"Are you hungry?"
His voice draws my attention back to the table.
I shake my head. "Not really."
He raises an eyebrow. "You'll eat. They have excellent appetizers here."
I don't know how to respond, so I just continue regarding him with the same angry expression that’s been on my face since I first stepped inside the building. I've never been to this restaurant, and had actually never even heard of it before receiving the email. When I looked it up, I quickly realized why. This place is so far out of my price range that it was never even worth considering.
He casts me a belittling smile and then states the obvious. "You seem angry at me. Why is that?"
"You know very well, why," I snarl at him. "This can hardly be a coincidence."
He chuckles. "Of course it isn't. As soon as I saw your file, I knew the two of us would be compatible."
My eyes widen in surprise. "You thought-"
"If anything, I should be angry at you, young lady," he goes on. "After all, you lied to me."
I shake my head. "I did not lie to you! I'm not an escort."
"And yet, here you are." He takes a languid sip of champagne.
I let out an angry growl. "Didn't they tell you anything about me?"
"I think I know what I need to know."
"No, you don't," I insist. "I'm not a real escort. I'm a reporter, just like I told you. I'm only doing this for a story. This is research."
The momentary dark flame in his eyes tells me that he doesn't like that piece of information. I remember witnessing a similar reaction when I first told him this at the agency. Something about it really seems to make him uncomfortable, whether it's my job itself or my insistence that I’m not an escort.
"If you're only here because you think I would help you with your story, you should leave right now and not waste any more of my time," he says coldly, fixating on me with his sinister stare. "I was told your file is legit, as meager as it may be, and that you may actually be interested in the deal I have to offer. If that's true, we may have something of mutual interest to discuss and you should stay."
He reaches for the flute in front of him, but doesn't drink from it. Instead, he swirls the liquid ever so slightly, watching as the golden pearls dance in the warm glow cast by the flickering candle in the center of our table.
"So, what will it be?" he challenges, without looking at me. "Leaving or staying?"
I straighten up in my chair and grab hold of the other flute with a little too much fervor, causing me to almost spill champagne on the linen tablecloth. I raise the glass to my lips and meet his testing gaze with heated determination.
"I'm staying."
Chapter Eight
Jared
Belinda warned me that this girl is a feisty one. A girl with a strong mind who isn’t a professional in this business. She's never once done anything like this and likely never even considered it before the day she walked into the agency for her interview. I know more about her than she thinks I do, and so far I like every single bit of it.
Except for one thing.
Her job could pose a problem. I will be surrounded by nosy media and paparazzi either way, especially if – no, when - anything from my past resurfaces. Hiring a girl to fulfill all of my needs – to be my little slut behind closed doors and a presentable partner for the public at the same time – is meant to lessen the dark spots of my flawed character.
I'm not a good man, but I have to make people believe that I am.
Bringing a reporter into my own home – and especially my bedroom – seems like the most stupid idea I’ve ever had.
It's an unnecessary risk, a risk I wouldn't take if she didn't enchant me the way she does.
There's something about her that speaks to me, something that makes me think that she might be exactly what I’ve been looking for, exactly what I’ve needed. She's smart, determined, and ambitious.
I no longer want to work for money by the time I'm thirty.
According to her, that is her main reason for being here, the reason she’s willing to sell herself to me. Of course, I need more than that. There are certain things that can't be faked, and if she's not even the slightest bit turned on by what just happened between us, she's not going to work out for me.
But her eyes and reactions tell me that she is. Her pupils were dark, her cheeks showed that telltale flushing glow, and her breathing admitted her lustful agitation.
And she hates herself for it. She has this delicious fury of a first timer, a strong and tenacious woman who takes no shit from others. Yet here she sits with her pussy wet and throbbing because I ordered her around like a pet.
Pushing her buttons could be a lot of fun. I love watching her react to me, and she’s obviously intrigued by what I have to offer, even though she has a hard time admitting it to herself.
We clinked glasses after she declared that she wanted to stay, but neither one of us has said another word. She emptied half of her champagne waiting for me to take the lead.
Very good.
"Why did you want to meet me?" I ask, catching her gaze.
She looks confused, cocking her head to the side and pursing her lips as she contemplates a response.
"I didn't know I would meet you," she says eventually. "Your inquiry was vague and anonymous."
"I wouldn't call it vague," I object. "It very clearly states what I would expect from you."
She rolls her eyes at me.
Big mistake.
I lean forward, placing my elbows on the table as I move in closer to her.
"Do that again and I'll bend you over the table right here and now," I calmly tell her in a low voice. "And spank that attitude out of you."
The look on her face in response to my warning is priceless. I can almost see the rush traveling through her body, the heat, the excitement, the desire to test me, just to see if I would actually do it.
I would.
But she's smart enough not to test me, not yet.
Her anxious fascination is quickly replaced by anger. Of course. It's just a split second during which she allows the irrevocable allure to wash over her before she remembers who she is and who she wants to be right now.
"Excuse me," she snarls in a tone that's heavily underlined with disgust. "What the hell did you just say?"
"You heard me right. Do that again and I'll spank your tight pretty ass until it's blooming red."
"Do what again?"
"Roll your eyes at me."
She grimaces, unsure what to make of what's happening. Her inner turmoil is so visible that I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.
"Well, that's simple," she huffs. "Just don't say anything that makes me roll my eyes at you."
I can't help but let out a little laugh at her defiance.
"You're brave, I give you that."
A smile plays at the corners of her mouth, but she doesn't quite let it happen. She can't. It would tell me too much.
"You still haven't answered my question, though," I remind her.
She casts me a quizzical look.