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I admit, "A keyboard I bought at a resale shop. It's not perfect, but it works. A few of the keys are damaged, but I manage to make it work for what I need. I'd ask you to get it for me, but I don't think you should go near my apartment. I'm sure my father's men are watching it, and if you go in, they'll see you. So I'm fine with just a notepad."
Another emotion passes across Riggs's face, but I'm not sure what it is. I'm about to ask him when he says, "No music today, Blakely. Your entire focus is on this contract. Do you understand?"
I give him a tiny salute. "You've already made it clear, boss."
His lips twitch. He states, "It's Sir. But you'll see that in the contract." He winks.
I arch my eyebrows. Last night, I didn't worry about what the thick stack of papers said. Now, I'm getting a bit curious. He's making it sound detailed, which isn't something I ever thought people were, regarding sex. In my experience, you just get at it, and within a few minutes, things are over.
Not that I've had any mind-blowing encounters. My past boyfriends were okay. I enjoyed them, but even last night showed me Riggs is on a different level, and we haven't even had sex yet.
Not that I ever doubted he would be different. Even at eighteen, I knew it.
He asserts, "Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I'll be back soon."
He's almost to the door, when I call out, "Wait!"
He spins, inquiring, "What's wrong?"
Something about not having access to him panics me. I fret, "How do I get ahold of you if I need to?"
He stares at me for a moment.
I add, "I also need to call work and the lounge."
A flash of nervousness appears on his face but quickly disappears, so I think I imagined it. He goes into the bedroom. Several minutes pass, then he comes out with a throw-away phone. He reiterates, "Read the contract. If you're good with the terms, call work and tell them you quit. My number is programmed on this. You're only allowed to use this to call them to quit or to contact me. That's it. You don't call anyone else, Blakely. If your father's men are looking for you, it's extra important no one knows you're here."
I don't know who I would call, although I could tell my roommates or a couple of my friends I'm not dead. But Riggs is right. I also don't want anybody to find out where I am. What if I told them and my father's men tried to interrogate them?
Yet my stomach flips at the thought of quitting. I argue, "It was hard to find work and earn a recurring spot to sing. Can I keep my gig at the lounge? I promise it won't interfere with whatever you want me to do here."
Riggs shakes his head. "No. You can't. But I promise you that you'll be ahead in your career by the time this year is up."
He makes it sound so easy, but I know how much competition there is in L.A. It's nearly impossible to make it. I claim, "I need exposure. How can you promise me that?"
"Pet, you need to trust me. If you can't trust me completely, the deal's off between us," he threatens.
My eyes widen from shock. Riggs is so all in or all out. It's pretty extreme, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around this entire situation. But then again, Riggs has always been blunt and straightforward. It's no secret he's a control freak. It's a miracle my father and he got along as well as they did for almost two decades, not that I knew the ins and outs of their business.
I start to argue, "But—"
He cuts me off. "The only way this works is if you fully trust me, Blakely. There's no room to be wishy-washy. And not just with your body. You need to always trust me to make the right decisions for you. Do you understand?"
I've always been independent, which is why my parents and I never saw eye to eye. So giving the power to Riggs to make decisions for me isn't easy.
He steps closer, lowering his voice. "I'm not them, pet. I want what's best for you and for your career. I promise you."
I take a deep breath and slowly nod. "Okay. I'll trust you."
He briefly studies me, then says, "Good girl."
I hesitate, not wanting to sound needy, but ask, "Will you be gone long?"
"You're going to miss me, aren't you?" he teases.
Fire flames on my cheeks. "I just want to know."
He smirks. "It's okay to admit it. But to answer your question, I'll be back by dinner. I'll bring something home for us to eat. Read the contract, and write down your questions." He gives me a chaste kiss on my forehead, then leaves.
