If this is all an act, she's even better than I could have hoped.
The only thing that keeps agitating me is the way she insists on being called by her name, Ann. I addressed her as Button every time I talked to or about her, and each and every single time she dared to correct me. Her defiance will get her in big trouble with me one day, that's for sure.
Otherwise, she did leave a favorable impression on everyone. Even Silas gives me an approving nod once we say our goodbyes.
But just as I’m about to praise her once we're alone in the elevator, she's back to the person I’m used to.
"I hope that pleased you," she says in a condescending tone. "I fucking hate small talk like that."
I want to grab her and spank that damn attitude out of her. I know it has to happen - and soon. But not here, not now.
"You did well," I say, my tone equally distant and annoyed as hers. "Except for one thing."
"What?"
"Don't undermine my authority in front of my employees," I say. "Your name is Button, and when I address you by that name, you're not to correct me. Especially when there are other people around."
She looks at me, narrowing her eyes. "But my name is Ann."
"Not as long as you're with me it isn’t."
She sighs and shakes her head. Her hair is still cascading over her shoulders, a bit messier than it was before, but still beautiful. I can't wait to see the wavy mess dance around her slim body when I finally have my way with her.
She notices that I'm looking at her and turns her eyes up to meet mine.
"Why do you insist on the name Button?" she asks. "Why not call me Ann like everyone else?"
"Because I'm not everyone else," I say. "And you're mine."
A hint of a smile plays at the corner of her mouth. Look at that, my little Button is flattered.
"You're a weird man," she says, just before the doors of the elevator open as we reach the first floor. "A very weird man."
Chapter Sixteen
Ann
I thought that he would accompany me home, but Jared had other plans. He just escorted me down to the car and instructed the driver to take me home, leaving me with a quick "I'll see you tonight" and a kiss on the cheek that caught me off guard.
I signed the papers and agreed to play the roles he asked of me for at least a year, but I'm still not entirely sure what exactly this job is asking of me. In fact, I feel a little tricked with what has happened between us so far. He lures me in with that incredibly mind-robbing orgasm just to humiliate me a few days later after I've signed the contract.
I spend the entire drive gazing out the window of the limousine, pondering about the odd turn my life has taken within such a short time. I don't regret it. I don't regret anything, not even dumb mistakes like that hook-up with co-working neighbor Brandon. It's a waste of time to torment oneself with things from the past, things we can no longer change. Besides, don't they say that every mistake helps you grow? If this entire endeavor is one huge mistake, just imagine how much I’m going to learn from it!
This doesn't feel like a mistake yet, though. Jared fascinates me. I know I can't fall for him, though, not for real. He has made it very clear that it’s not part of the deal, and it never will be.
And I'm fine with that.
Our arrangement is strictly professional. And sensual. Very fucking sensual.
The way my heart speeds up every time I think about him and the things he has done to me is very different than the butterflies I’ve felt with other men. I don't have to protect my heart from him because there's nothing to protect me from. This is not about love, it’s just about lust. Raw, carnal lust.
Well, that and the money... I tend to push that aspect aside, even though it was the reason I first became interested in this deal to begin with. However, I only get paid if I see this through. I have to commit to this for at least twelve months, with the option for a possible extension, before there's a single cent deposited into my bank account. Until then, he’s provided me with my own credit card and limited access to his money for clothing and personal luxuries. It's hard for me to be comfortable with that, though, because I can't help but feel that somehow it’s going against everything that women have fought to achieve.
Then again, isn't this about a woman's right to choose? If this is what I choose to do to get ahead, what's so wrong about it?
I'm young - though rather sexually inexperienced - smart, and not bad to look at. There's nothing wrong with what I'm doing. On the contrary, a modern woman should explore her sexuality! Isn't that what feminists chant in marches and protests?
Oh, listen to me.
I laugh to myself, and the driver casts a quick look in the rear view mirror. It's funny how I still wage pretend arguments with my father in my head, manifesting his judgmental ideas of how his daughter - or any woman, for that matter - should live her life. In a way, this deal I’ve struck comes closer to his ideals than what true modern feminists aspire to. A woman who lives and breathes to make the man at her side look better, totally dependent on him and his money. If I'd cook and clean for Jared, I'd make the perfect housewife.
The car pulls into the familiar driveway, and I thank the driver - whose name I still don't know - when I get out of the car. Our eyes meet for a split second and he nods quietly, leaving me to wonder what he might know and think about all of this. Jared said that his closest staff is in the know about this arrangement. Does this include his driver? And why do I even care?
Because I've always cared what other people think about me, at least to some degree. I hate this trait about myself because I consider it a weakness, but it's hard to let go of it.
I’m greeted by the usual magnificent view and haunting silence when I walk through the door of the penthouse. The ping sound of the elevator resonates through the hall-like living room as the doors close noisily behind me, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I'm not used to this. I've never had an apartment to myself, not even for a few hours. I moved right from my student dorm, which I shared with two other girls, into a flat shared with four other people. As far as I can remember, there has never been a time when all four of them were out of the house for longer than just a few minutes. I've always had people around me, all the time. I did have my own tiny room in the flat I lived in for the past year, but privacy was non-existent outside of my eighty square foot cave. My roommates didn't even ask where I was going when I told them that I was moving out. All they cared about was the rent I'm obligated to pay until they find someone to sublet. Jared didn't bat an eye when I told him about it, and stated that he'd pay for it, without even asking the amount. I don't know how rich he is exactly, but it's pretty obvious that my rent is little more than peanuts to him.
The same situation applies for the desk I was renting at the co-working space. I'm trapped in a one-year contract that won't end for another three months. All of my stuff is still there, and as long as it's still there, as long as I still have a place out in the normal world - quite literally - I feel reassured that I'm still me. I had to leave everything behind when I agreed to become Jared's "partner," as he likes to call it, but keeping that desk space means that there are still traces out there to remind me of who I was before this.