry.”
I’m apologizing because the ache in my ass is being reignited by his expression. I know better than to cross or question this man right now.
“The bedroom is through this door,” he says. I wonder for a brief, crazy moment how he knows, but of course he does. He bought this place. I wonder if he came to look at it himself, or if he just looked at the floor plan. I wonder if he picked out the furniture…
I stop wondering about the answer to that question as he opens the bedroom door, ushering me into a room that contains not just a bed—but a bed inside a luxuriously and meticulously crafted crate. Big bars rise from the base of the bed and run all around it. There are doors at each side, and at the end of the bed. I’d call it easy access, but that’s got to be a misnomer.