by Zoe Norman
“The horror!” His eyes widen. “Well,” he starts before he touches my cheek, “I can do better than that.” He leans down and kisses me. My knees weaken as I part my lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss. Holy shit—this guy can kiss! I hear a slow waltz playing in my head. Our mouths remain in perfect hold while our tongues dance skillfully as if this was their millionth waltz, not their first.
Mitch pulls away abruptly. He stares down into my eyes again, his left thumb strumming across my bottom lip.
“What?” I ask, feeling self-conscious.
“You’re different,” he finally says after a few more moments of awkward silence.
“What do you mean?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Come. Let’s look at the contract.” He leads me over to the sofa, which has a bajillion pillows on it. It looks nice, but you have to pull off half of them just to sit. I scan the room while Mitch gets the contract out of his briefcase. Must remember to call him Mitchell! God forbid! What’s up with that, anyway?
The Ames is quite the contemporary hotel. Not too overbearing, though—there’s more softness to it than a sterile feel. The walls are gray. There’s a beautiful, white, decoratively engraved fireplace. I’m not sure if it’s real, though. The room is very calming, with gray, white, and deep purplish tones. I’d love to curl up on the chaise lounge over in the corner and read a good book.
“Charlotte . . . here.” He hands me a manila envelope. I turn it over and open it up. The first paper I see is a non-disclosure agreement. I look up at him. “This is to protect both of us, really.” He leans in until we’re almost cheek-to-cheek as he looks on with me. “Basically, this states that you can tell people about us. However, you cannot tell anyone about our business arrangement, or our real one.” I can’t help my confusion or the fact that it’s all over my face. “You’ll understand in a minute. Do you have any questions about what you can or can’t say?” he asks, preparing to hand me the pen. I read it over. “C’mon, Charlotte.” Mitch sighs impatiently. “I just explained it to you. Sign so we can move on.”
“Excuse me.” I look over at him. ‘Do you have a lot of contracts handed to you at work that you have to make decisions on?”
“Sometimes several a day. Why?”
“Do you read them over, or do you just go by whatever your associates tell you?”
I look back down at the paper.
“I read them over. That’s different. It’s business,” he says. I jerk my head back up and give him “The Look,” the one that says, “what the hell do you think this is?” “Yeah, okay, but you haven’t even gotten to the contract yet.” He points for emphasis.
“Pen.” I hold out my hand. He gives it to me and I quickly sign. I hand the NDA back to him and move on to the contract.
It’s only a page long. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I find this odd. Instead of questioning it, I decide to read.
Holy shit! I jump up out of my seat and walk over to the fireplace to keep reading. Most people need to sit when they receive life-altering information—not me! I need to feel the ground beneath my feet.
“Charlotte?” Mitch walks up behind me.
“Shh.” I wave my hand and continue to read. I feel his arms slip around my waist. His lips fall to the back of my neck, gradually working their way to the side.
“Baby, it’ll be so good, I promise,” he murmurs between kisses. Wait! Did Mr. Formal just call me baby?
“So I can’t have any other clients?” I ask.
“No. I’m your only client, and as you can see,” he says, pointing to the retainer fee of $25,000, “you’re well compensated for it.”
I turn to him. “And this is a monthly fee?”
“Yes. Did you read it all?” He flicks the paper.
“Yes . . . but . . . I’m not quite sure what to make of it. Am I right in that you’re contracting me to be your girlfriend?” I wince, unsure.
“You are very right. Come. Let’s sit down and I’ll explain this in my words—not my lawyer’s.” He grabs my hand and leads me back to the couch. I sit and cross one leg over the other. Leaning my elbow on the back of the sofa, I rest my head against my hand.
“Okay?” he asks. I nod. “The reason I’m doing this is because I’m the owner and CEO of Colton Technologies. Unless you’re big into cars and technology for their parts, you probably haven’t heard of us,” he says.
“Actually, I have.”
“You have?” He appears taken aback. “Did you Google or Wiki me?”
“Not you, your company. I had no idea you were the owner. I was helping my dad do research for his stock portfolio. You have a very impressive company, Mr. Colton.” I smile.
“Yes, I think so.” A look of pride flashes across his face. “Then you know that we serve more than a hundred countries. I’m always traveling, leaving no time for the whole courting process. I take a girl out on a date, then I don’t see her for two months. It doesn’t go over too well. And if she does stick it out, it’s usually for my money. If it’s not about money and she actually likes me, she nags me about never being there. So . . .” He takes a deep breath. “I’ve decided enough is enough. I know what I want and if I have to pay to get it . . . so be it.” He slaps his knee.
“But Mitchell, you’re a good-looking guy and you seem nice to be around—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Charlotte, I want to know every inch of your body. I will tonight. There’s no waiting, there’s no wondering, and there’s no bullshit. I don’t have time for that stuff. I let you know when I’m in town and I expect your focus to be on me. It’s simple, Charlotte. You’ve got it made. Even if I’m a complete asshole—you still have it made.” His argument is compelling.
I glance back down to the paper. “This says something about a house.”
“I have a house in Andover. You will live there as long as we’re under agreement.” His left hand rests on my outer right thigh and he squeezes. “You get a house, twenty-five thousand a month plus double the going rate for each night we spend together, and health insurance.”
“Uh . . . health insurance?” I ask.
“Yes.” He laughs a little. “I can’t just give you a personal check each month for you to deposit in your bank. It’ll raise red flags with the IRS. You’ll be on my company’s payroll, hence the medical benefits.”
“Do you offer a 401(k) plan, and how much do you match?” I ask seriously, as one would during contract negotiations.
“You’re quite the smartass, aren’t you?” He grins and squeezes my thigh again.
“Well, your ad did say you wanted an educated woman.” I shrug. He laughs lightly and rolls his eyes at me.
“Do you have any other questions?” he asks as he plays with the back of my hair. I feel him slowly pulling a pin out.
“What are you doing?” I instinctively reach back.
“Is your hair long?” He pulls another pin.
“Yes. Stop.” I lean forward.
“Please try to leave your hair down for me, and never cut it shorter than just below your shoulders.”
“Mitchell! It took Ava almost two hours to do my hair.” I try to push his hand away.
“I want it down,” he states calmly. “Who’s Ava?” he asks as he continues with the destruction of her masterpiece.
“One of my best friends,” I reply in defeat.
“The one who texted you earlier?” he asks. I nod.
“Does she know what you are doing here . . . the nature of your business?” He taps my leg. “Turn,” he commands.
“No. She knows I’m here for a date, but she doesn’t know what kind.” I uncross my legs and turn away, giving him full access to my hair. I can’t help but smile at how careful he’s being not to pull it. It’s kind of sweet.
“Charlotte.”
“Yes?”
“As soon as I’m done here, I’m going to bring you into the bedroom, whether you sign the contract or not. If you have any questions, now’s th
e time to ask.” His voice is soft, yet assertive. I feel like there are little gymnasts in my stomach, flying around a bar, getting ready to do a triple mound—or whatever the hell it is gymnasts do!
“Right!” I finally find my voice. “I have my own home. I won’t need to live in yours.”
“I want you to live there. It’s part of the condition.” He stops pulling pins out.
“I can’t. I won’t. But I am willing to compromise.”
“Compromise how?” I can tell he’s working hard at not becoming irritated—his voice is calm, but the words are obviously coming through clenched teeth.
“When you call me, I’ll make sure I am at your house for when you arrive and stay with you the entire time.”
I wait for him to shoot my offer down. Instead, he returns to pulling pins out.
“I’ll deal with that for now, but it’s not off the table. We will revisit this subject later.” He tugs on my loose hair for emphasis. I decide it’s best to carry on with my other questions.
“You mentioned you will be paying me double the going rate each day we spend together.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” It seems excessive. I mean, I’m sure I can make it on twenty-five thousand a month. Christ . . . is he related to my Aunt Clara?
“I’ve learned that loyalty comes with a big price tag. You sign that contract, Charlotte, and you become mine. I don’t want another man’s hands on you, whether he’s a client or not. I’m willing to pay you a lot of money to guarantee that you comply.” He runs his fingers through my hair, combing out the curls he’s released.
“Have you done this before? If so, how long do you usually stay with the same woman?” I try to hide the sadness I feel for him.
“Just once, and it didn’t work out well. Apparently, I didn’t pay her enough to keep her loyal. To be quite honest, I realized she wasn’t really for me.” He sighs, then continues on with my hair.
“How so?” I turn my head to look at him.
“I wasn’t picky enough, wasn’t clear about my expectations. But I chalk it up as a learning experience. By the way, I will be having my people randomly check in on you to make sure you comply.” He stops again, I think to wait for my reaction to this information.
“From what I’ve read, your expectations are for me to be your girlfriend in every way—not just sex.” I move along in my questioning, noting that he has almost all of the pins out.
“Yes. I want a companion, too. It’s not just about sex. Although I should warn you, I have quite the salacious appetite. I’m sure, given your line of work, that won’t be a problem for you.” Huh? Oh, right. I almost forgot, I’m supposed to be a high priced whore—only I’m not, and now, thanks to Mitch, I won’t be. Well, I’ll be high-priced, but not a whore. I can’t very well be a whore if I’m sleeping with only one man. Right? These moral conflicts, I fear, will be the death of me.
“I’m sure I’ll be able to keep up with you.” I smile.
“Does that mean you’ll sign?” he asks, grabbing my chin and turning my head to face him again.
“How long is the contract for, and will there be others around the world?” The last of my questions—for now.
“Indefinitely, as long as we are both happy and content with it. And no, you will be the only one. It’s only fair of me to bestow the same courtesy I expect from you. Besides, like I said, my free time is limited.” He pulls out the last pin. “Beautiful,” he whispers before undoing the braids at the top.
“Can I have the pen?” I hold my hand out.
“I need to see your physical and blood results first.” He hands me my purse. “You did bring them, right?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” I sit straight up. I didn’t even realize I was leaning against him. I open my purse and hand him the papers.
I remember Dr. Timmins’s look of confusion when I asked to be tested for every STD known to man. I was prepared for that, considering the man has known me most of my life. I told him I wanted peace of mind, what with Josh’s odd behavior during the last year of our marriage. Like a lightbulb flashing on, he got it.
“Here’s mine.” He hands me the paper. “Are you on birth control?”
“Yes.” I nod and scan the paper.
“And you’re good about taking it properly?”
“Yes.” Geez . . . this is actually starting to sound like a business deal. I feel my stomach turn. “I get the shot.”
“Oh, okay. Good.” He nods. Taking the contract from me, he quickly scratches out the bit about my living arrangements and revises it to say what we agreed upon. He initials it and hands it back to me. “Before you sign, I feel the need to remind you again that you will be at my beck and call. I also want to make it clear that it will never be more than this. I will never want more. I will never give more. I’m not trying to sound like a cocky or arrogant bastard, but if you find you feel something for me and want more—our contract will be through. I don’t do the marriage thing, I don’t do the kid thing, and I certainly won’t do the falling-in-love thing. Sorry, I just want to make myself clear.” He holds the pen back from me.
I smirk playfully and grab the pen. “Cocky bastard,” I murmur loud enough for him to hear me.
“Smartass!” he murmurs back, grabbing the pen and paper from me so he can sign as well.
“Now what?” I widen my eyes and bite back my smile.
“Now,” he says, standing and grabbing my hand to pull me up with him, “I finally get to peel you out of this dress.” He grasps my lips with his and unzips my dress at the same time.
“Don’t you want to know my favorite color?” I pull away and tease.
“No.” He yanks me back.
“Flower? School I went to? Names of my sisters? My philosophy on life?” I keep my hands on his shoulders, holding him at arm’s length to continue my teasing.
He takes in a deep breath. “There’s only one thing I want to know right now.” He pulls my hands away and holds them behind my back.
“What’s that?”
“What you sound like when you come.” He pulls me aggressively to him, not allowing an inch between us. His mouth lingers over mine, his eyes telling me to knock it the fuck off. My only response to his behavior is my erratic breathing.
“Well,” I say before I kiss him, “good luck with that.” Good luck indeed! I can’t remember the last time I came naturally.
“Good luck? You don’t think I’ll be able to make you come?” He arches his brows.
“Probably not, but since you’re paying me so well, I’ll make sure to fake in a believable manner,” I say thoughtfully.
“I don’t want you to fake anything!” he snaps. Except our relationship. A slow smile crosses his lips, and his temper seems to abate. “So . . . a challenge?”
“Quite.” I sigh with a mixture of knowledge and disappointment.
“Hmm . . .” A flicker of amusement hits his eyes. “Have a little faith, baby.” He nudges my nose with his before planting a quick, sweet kiss on my lips. Bringing my hands back around to my front, he continues to lead me toward the bedroom.
“What happened to the formality you insisted on, Mr. Colton? That’s twice you’ve called me ‘baby.’” I tug on his hand.
“You’ve signed the contract . . . you’re officially my baby.” He tugs back, forcing me onward at a quicker pace.
“You called me ‘baby’ before I signed,” I remind him.
“Yes, but I knew you would capitulate to the terms quickly, given the position you are in,” he says as he enters the bedroom.
“And what kind of position do you think I’m in?”
I yank my hands away swiftly. Honestly, what an offensive thing to say!
“Charlotte,” he says, pulling me to him, “I don’t know exactly what position you are in outside of this room.” His fingers push my hair behind my ears. “But . . . in this room . . . I can think of several positions you will find yourself in tonight, baby.” He licks his lips before c
laiming mine again. Holy shit! He certainly doesn’t fall short on saying the hottest things. Effortlessly, I may add.
Slowly, my lips part enough to allow his tongue entrance. A small moan escapes my throat as his tongue explores my mouth skillfully. I feel him slip my dress off of my shoulders.
Crap, this is it—the moment Charlotte McKendrick, aka “Pollyanna,” turns into a dirty whore! No, no! You are not dirty! Stop it, Charley! And one John certainly doesn’t make you a whore. Christ—did I just call him a “John”? I’ve been watching way too much Law & Order: SVU!
“Very rude, Charlotte,” Mitch says as he kisses down my neck.
“What?” I refocus.
“Exactly. This is your one and only warning. I’m paying you way too much for you to get lost in your thoughts.” His eyes find mine and he waits for my nod of understanding.
“Sorry.” I frown as I reach up to the top of his dress shirt and undo the top button, then continue to the next. Mitch watches my every move, like unbuttoning his shirt is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
“Stop,” I finally say.
“Stop?” He chucks my chin so I’m looking up at him. “Charlotte . . . is this part of your ‘act’? The innocence . . . the reluctance?” He seems unsure. I’m almost certain I already suck at my new “job”—and not the kind of sucking that it involves.
“Do you want me to stop?” I play into his idea.
“No . . . actually, I’m finding it to be quite the turn-on.” His grin is laced with surprise. Aha! I don’t suck at my job! Well, metaphorically speaking. “I almost feel as if I’m about to take away your virginity.” He chuckles a little.
“Oh.” I laugh. “Well, I can assure you, that’s not the case.” I don’t know why, but I feel even calmer with him than before. There’s just something about him. Maybe it’s the whole knight-in-shining-armor thing. I’m relieved and beyond grateful. He and his little contract will be saving me from God knows what kind of trauma I may have endured. I slip my hands inside his unbuttoned shirt and slide them up to his shoulders, slowly pushing it off them. I step out of my dress and toe it to the side. Mitch reaches his hand around the back of my neck, bringing my hair around to sit on my shoulder. He leans down. His lips trail kisses down and into the curve of my neck.