Bound To Him: Three Dates with a Billionaire (3 page)

Her face relaxed a tiny bit. “I see. If your work is satisfactory, you can call into tomorrow and I’ll write a check. Just this once. Normally I pay monthly.”

“Thank you.” Relief flooded through me. Yes, I could try this. “And the dates are always in a public place?”

She gave me an indulgent smile, as if she was making a child happy. “No, but you can refuse any dates you want to. If you don’t feel safe, don’t go. I’m assuming you know how to keep safe?”

“I have my cellphone and some cash for a cab.”

She sighed and picked up her phone, hitting speed dial. “I’ll have a cab waiting for you downstairs. This one is on me. If you take his card and call him when you’re done, the driver will take you home. He is not a bodyguard. Take this.” She handed me a card with the name of the agency on them and a phone number.

Fuck, I needed a bodyguard?

“Oh, one more thing. Sign this.” She shoved a piece of paper over the table. She’d grabbed it from a filing cabinet crammed with papers. So that was where she kept the crud that always accumulated in an office. “It’s a simple agreement. And you agree to three dates. After that, you’re off the hook. But you should give it a good trial first.”

If I didn’t like it and I kept refusing the dates, there wasn’t a lot she could do. I read through the single page. She was right, it was in simple language, and I couldn’t see any drawbacks. Except for the three dates. I’d come too far to back out now. I signed.

A
fter a stop in the bathroom to put on the pantyhose Madame X gave me, I went downstairs and sure enough the cab was waiting. The driver was an Indian man, with beads swinging from his windscreen. A faint smell of patchouli permeated the vehicle and Indian music played on the stereo. He gave me a broad, gap-toothed grin and handed me his card before I asked him. “Are you new?” he said.

“Yes.”

He jabbered all the way uptown but I stopped listening after a few blocks. New York traffic never stopped, not for an hour, so it took us a good twenty minutes to get to Central Park. I presumed we were going to one of the swanky hotels here, but he drove past the ones I knew. There were more further up. I folded my arms. If I didn’t know the place, I’d just refuse to get out.

I knew the place.

The New York Museum had its gala face on. Lights illuminated the architectural features, and a red carpet was draped up the stairs to the front entrance, which was thrown wide. Maybe they wouldn’t let me in. This gala was ticketed and I didn’t have one.

I glanced at myself in the driver’s rear view mirror. Even though I was sitting in the back of the cab, the woman I saw wasn’t anything like the intern who arrived here in jeans and sweaters, her brunette hair dragged back into a pony tail. And the glasses, I couldn’t forget them.

I’d be fine, except for my trembling knees. “Can you hang around for five minutes?”

“With the meter running,” he reminded me.

I wasn’t paying for this so I agreed, and hopped out. Well, sidled out was more like it. I was deathly afraid of flashing my panties, even though I’d made sure they were clean, and more or less the same color as the dress. I wouldn’t borrow lingerie from anyone, and I couldn’t afford the silk kind, but I’d done my best.

Well, here I was. I resisted rubbing my sweaty palms on the silk skirt and started up the steps.

I didn’t know the man standing at the top of the stairs. I should be sorry, because that would have tested if anyone recognized me, but relief swept through me so my knees started trembling again. I made a pretense of checking inside my purse. “I’m here to see my Uncle Witley,” I said. “He told me to meet him here.” I smiled. “I’m running late, you see.”

“There you are!”

Witley was five and a half feet tall, so with the heels I was a good four inches taller than him. He didn’t seem to mind. He smiled brightly and cocked his head on one side, his wrinkles bunching under his cheek. He must have been overweight once, but now he was left with the skin, which hung from his jaw. His hair, if it was his own, was silver-white. He must be seventy, if not older. Not nimble on his feet, then. He gave me a smile, a “You’ll do” kind of grin.

Oh yes, the words. “I’m here, sir. It’s nice to see you again.”

To my alarm, he hugged me. Now I’m not a huggy kind of person, not even with my family, but needs must. I put my arms around him and tentatively hugged him back. The petals of the red rose boutonniere nuzzled my breasts when I bent to him. He was probably copping a good view from  there. I could handle that. Due to my size, I was used to it.

He pulled away and offered his arm. I took it, and with a nod to the man on the door, I was inside.

What the fuck was I doing?

The first person to greet us was Steve. Oh shit, my evening would be over before it had begun. He would know that Mr. Witley wasn’t my uncle. He’d seen my resume. If I’d had a rich uncle, I’d have had a better job. Steve was big on sponsors.

But he concentrated on the man by my side. “Mr. Witley, it’s so good to see you. We’ve save you a place at the top table.”

Witley shook his head. “Just put me by the side. I ain’t making no speeches tonight, and I want to sit where I can sneak out for a quick smoke.” He patted my arm. “My niece will take care of me.”

“Ah, yes.” Steve glanced at me. I flinched, but he didn’t notice. He scanned my boobs, and the short skirt, paying little attention to my face. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, with little interest, and turned back to flattering his guest.

While Mr. Witley wasn’t the guest of honor, he must have been loaded, because Steve talked to him until Witley stifled a yawn behind the back of his hand. I guessed he’d give Steve a sizable donation to go away. Steve talked about the projects, how important they were, and the kudos the donors would get. The museum was full of honor rolls that nobody ever read, except maybe the cleaners who dusted them every day.

“I need to sit down,” he said, when nothing else deterred Steve. “And I think your guest of honor is arriving.”

He was. As Witley drew me away, Troy Cooper strolled through the doors.

Even as we moved to the back of the hall, where the doors opened to the gallery they were using as a dining room, I heard the buzz, the way people greeted him with delighted cries, even a few shrieks from the younger women.

I glanced back. He was immaculately dressed, his tux molded to his lean, muscular body. The scruff was gone, and his hair was smoothly brushed back. He had a hand in his pants pocket, and he looked like he’d walked off the set of a perfume ad.

My damned heart started beating harder again. Not because I thought he’d recognize me looking like this, but because of the power of his presence.

Witley pinched my arm. “Hey, girlie, don’t forget who you’re with.”

I pasted on a smile. “Of course not.”

“I’m paying you good money, and if you do it right, I’ll remember you.” He touched my hair. “I like this color. It makes a change from my usual blonde. And you’ve got a woman’s figure.”

“Thank you.” I felt like a thing, rather than a woman. But that was what I was being paid for, right?

Strength filled me. I could do this. I was used to being ignored and passed over. How different was this?

*****

M
adame X was right about the hands. Witley was everywhere. I had to use one hand for my food, and the other to fend him off, move his hand away from my leg, and stop him diving into my neckline. He was jovial, in a good mood, joking with the other people at the table, none of which I knew, thank God.

Steve sat at the top table with Troy Cooper. After dessert, Troy got up to speak. Instinctively I looked up at him, even as I moved Witley’s hand off my thigh. Our eyes met. Even at this distance, around ten feet, they were still astonishingly blue. I could drown in those eyes. Oh, fuck, had he recognized me? No, of course not. I looked completely different before, and he’d only kissed me to get a rise from me. He probably didn’t remember anything.

Troy turned to face his audience and smoothly started to talk.

He spoke without notes, and with a fluency I could only envy. I swear not one “Um” passed his lips in the five minutes he used to remind people they were here for a good cause, and we should be proud of the museum. He even talked about the pavement I was working on. It turned out his father had donated a hefty amount to the restoration fund. Probably paid for some of the mortar I’d scattered that morning.

I didn’t think he’d been paying attention, but he had. Unless he’d done a bit of research first.

“Impressive,” Witley murmured. “Now let’s see him clean up his own life.”

Nice. So a man who was genuinely trying to reform didn’t get a shot at it? For all I knew this was just another pose, but I didn’t know, did I?

I wanted to eat my dessert. The ice cream on the top was melting.

Troy sat down and I tucked into my dessert just as Steve got to his feet to announce the next guest to speak. I put down my fork. Witley didn’t.

After dinner, people remained sitting. The gallery held a large exhibit, an Assyrian statue as the centerpiece, which left no room for dancing. I had to be grateful for some things. I’d imagined that the conversation would be scintillating and knowledgeable, but it was anything but that. Nasty little chat about people who weren’t here, or business deals that I hadn’t the faintest idea how to respond to. I smiled and nodded and acted dumb, only adding anything when someone asked me, which they did once.

Witley didn’t want me for my intelligence and my conversational skills, that was for sure. He didn’t want a companion, either. He wanted a doll to fondle. Which he did. As the wine bottles at the center of the table increased, so did the blatant nature of his attempts to grope me. He wasn’t fussy where his hands landed, either. I had to stop myself squirming, and I wished I’d worn pants, except I doubted Madame X would have approved.

I couldn’t do this, not any more. I felt soiled, ugly and completely irrelevant. I’d take the money I’d earned and tell Madame X I couldn’t do this.

But there was worse to come. At eleven, Witley got to his feet, so I had to as well. Would I get paid for the extra hour?

He excused us both. “I’m not as young as I was. I need to get to my bed.” He slapped my ass. “Don’t we, baby?”

No, oh no.
Bile rose to choke me and I had to suck in a deep breath to stop myself gagging. I forced a sickly smile.

He went first, not as steadily as he’d come. I had to follow him. I’d call the nice taxi driver and have him waiting for me, or just get into the nearest cab. I didn’t care — I paused. I might be panicking. The winks and ass slapping could be for show.

Leaving our fellow guests sniggering, he headed for the door, weaving unsteadily, stopping to laugh and make lascivious jokes to the people who greeted him. They smiled indulgently at him, sparing me barely a glance, which I suppose I should be grateful for.

I felt open and disposable. Worst of all, I felt cheap.

By the time we reached the exit, I was almost in tears. If Cindy did this every night, she earned every penny and then some.

We went down the stairs, smiling and greeting people. I fell back a step, but Witley grabbed my hand and dragged me after him. When we got to the hall, he drew me aside. Several people were within hearing distance, but he didn’t seem to care. His jowls were patchy and shook as he talked to me. “Now you listen to me. I bought you and I’m getting my money’s worth. You’re done at midnight, but until then you’re mine.”

I didn’t quite manage to smile, although I tried. “You’d like to go clubbing, perhaps?” I wouldn’t put it past the old goat.

“No. We’re going to my hotel and you’re giving me a show.” He winked, a gruesome sight. “You could make the dead stand up.”

“No!” I gasped the word, stumbling back.

He gripped my wrist so hard he’d bruise. “Yes. Or I won’t use that agency again. You’re ten a penny, you whores. Even if you don’t stand on street corners.”

There it was, the premise in a nutshell. All that posturing, that make nice shit meant nothing. Less than nothing. I was there to please the customer, and if that meant fucking him, then that was what I’d do.

Except I wouldn’t. I hadn’t signed for it, and I wouldn’t do it. Oh fuck, why had I allowed Cindy to talk me into this?

I ripped my wrist away, ignoring the burning pain and stumbled back.

Those fucking heels. I’d forgotten them in my anxiety, and I tripped, and fell back.

Right into a pair of strong arms. A scent I knew wreathed around me, alarming and soothing me at the same time.

“I thought it was you,” Troy Cooper said. “You make a habit of falling into my arms, don’t you?”

*****

I
whimpered. I heard myself, and I couldn’t believe it. I’d lost it, completely gone. Next I’d be yelling for help. But by then I was shaking, driven beyond what I could bear.

And then something else struck me, knocking the breath from my body. Troy Cooper had recognized me. Oh fuck, I could lose my job over this. Especially when I heard Steve’s voice. “Is there a problem? Ah, gentlemen, I see you know each other.” He came into view, staring at me. I saw the moment he recognized me. So much for a dye job and contact lenses. “Miss Norris? I don’t believe you received an invitation.” The ass always insisted on “Miss,” although I preferred “Ms.”

Gently, Troy moved me to stand beside him and tucked my hand through his elbow. “She’s with me, Steve, but I didn’t want to spoil your seating arrangements so I asked Mr. Witley to take care of her while I spoke. I believe my invitation included a guest?” He glared at Witley. “My father sends his regards.”

Whatever that meant, it kept Witley from spilling the truth to my boss. “Ah, yes, I haven’t seen him for a while. Give him my best wishes, won’t you?”

He sidled off. I tried not to groan with relief. No tip, but it could have been so much worse. I probably still had a job.

“I didn’t know you knew each other,” Steve said, his gaze going from Troy to me and back again.

Troy hugged me to his side. “We didn’t until you introduced us this morning.” He glanced at me, warning in his eyes. “I didn’t have a guest, and I didn’t want to disrupt your plans, so Witley offered to look after her while I was doing my guest of honor thing. Witley and my dad have known each other for years.”