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Most of the time, he didn’t speak. Unless he’d decided that we weren’t finished, then he’d order me to get on my hands and knees, to touch myself, to put my hands above my head ... that kind of thing.
Jay was not one for pillow talk, apart from when he’d asked me about my mother that first night. I still didn’t know anything about his past, about his life outside of this arrangement. I stayed true to the rules, didn’t ask questions, didn’t try to find out information elsewhere—though Zoe was determined to get me to change my mind about this.
I just ... enjoyed the ride. Even though ‘enjoy’ was the wrong word to describe what I felt when I was with Jay. There was a coldness, a cruelty to him that made it, so I never felt truly at peace. I was always on edge. But that only made the entire experience that much more exciting, visceral. On any given weekend, I’d never know what was going to happen to me when I crossed his threshold. Was I going to be blindfolded and spanked? Ordered to get on my knees? Forbidden from speaking? Or offered a glass of five-hundred-dollar wine, eating fresh oysters as we watched the sunset?
There was nothing predictable about Jay, so there was nothing to expect from him. No routine. Therefore I had no idea what was happening when he called me out to the front of the house early one Sunday morning. We’d just finished a morning workout. Well, I’d just pretended to work out in his home gym when in reality I was staring at him lift weights in the mirror. I was wearing yoga pants and a cropped sports bra. My hair was piled on my head, my feet were bare as was my face. Jay would’ve told me to get changed if we were going somewhere, which we did on occasion. He seemed to prefer being at the house with me, though. If I could pretend that I knew what he preferred.
“What is this?” I asked slowly, staring at the car that was parked in the spot where mine had been last night. Sometimes I was still chauffeured to and from Jay’s house, but most of the time, I drove myself.
“It’s a Tesla,” Jay replied. “They haven’t released this model quite yet, but I have a relationship with Elon. Professional, but enough so that I was able to convince him to get me one of the first.” He nodded to the car. “Completely electronic, no carbon footprint, yet speeds will rival that of the top on the market right now. It has full self-driving capability, which Elon tells me is even safer than a human operation, but you’ll refrain from using that feature. I would prefer you be in control of your own life. You’re much more attached to it than a machine can be.”
I continued to stare from the car to Jay. There were a lot of words to sift through. A lot of information.
“You have a relationship with Elon?” I repeated, even though I knew he hated it when people did that.
He nodded once, not bothering to speak. The nod was uncharacteristic enough for him.
“The spaceship super genius guy?” I clarified.
Something moved in Jay’s face. “I wouldn’t class him as a super genius, though I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear that.”
I rolled my eyes but got the tiniest bit of satisfaction that Jay seemed pissed off about the whole thing. Jealous almost. But then I remembered the rest of what he’d said. About me driving it.
“Where is my car, Jay?” I ground out, fighting a frown.
His eyes were hard on me. “This is your car, Stella.”
My hands turned to fists at my sides. “No, my car is not a fancy spaceship looking thing with self-driving capabilities. My car is a Toyota. It’s older than this. By a lot. It has various tubes of now discontinued lipsticks rolling around in the back of it, and it’s attached to no less than ten parking tickets. It was also a gift from my father. A gift he worked his ass off to give me, not brand new, because it’s a total rip-off to get a brand-new car, but very gently used by an old lady who invited him in for tea and told him about her grandchildren. Glennis. She sends us Christmas cards. So where is my car?”
Jay listened intently throughout my entire tirade, not missing my pissed off tone because I made it impossible to miss. “Your car is in one of my garages. I’m storing it. Originally, I was going to sell it and deposit the profits into your bank account. But hearing that your father bought it for you, and seeing that you’re obviously emotionally attached to it, we’ll keep it in the garage in the interim.”
