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That night, the girl’s mother called me, hysterical. I’d walked out, careless, cold, and the girl had tried to kill herself.
She was innocent, and I’d nearly destroyed her with my callousness. I swore I’d never do that again, I’d never hurt anyone the way I hurt her. And then Samantha came along, and I’m reliving it all over again.
So why am I so goddamn torn? Why does it piss me off that she doesn’t seem to want me? Why does it bother me that she’s turned away from me so easily?
I hate this shit. I think again, for about the millionth time, that I hired her to avoid all this emotional bullshit, yet here I am, a fucking mess.
She looks up, and I realize that I’ve been staring at her. Probably since the moment I came into the room. Shit.
“Did you need something, Mr. Knight?”
I bite back a growl. Fuck, yes, I need something. “No. Why?”
“You were staring at me.”
“I was not.”
She looks back down at her phone. “If you say so.”
I grab a cup and pour myself some coffee. I gulp it down, even though it burns my throat. It’s a nice distraction from the way I want to spread her out on the table and feast on her cunt. I pour another cup and sit down.
“There’s an event I need you to attend with me tonight. Susan will be by later with your dress. I’ll need you ready to leave here by seven.”
I’ve been watching her, and I notice how still she’s gone. Her hands are shaking just a little, and she shoots me a little look.
“Another gala?” she asks.
“No. A night out with one of our best clients. His wife will be there, and I expect you to keep her entertained while we talk.”
She gives a curt nod and goes back to looking at her phone. “So, what? Are we going out to eat?”
“They’re theater buffs, so we’re going to that new musical everyone’s talking about.”
Her eyes light up, and I remember then about her love of the theater.
“You’re kidding.”
The excited tone of her voice is a relief from the cool politeness she’s been showing me. If I’d known this, I would have taken her to a musical already.
No.
No, I would not have. She’s an escort. I’m her boss. That’s all.
I clear my throat. “So, be ready by seven.”
“I will.”
I walk out without another word, sure that I’m going to lose my mind before the month is up.
Chapter Nine
Samantha
Dante’s assistant, Susan, delivers my dress as promised, and I gawk over how gorgeous it is. We both squeal over it, and when I try it on, it’s perfect.
Susan is a sweetheart. She’s in her forties, absolutely calm and collected. I’ve talked to her a couple times when she’s come to the penthouse, and she genuinely seems like a nice person. I don’t know why that surprises me, but it does. After I finish trying the dress on, I ask her if she wants to stay for lunch, and she looks totally shocked.
“I mean, you don’t have to,” I tell her.
