Bought By The Billionaire

Chapter 7: Bought By The Billionaire - Chapter Seven

“What do you think?” Those blue, blue eyes stare into mine. At some level, I feel that I should be outraged. This man, who I only met earlier today, is offering me a position as his personal … what? Concubine? Mistress? Whore? Call girl?

But it doesn’t feel like that. I like him. And he seems to like me. And if I could concentrate on my studies instead of cleaning up rooms after some jerk has had too much booze and thrown up …

He is still silent, gazing steadily into my face.

I make up my mind. “When do I start?”

He nods and smiles, then looks at me and says, “When do I start, Master?”

Yes, of course. I cast my eyes down. “When do I start, Master?”

“Right now,” he says cheerfully, but then pauses. “Outside this apartment, a simple Sir will be sufficient I think.”

“Yes, Master. And what would you like me to do, Master? Right now?”

“I assume you can type? Yes? There’s a computer and printer in the office through there.” He points at another door. “You can start by writing a letter of resignation. After that, you can join me in the bedroom.”

I wake up in my dingy bedroom, and for a moment, I stare up in confusion at the ceiling, the events of the previous day swirling up inside me.

It seems unreal—fantastic but unreal. I shake my head. After meeting and having mind-blowing sex with a complete stranger, he offered me a job as his … his what? Courtesan? Call girl? And I accepted.

He said he owned the hotel. He said he owned a huge company. And I believed it all. Took it at face value.

My stomach churns. Things like this don’t happen to girls like me. Was I taken in by some con man, after a quick roll with the maid?

I wrote a letter last night, resigning my old, horrible job cleaning at the hotel.

God! I resigned my job! What

I remember. It’s still in his suite. I’ve not delivered it yet, so technically, I’m still working at the hotel, and due to start my shift

surreal to me — from my foolish decision to use the stranger’s shower, to the mind-boggling sex, when he found me

toast. My head doesn’t work in

“Delivery

leave it

“Sorry. Needs a signature.”

“Okay, I’m coming down.”

head, trying to think if I have perhaps ordered something on the internet and forgotten

two items for me, a letter and a package.

“Dear Miss Kimberley,

application

report to our offices

catching my breath as I do so at the stated salary, which is much, much more than I earn now in my miserable cleaning job. Then I do a double-take. I am being instructed to report

open it to find a skirt and jacket, blouses, and a pair of shoes, all very sensible and business-like, but

have to admit, the outfit looks great, and not quite as sensible as I had first thought. The jacket is tightly tailored to my trim waist and large breasts. The blouse is cut just low enough to suggest cleavage without actually revealing

know my size? For that matter,

coffee. A little low-key makeup and my long red hair confined into an orderly bun, and I feel ready

*****

the letter at the reception. The receptionist checks my name against a day

hold out the letter. “Hello, my name is Elizabeth Kimberley. I

Kimberley. Mr Haswell is expecting you. I’ll

through on an intercom. “Mr Haswell,

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