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“Thanks.”
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen,” she answers. And then she sighs. “I knew I wanted to be like her. She was so graceful, so talented. Her voice was like honey. I kind of felt like, if I made it, I was making it for both of us. She wasn’t ready to be done yet.” And then she gives this bitter little laugh. “So I went to the same academy she went to for three years. Pops insisted on helping me. There was no way I could have afforded it, even with the scholarships I got,” she adds, and I nod. “And now, he’s in danger of losing his life because of me.”
The self-hatred in her voice makes me want to pull over and hold her. Which is fucking stupid. This is a business arrangement, a way for me to have an easy, no-strings escort for all of the mind-numbing but necessary events I’m forced to go to over the next month. I should be thinking about that, not about how to help her fix her life.
But the fact is, I’m already finding that, to my total surprise, I actually like Samantha. She is so far from the jaded whore I expected. She’s intelligent, well-spoken, driven. And despite her nervousness, she’s the rare woman who seems to know her own worth. I would have laughed in the face of anyone else who’d told me to pay a million dollars for the privilege of hiring her as an escort. I respected her for telling me what she needed. And we made it clear: we are both here for an arrangement: I’ll use her services as often as I need, and she’ll accompany me to the boring-ass events my father makes me attend. And when the month is up, when it is time for me to start my next project, she’ll be gone.
Easy.
“Well, you fixed that. The money’s in your account, but you won’t have full access to it until the month is up.”
“That’s all that matters,” she says quietly, and we drive the rest of the way to my place in silence. She doesn’t say anything when I pull into the parking garage, though I can tell by the expression on her face that she’s impressed by the building.
We step onto my private elevator, and she glances around. The sides of the elevator are glossy black, and I can see her reflection in it. A flash of me fucking her against the wall, seeing our reflection from every angle, has me hard again.
Tonight. I’m going to have her tonight. We just have some bullshit to get through first.
Chapter Three
Samantha
When the elevator doors open, Dante leads me down a short hallway. Dark wood paneling, marble floor. Everything gleams. He unlocks the door at the end of the hallway and steps aside, waving me in.
The first glimpse of his penthouse gives me a definite “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto” kind of feeling. The same dark wood paneling from the hallway wraps around the wide-open area, except for one wall of windows, which looks right out over the bay. A kitchen and dining area are at one end, expensive-looking stainless steel appliances and black granite everywhere. Wood floors span the area. At the other end is a large living room with dark gray furniture and a large fireplace.
“Your room is this way,” he says, heading down a hallway. I follow, taking in the gleaming floors, the expensive looking artwork on the walls. He opens a set of French doors and steps into a room. I follow.
This room looks out over the bay as well. Another set of French doors leads out onto a small balcony. There’s a fireplace, a king-sized four-poster bed, an antique-looking dressing table, and a dresser.
“Bath is this way,” he says, opening another door and turning the light on. A huge clawfoot tub, sleek white tile.
“We need to lay out some rules here,” he says, and I nod. “You will live with me until the month is up. When I need to attend an event, which is often, you will accompany me. You will wear what I tell you to wear. You’ll be where I want you to be. You’ll take care of yourself. Pamper yourself. Eat well. When I want you to spend time with me, I expect you to do it. You’ll eat your meals with me.”
I bite back a comment about how bossy he is. But of course he’s bossy. He just paid a million dollars for me. He can be as bossy as he wants.
“Speaking of events, you’ll be accompanying me tonight. You’ll wear this,” he says, opening the closet doors. My jaw drops at the sight of the stunning red Valentino evening gown and matching shoes.
“How did you know my size?” I ask dumbly.
“Harry has all of your measurements,” he answers, and I nod. Of course.
“Be ready to go by seven. Wear that. I assume you can handle your hair and makeup, or do I need to call someone?”
“I can manage just fine,” I say, trying to keep my voice pleasant. What an arrogant ass.
“Good. Get ready. And when we get there, don’t talk unless you’re spoken to.”
I bite back a smart ass reply, settling for a curt nod instead. He stalks out without another word, closing the doors behind him.
“Don’t talk unless you’re spoken to,” I mutter, mimicking Dante’s gruff, commanding tone. I look at the gown again. It’s obviously expensive as hell, and I know before I even pull it on that it’ll fit me like a glove. I run my fingertips over the silk and shake my head.
Okay. So this was not what I expected. I mean, really, I had no idea what to expect. A month of lap dances? Thirty days of me prancing around naked whenever he told me to? I don’t know. From the hungry way I’ve caught him looking at me, I get the distinct impression that he’s thinking he’d like me to spend a lot of time on my back or knees.
I also know, from the way he behaved at the club, that whether that happens or not will be my choice. This isn’t a man who needs to force a woman, or a man who needs to pay for sex. I know that as surely as I know my own name. Why I’m here at all is a mystery to me, but I’ll take it. This is saving my Pops. This is giving both of us a fresh start.
And, yeah…part of me is scared to death that Dante’s going to want more. And another part of me wonders what he’ll be like if I decide to give him what he wants.
