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To say that I still find the whole ‘being bought’ situation to be insane is an understatement. It makes me angry with Jensen, but even worse, I’m angry with myself for even considering this an option.
“So what if I don’t go? It’s not like anyone can force me to get in the car,” I state boldly to my empty apartment.
But as I glance at the clock again, I have a sneaking suspension that Tom and Gabriel Costas are not the kind of men who would take too kindly to being told ‘no.’
Frankly, that knowledge thrills me. Who knows? They might show up and demand that I go with them, I daydream fervently. And I’ll refuse again, so then they’ll lay me down right here on this counter and ravish me, both of their mouths touching me there.
“Snap out of it!” I yell at myself out loud, my own voice startling me. “They’re just good-looking guys. It’s not like you’ve never seen a handsome man before. So calm down, Michelle.”
But there’s something about Tom and Gabriel Costas that makes my entire being ache. And as much as I want to ignore that sensation, I can’t because it’s also titillating to imagine being with both of them. What will it be like? Would I be with them simultaneously, or would they rotate when it comes to pleasure? It’s so insane, off the cuff, and yet completely alluring, and despite myself, I want to know more.
Because, as wild as it is, they find me attractive too, and they want me to…
What is it that they want me to do?
I bite my lower lip, wondering again what this whole arrangement might entail. Sex? Companionship?
“Okay, Michelle, you’re spiraling.” I get up from the barstool and head to my closet. I’ve already packed what I thought I might need for a few days away, but now I’m wondering how long I’ll be gone.
I purse my lips as I ponder my wardrobe. It’s pretty drab, and filled with corporate-style outfits, come to think of it. I intentionally did not pack any of the boring, boxy suits I own, but are my jeans and t-shirts too casual? I dig through the small ‘fun’ section of my closet. I grab the dress I wore last night, as well as a couple of cute sundresses, since the weather is finally warming up.
I add the clothes to my suitcase, and again look at the clock. Hopefully, this works for the Costas brothers. They’re probably used to women dripping in diamonds while wearing long evening gowns, but I don’t have that kind of wardrobe unfortunately.
Suddenly, my buzzer rings. It’s noon on the dot.
“Yes?” I ask into the intercom.
“Miss Sutton, I am here with the car that was ordered,” a man with a posh British accent answers.
“Thank you. I’ll be down in a moment.”
“Very good, Miss.”
“Oh, um, sir?”
“Yes, Miss?”
“Are the Costases – are Tom and Gabriel also here?”
“No, Miss.”
“Okay, thanks.” I stare at the intercom system for a moment, unsure why I’m disappointed with the driver’s answer.
I take a long look around my apartment, observing the flaking paint and array of cheap furniture. My life, especially over these past few years, has been nothing but difficult. My job, my bills, and the stress of working for Draper Peabody have taken a toll.
So if two billionaire brothers are interested in me for some reason, wouldn’t I be crazy to pass up this chance for an adventure? Especially if it means leaving my pathetic little life even for a little bit?
I pick up my bag and turn off the lights.
I guess that means I’m going then.
Downstairs, another absurdly fancy car is sitting in front of my apartment building. I look around, unsure if this Rolls Royce is for me. But before I can look around to confirm, the driver – the older, British man I’d just spoken to – walks up to me.
“Miss Sutton. I’m pleased to welcome you on behalf of Mr. Tom Costas and Mr. Gabriel Costas. They offer their apologies for not being here in person, but they had urgent business meetings. You’ll see them shortly. May I take your luggage?”
“Yes, thank you,” I manage to mumble. I am completely unused to this sort of white glove treatment. I stand up a little straighter. I can’t let my surprise keep getting the better of me!
I follow the older man to the car, reaching for the handle.
“Oh no ma’am please, allow me.” The driver opens the backseat door with a flourish. As soon as I’m seated comfortably in the luxurious vehicle, he closes the door softly.
I look around the spacious car. As was the case last night, there’s a bottle of chilled champagne in a bucket next to me, but this time, it’s a full-size bottle. There are also little wipes – I’m assuming for my hands – as well as a basket of various snacks and goodies.
