AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The words ‘girlfriend’and‘services as a romantic partner’ jumps out at me.
I whip my eyes up and find Sullivan drinking coffee calmly.
The knot in the pit of my stomach twists.
Am I being recruited for some kind of weird sexual fantasy?
My fingers ball into fists and I shoot to my feet. Sullivan remains calm and sets the coffee cup down. The wind picks up, blowing against my cheeks, but even that can’t cool me down.
“What the hell?” I sign. A finger stabs down at the binder before I rant with both hands. “I don’t care how rich you are or how much power you have. I will never trade my body for money. Never. If you want a prostitute,” I sign, my mouth pursing angrily, “look elsewhere.”
Jenny’s cheeks are two red suns when she interprets for me.
His interpreter signs, “I don’t want sex.”
“Then what?”
“I want a girlfriend.”
I stare at the interpreter’s hands for a long moment before turning my gaze back to Sullivan. His body language confuses me. His shoulders are relaxed. One leg thrown over the other. Fingers looped in the handle of his coffee cup.
Coiffed.
Statuesque.
The only sign of nerves is the tapping of his left ring finger on the back of the cup. The slight twitch in the middle of his eyebrows.
He wants something.
Badly.
Me? Or is it something else?
My heart flops against my ribs.
I slide my gaze from Sullivan’s fancy leather shoes to his fitted trousers, tweed vest, and pressed button-down.
Suspicious, I sign, “Why?”
He speaks and the woman interprets, “Why do I need a girlfriend? Or why did I choose you?”
“Both,” I sign. My eyes burn fiercely.
His soften.
“Because you owe me.”
I lift my chin, aghast and insulted. “Read my lips.” I point to my mouth. “I.” I silently form the word. “Refuse.” Throwing my thumb over my shoulder, I glare at him. “Pervert.”
Jenny cringes as she interprets.
I rip my purse from where I’d set it on the table.
“If you refuse,” his interpreter signs, “I don’t need you.”
I freeze in my tracks. Feeling like ice is sliding down my neck, I face Richard Sullivan.
He looks conflicted. His posture’s straight as a pin. Chin up. Hands folded together. A man used to getting what he wants. And yet his eyes are tortured, lips pursed as if what he’s doing at this very moment is detestable to him.
