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“I’ll cover all expenses. You’ll get an allowance.” He makes no sense. I am supposed to pay off a debt but he is offering me money.
“I can’t leave my dad. We have bills to pay.” But I have to admit everything coming out of his mouth sounds tempting. But too good to be true. There has to be a catch somewhere. There always is.
“All I need is one year. Then you go back to your life.”
“Easy for you to say. You are not the one who is giving up a year of your life.”
“What choice do you have?”
I look at him not knowing how to answer. He is right. I don’t have a choice. He made sure of that or at least he said he did. But what am I supposed to tell Dad?
“My dad will see right through this. He will know this is a façade. Neither you nor I will be able to fool him.”
“I’ll handle him.” Saying yes will solve the loan. At least give me time until I can come up with a better plan.
“Can I think about it? I have to go to work.”
“The offer expires the moment you leave this house.”
“In other words, you aren’t giving me a choice.”
“Your words, not mine.” He has a smirk. I take a deep breath.
“I suppose you made it clear I don’t have a choice. I’ll agree to your proposition. Now I have to go to work.” I stand.
“Sit. You are quitting your jobs. I don’t need my fiancé working when I can provide her with all the comforts of life. I expect you to take care of anything you need and return to the house immediately after. One hour should suffice.”
“Is this what I can expect? You controlling my every move? Me doing what you say?”
“This is a job. You don’t have to like it. But let me be clear, you will do as I say. I don’t enjoy repeating myself.”
“Fine. I’ll need an Uber to go home and get my things.”
“You will have a driver. Going forward you will always have someone with you.”
“A babysitter? Seriously?”
“Call it whatever you want. Your safety will always be my priority.”
“What, am I not safe?” For a split second, I forgot who he is.
“You will always be safe with me. You have my word.”
“I don’t know you enough to take you at your word.” I spit out.
“Whether you take me at my word doesn’t make a difference to me. Finish eating.” Again, he is ordering me. I don’t appreciate it. But his eyes tell me he isn’t playing. I need this to work for Dad’s sake.
“I need my phone to call my job. I have to tell the boutique I quit.”
“What boutique?”
“Galeria Chic.”
“I know the owner. I’ll take care of it.”
“I can do that.” I’m annoyed by his constant need for control.
“Yet I’m doing it. You won’t have to call Gotham. I own it.”
