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.

my God! I resigned my job! What

so technically, I’m still working at the hotel, and due to start my

previous day feels surreal to me — from my foolish

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

buzzes. “Delivery for Elizabeth

back. “Just leave it in

“Sorry. Needs a signature.”

“Okay, I’m coming down.”

head, trying to think if I have

courier is waiting in the tatty lobby, with its peeling paint and the smell of dampness. In fact, he has two items for me, a letter and a package. Puzzled,

“Dear Miss Kimberley,

pleased to inform you that your application for

to our

I do so at the stated salary, which is much, much more than I earn now

skirt and jacket, blouses, and a pair of shoes, all very sensible and business-like, but beautifully made and expensive looking.

on, smoothing down the gorgeous slinky fabric over my curves. Looking at myself in my cracked mirror, I 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

but how did he know my size? For that matter, how did he know

two hours before I must report for my new job. I gulp down my coffee. A little low-key makeup and my long red hair

*****

The receptionist checks my name against a day book and directs me to the

“Hello, my name is

“Ah, yes, Miss Kimberley. Mr Haswell is expecting you. I’ll tell

on an intercom.

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