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I frowned, my mouth closing and a little of the panic ebbing out of my chest at his unexpected—if vague—endorsement of my life prospects.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “I mean… when you said…deserve…”
My question trailed off, as I realized how many variables he had introduced:where would I like to go? What would it take to get there? What does it mean to ‘deserve’ to go there? What does any of that have to do with… guidance and…I had to swallow again…discipline?
The fear of a moment before receded, though. A warmth I had started to feel in the bar, and on the walk home after Christian had seemed to forget about my lingerie, swelled in my chest. This unbelievably handsome, incredibly wealthy man seemed for some reason to have plans for me that went beyond the bedroom.
“You’re special, Leah,” he said. “Maybe not the kind of special they can see in school, but you have the kind of imaginative spark that people in my business look for.”
My jaw had gone slack again.
“But,” Christian said.
My heart skipped a beat and the butterflies in my tummy seemed to change into hummingbirds. Christian regarded me intently for a long second before he continued.
“You know as I well as I do that your history in the New Modesty says something about your needs. Selecta wouldn’t have let you in unless they thought you were a good candidate for a traditional courtship, and—”
“No,” I interrupted. “No… I fooled them—I put the answers I knew they wanted on the… the… you know… the questionnaire.”
My words had come out of my mouth more and more slowly as I saw Christian’s eyes smolder and narrow in response to my interruption. They trailed off, and I had to swallow hard, yet again. When silence had fallen, he spoke again.
“Donotinterrupt me, Leah. This is your only warning.”
I opened my mouth, my heart pounding. I tried to speak, but I found that somehow all the swallowing had left me so parched that I could only manage a little croak. Christian waited. I closed my lips, tried to work up some saliva.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“That’s alright,” he replied, a smile returning to his lips, to my surprise. “But I want you to think about why you interrupted and, more important, how your body responded when I called you on it, and told you there will be consequences for interrupting in the future.”
He paused, looking into my eyes as if he could see my brain, furiously at work, trying to decipher his meaning and to relate it to myself. It felt suddenly like he had spoken those words about some other girl, even though at the same time I knew he had seen deep into a part of me that I hadn’t even known existed until that morning.
“I was going to say,” he finally continued, “that even if you supposed you had gamed Selecta’s system, they have ways that go beyond the simple questions on their questionnaires to tell if you really are a good candidate for their programs. The same is true when they’re choosing girls for platinum level in Selecta Arrangements. You’re not in this gorgeous apartment, not having to work for your subsidy, just because you’re stunningly beautiful, Leah.”
Notjustbecause.
Stunningly beautiful.
I felt a pleasurable blush come into my cheeks at the unexpected compliment. Christian had said it almost off-hand, but it seemed to me even more valuable for the honesty that showed.
I hadn’t even noticed, I realized, that on the SA forums so many other girls complained about their jobs working for Selecta subsidiaries but I didn’t have an assigned job at all. Platinum level clearly meant more than I thought it had, but that left me with an even bigger question.
“What does… what do you mean?” I breathed.
For a moment his dark eyes seemed to bore into my soul.Fuck around and find out, I thought, my breathing speeding up so much I thought I might hyperventilate.
“I think you already know,” he said. “And it’s going to be a lot more fun for both of us if we don’t spell it out.”
“Fun,” I whispered, feeling my brow crease so hard it brought on a wince. I watched Christian study my face, saw the right corner of his mouth lift a little. I could tellhewas having fun. “I’m not… I mean, I don’t think it’s fun for…”
“You didn’t have fun this morning when you had your pictures taken?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and adopting a tone of innocence that made my mortified reaction feel even hotter.
“Oh, God,” I breathed. “That… I can’t believe…” Behind me, my hands clutched at the round globes of my bottom as I involuntarily remembered Mary the photographer’s story—mystory.
Fun?Had that felt fun, even when I had received the ecstatic release of my first orgasm?
“Okay,” Christian said softly, clearly seeing my distress. “Maybefunisn’t the right word—or maybe we need to be clear that it’s going to be a different kind of fun from going to seeMoonglider.”
“Oh, God,” I said again, because the realization that the man who had made that amazing movie now stood looking at me, in my apartment, and he clearly wanted to fuck me.
