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.

I resigned my job! What

not delivered it yet, so technically, I’m still working at the hotel,

the previous day feels surreal to me — from my foolish decision to use

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

“Delivery for

buzz back. “Just leave it

“Sorry. Needs a signature.”

“Okay, I’m coming down.”

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

the smell 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 my apartment. Opening the letter first, I take a

“Dear Miss Kimberley,

application for an internship with our company has

report to our

much, much more than I earn now in my miserable

it to find a skirt and jacket, blouses, and a pair of shoes, all very sensible and business-like, but beautifully made and expensive looking. I check the labels and take a deep breath. These designer brands cost a fortune. I would never be able to buy

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

Obviously, it is a gift from him, but how did he know my size?

gulp down my coffee. A little low-key makeup and my long red hair confined into an orderly bun, and I feel ready to take on the

*****

office building, all steel and plate 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 second reception desk, with

my name is Elizabeth Kimberley.

Kimberley. Mr Haswell is expecting you. I’ll tell him

intercom. “Mr Haswell,

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