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.

job! What did I do with the

suite. I’ve not delivered it yet, so technically, I’m still working at the hotel, and due to start

Can it be real? The whole of the previous day feels surreal to me — from my foolish decision to use the stranger’s shower, to the mind-boggling

bed and set about making some coffee and toast. My head doesn’t work in the

buzzes. “Delivery

leave it in

“Sorry. Needs a signature.”

“Okay, I’m coming down.”

to think if I have perhaps ordered something on the internet and forgotten about it. Not very likely on my very

of dampness. In fact, he has two items for me, a letter and a package. Puzzled, I sign for them and take them back to

“Dear Miss Kimberley,

you that your application for an internship

report to our

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

With slightly trembling fingers, I open it to find a skirt and jacket, blouses, and a pair of shoes, all very sensible and business-like, but beautifully

my trim waist and large breasts. The blouse is cut just low enough to suggest cleavage without

it is a gift from him, but how did he know my size? For that matter, how did

A little

*****

glass, I hand over the letter at the reception. The receptionist checks my name against a day book and directs me to the tenth floor, where I find a

“Hello, my name is Elizabeth Kimberley. I

Kimberley. Mr Haswell is

buzzes through on an intercom. “Mr Haswell, Elizabeth Kimberley

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