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“I really like hearing all about this place,” I tell him. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
The man merely growls in response.
Okay, so getting him and his cold heart to really open up will take a little bit more effort. I’m fine with that. I can wait for him.
When he drives me back to his mansion in his fancy vintage car, he takes me to another bedroom upstairs on the same level as his own.
“What’s this?” I ask him when he opens the door to the room.
It’s expansive in here. High ceilings. Soft gray tones. A king-sized bed in the center of the room covered in plump pillows and silk sheets. I spot a walk-in closet entrance in the corner. An ensuite. It’s like a really posh five-star hotel room.
“It’s the guest bedroom,” Damon replies. “It’s for you, Ava. I had the maid make it up today.”
“We’re not sleeping together?” I ask him.
Damon turns to look at me. “You’re my mistress, not my wife. No one sleeps with me.”
“Really?”
“But then, no girl has ever slept over here in the first place,” he says.
“I’m the first girl to actually sleep here?” I ask. “You just throw girls out of here when you’re done with them?”
He ignores my amazement.
I don’t know if me being the first girl to spend the night in this mansion should be taken as a compliment or as a glaring red flag.
“This room should be adequate enough for you,” Damon says as if he’s a realtor showing me around. “I can keep an eye on you and still give you some freedom within my home.”
I roll my eyes at that stupid comment. “Thanks,” I reply, adopting the most sarcastic tone I can. “I’m so glad you can keep me around as a little pet.”
Sometimes Damon can make me feel special, like I’m the only girl in the entire world as when we were back at the brewery, and other times he really likes to drill home how little I truly mean to him. Just simply some mistress who signed a dumb contract. That’s it.
My comment un-moves the man.
“I’ll arrange for someone to promptly collect your things from your college dorm and your father’s house,” he explains, all matter-of-fact.
“I’m happy to collect it myself,” I reply. “I can swing by home and the university tomorrow and grab all my things.”
Damon sighs. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
“I want to see my dad,” I reply. “Can I see him in the morning? Does that fit in with your strict contract?”
Damon’s face is unemotional. “That’s fine. But my men will collect your things from the university.”
Ugh.
There’s a possessiveness in him. The need for control. It goes beyond the feeling I get when we had sex. I don’t think I like it.
“Well, goodnight, then,” I say in a sulk.
I storm into the guest bedroom and nod at Damon to close the door.
The man hesitates.
“You liked the brewery?” he asks me.
Is he looking for reassurance?
