by Jenika Snow
“I never once claimed you were, and that isn’t what I want from you, not only at least.” He wasn’t showing any emotion, and that angered her even more.
She stood, tossed the contract on the table, and went to leave. Fuck him, and fuck this job.
“I didn’t take you for the drama kind of woman, Sorcha.”
She looked over her shoulder at him, felt her face heat because he was so fucking calm, and turned to face him again. “I’m not doing drama, Mr. Hartford. In fact, I am doing the opposite of what I really want to do, which is reach across this table and slap your face.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in amusement, and she curled her nails into her palms hard enough that she wouldn’t be surprised if she broke skin. “Why not just ask one of the many women you’ve slept with to do this? Lord knows you wouldn’t have to pay them a thing to be in your bed.” God, she felt sick, like trashy and worthless because this man was trying to have her sign a contract where she would be selling her body for a specific amount of time.
“Sit down, Sorcha, and let me explain.” He hadn’t moved from his position, but she actually found herself gripping the back of the chair and moving around it to sit down. If nothing else she wanted to hear why he would even think she’d be up for something like this, and why he wanted her out of all people. “I could have many women in my bed, and certainly wouldn’t have to pay them anything that wasn’t for their meal and a few glasses of wine. But that’s not what I want. What I want is you.”
“But why?” She was so fucking confused. She was far from the model type female, and those had been the women she had seen Rian Hartford with in the news and tabloids.
“Let’s put aside the fact that you could use the money, right?” he asked, and she shrugged, feeling herself like this puppet on a string, and he was the one controlling the damn thing. “I know of your money problems, but that isn’t why I chose you. You’re not a charity case, though I’m sure the thought has crossed your mind.”
She didn’t respond, because although that tiny sliver of a thought had gone though her head, her biggest one was that she wasn’t a whore that could be bought. “My body isn’t for sale, and that is what I would be doing if I signed this piece of shit.” She tossed the contract more towards his way, and this dark mask covered his face.
“Did I ever call you a whore?” he said deeply, menacingly almost. Without giving her a chance to respond he started speaking again. “If I wanted a woman that would lie back and spread her legs for me for a few hundred dollars I’d have no trouble finding one. In fact I could find one that would do it for free, Sorcha.”
“Then what? Just get on with it, because frankly I should have been long gone, not listening to this bullshit.” Fuck her hangover, and fuck him and his pompous ass that thought money could buy him whatever he wanted.
“That’s why I wanted you.”
She knitted her brows. “What?” He totally didn’t answer the question on why he wanted her specifically, and instead was being cryptic again.
“I picked you because you don’t put up with my bullshit. You do, but I can see in your face, and the way you hold yourself that the majority of the time that you want to slap me, curse at me, and quit.”
Yes, that was all true, but still it didn’t make any sense on why a man like him, so dominating in every aspect of his life, wanted a woman that was clearly not a submissive in all things. She had never rolled over for a guy, and sure as hell wasn’t about to start now. Sorcha was the one to lean in now, and the table was smaller, intimate even, and so her face was pretty close to his. “I’m not just going to give you what you want, subject myself to your nasty sexual fetishes, and be your little slut for the next seven days. I may need money, but I don’t need to earn it that way.”
Before she could move he stood, and that put her right in line of view with his massive erection. She widened her eyes at the sight, but couldn’t even move as shock filled her. His dick strained against the material of his jeans, and she swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. He was … huge.
“It turns me on that you talk back, that you don’t put up with my bullshit, and it’s because of those reasons, and my own selfish desires, that make me want to have you, Sorcha.” He placed his hands flat on the table, bent at the waist, and put his face close to hers. “A part of you hates me, and rightfully so, but there is also another part of you that didn’t reject my offer outright.” He looked right in her eyes, and she got lost in the icy blue depths. “That other part is intrigued, aroused even by the thought of signing yourself away to me. Isn’t that right?” He was taunting her, mocking her and her feelings, but he didn’t know her at all, not in the six months that she had been at his beck and call.
She stood, gritted her teeth, and refused to acknowledge what he was saying. But the truth was he was right. There was a strong part of her that was curious as to what it would be like to be his, for no other reason than for the fact he wanted her. Maybe this was all just a bullshit, but elaborate, scheme for him to fuck her. He had the money to drop like this, but he didn’t need to, that was for sure.
“I won’t ever be yours, Mr. Hartford.” She gripped her purse in her hand and turned to leave the office. She most likely wouldn’t have a job come Monday, but if this was the shit she had to work with, screw it. She’d waitress at the coffee shop if she had to, but she wouldn’t do what he wanted. She reached for the handle, but his deep voice stopped her once again. He had this uncanny ability to do that, and she hated it, but secretly wanted more.
“Even if you decide not to sign the contract, you have a job.”
She closed her eyes, hated that although he had just offered up a dick proposal, he still had a little bit of decency in him. Or maybe this was still part of the game? She didn’t respond, but before she knew what was happening he was right behind her. Sorcha felt his body heat slam into her, felt his warm, humid breath brush along the nape of her neck, and felt herself actually tremble. The feelings that bombarded her were so damn intense she couldn’t control her breathing. She went from pissed off to aroused in seconds flat.
Then the asshole pressed his erection into her lower back, dug the fucking thing into her, and she felt like she might pass out. This was so going against company policy. Hell, this totally put sexual harassment in the workplace to a whole different level.
“Just think about it, Sorcha.”
Her breath became shallow, and her desire for this man heightened. The feeling of his dick on her lower back, so hard and big, had her panties wet. And then he reached out, gripped the handle, right over her hand, and turned it to open the door. She stumbled out, glanced over her shoulder to see him leaning against the frame smirking, and faced forward again. Once inside the elevator she closed her eyes and rested her head on the wall behind her. This had to be a dream, or a nightmare. Heck, she had to pinch herself to make sure this was actually happening. She knew she had no intentions of signing any contract, because no matter how much money he offered, she was no man’s property. But even thinking that had her mind faltering slightly, because the thought of being Rian’s for a week, did have a very dark, tempting quality to it.
Chapter Five
Rian sat on the back porch of his apartment and stared at Central Park that was right across from him. It was Saturday evening, and all he had thought about since he spoke with Sorcha earlier today was … her. She was a take no shit girl, but underneath that hard veneer he saw the woman she really was. She may say she would never submit to a man, but there was a definite part of her that was curious. He wasn’t even thinking about BDSM for what he liked in the sexual sense, but he could assume why she would think he was into really kinky shit. Although he on occasion enjoyed restraining his sexual partners, it wasn’t something he practiced constantly. The few women that came forward and spilled about what a bastard he had been for not wanting more, were usually the ones that thought they could change him. He just wanted her in any way she’d let him have
her, and because of that he felt a little out of control. Rian was always in control. Always. But with her he felt different, felt like there was this pull. In reality he didn’t know if he liked that feeling, or hated her for making him feel less than in control.
“Mr. Hartford, a Miss Marshall is here requesting you presence.”
Rian glanced over his shoulder at Theodore, a man that had worked for his father back in the day, and now worked for him. Rian scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling annoyed at knowing Beatrice had shown up. He contemplated having Theodore tell her he wasn’t seeing anyone tonight, but he knew how persistent she was.
“Would you like me to send her away?” Theodore asked, his wrinkled face showing no emotions. He was old, but he didn’t take shit from anyone, least of all a woman like Beatrice Marshall.
“No, I better deal with her.” Rian stood. “You’ve let her into the building?”
“Yes, sir. She was already making a fuss, so I thought instead of making a scene I’d let her up given the hour, and because I think she is a bit intoxicated.”
“Smart on your part. She can be … dramatic, and I’m sure she’s drunk.” He made his way back inside and to the front door. He’d planned on meeting her in the foyer right outside of his door, because he didn’t want her in the house, but as soon as he opened the door she nearly fell into him.
“Rian.” She dragged out his name in a slurred voice and started running her hands over his chest. “I’ve missed you.”
“Beatrice, you’re drunk, and not welcome here.” He gently pushed her away, and she stumbled back against the door, shutting it.
She frowned in a dramatic and false way, and then straightened. Her light pink Chanel business skirt suit was wrinkled, and out of place, and he wrinkled his nose at her.
“You smell like a bar, Beatrice.” He smoothed his hands over his shirt, and then took a step back and then crossed his arms over his chest. “I told you that there isn’t anything more between us aside from what we shared.”
And this was why the contract, if Sorcha agreed, was a brilliant idea. Sorcha may act like she was totally against it, but he’d bet his empire that she was lying in bed right now thinking about it, contemplating actually going through with it, and that was the doubt he needed her to feel. If she signed the contract legally she’d be his for that time, and after the term of the contract she would have no legal standings to converse with him in more than a professional manner, not unless she wanted legal ramifications.
“You said you were done, but I could see in those eyes of yours that you wanted more.” She moved closer, shuffled really, on those ridiculously high stilettos of hers, and rested a hand on the center of his chest. “I know we had one hell of a time, Rian.” She looked at his face, and he could see that although she was drunk her make-up was still impeccably perfect. Most likely she had touched it up before coming here unannounced. “Did we have a good time, a wild time?” She smiled, tying to be seductively, but it made him slightly nauseated. “I was open to whatever you wanted to do, Ran.” She started moving her hand lower down his chest. “And even after you kicked me out of your life only a couple of weeks later, I didn’t run to the press about the type of things you were into.” Right before she reached his belt he grabbed her wrist and moved away from her.
“You wouldn’t go to the press because your precious reputation, as well as your family’s, would have been tarnished.” He was tired and bored of this conversation. “I think it’s time for you to leave. Do you need a ride home?”
She grinned again. “Why yes, Mr. Hartford, I do need a ride.”
“Theodore?” Rian called out.
“Yes, sir?”
“Please have the car send Miss Marshall home.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Rian, why you insist on playing these games is beyond me. If we were to be together our families’ fortunes combined could very well control the real estate and overseas exportation business in the United States.” She had to brace a hand on the wall to steady herself.
“Go home, sleep it off, and please don’t call or come over here again, Beatrice.”
She pouted. “You play hard to get, but you’re a smart man, and I know you’ll come around.”
“Miss Marshall, I’ll escort you out to the car waiting below,” Theodore said and moved toward the door.
“I don’t need a car. I have my limo waiting for me,” she said to Theodore in a snappy, snarky voice, as if she were better than he was.
Rian might have wealth, might be a bastard, and was known as such by anyone that met him, but when it came to people he considered family—Theodore being one of them—he was no better than they were, and wouldn’t let anyone talk down to them.
“Goodbye, Beatrice.” He took her arm in his hand, turned her around, and opened the front door. He all but pushed her out, but gently enough that she wouldn’t fall on her stuck-up face. “And I meant it when I said we’re done. I have no interest in your family’s money, getting into business with them, or going any further with you.”
This dark snarl covered her face, and he knew the alcohol was wearing off, and the bitch that lay beneath the sophisticated and primped up veneer she displayed was coming out.
“I might not be available when you finally get your head out of your ass and see that being with me is the right thing for both of us.” She turned and left, but he didn’t bother watching her leave.
The thing with Beatrice was that she wasn’t interested in being with him, but was somehow thinking that combining their two families by being together, they would somehow become this powerhouse of wealth and control. She had these delusions, and because she wasn’t the type of women to be denied anything, being with her was probably the worst choice he had made. But with a couple of cocktails, and a willing woman that was all but rubbing her pussy and tits on him in front of everyone, Rian had never been one to deny himself. Maybe he was the same as Beatrice, but because of that having anything more to do with her was toxic, and he was smart enough to steer clear. Besides, he had more important things to concentrate on, like one that had to do with Sorcha Case and her agreeing to be his.
****
Sundays should have been relaxing, comforting, and spent not worrying about anything. At least that was how Sorcha saw those days. Instead, she was sitting at her two-seater kitchen table staring at the spread of bills. She had gotten three just yesterday, and the ones that she had already pushed to the side because she hadn’t been able to pay them now loomed like this massive elephant in the room.
“What are you going to do?” Cora asked from across the table.
Sorcha shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. I will have to try to pay off a little bit of the older ones, but no way can I get them all.” She scrubbed her hands over her face, and then grabbed the heavy fall of her hair, took the hair tie wrapped around her wrist, and tied it in a loose, messy ponytail. She then glanced down at the bills again.
“I’ll get us something to drink, because we need to figure out how to dig you out of this hole.” Cora reached across the table, patted her on the hand, and then stood to go into the kitchen.
Sorcha didn’t respond, just nodded and continued to stare at the mountain of bills she was drowning in. After her mother died Sorcha was swamped with the medical bills from the hospital and hospice. It was a never-ending cycle, especially when she got behind on her own bills and obligations. She’d lost everything, her childhood home, her car … everything. So she had moved to this rundown and shitty apartment, gotten the job with Hartford in hopes she could get out of this mess, but in the end she couldn’t, and probably wouldn’t ever, get out of this mess. Not only did she have no one in her life that mattered anymore, aside from Cora, but she had lost her mother, too, and six months later still couldn’t move forward. Every day she was reminded of her loss by these bills.
Cora came back and set a glass of red wine in front of her. She took a seat, stared at Sorcha, and she already knew what
Cora would say.
“No, Cora.”
“Why?” Cora pushed the glass of wine her way, and Sorcha grabbed it and took a long drink.
“Because I am not a whore.”
“No, you’re not, but I don’t believe in things just happening. I believe everything happens for a reason, and I know you do, too.”
She was silent for a moment, thinking about what Cora had said.
“So, you have to just do what he says when he says it?” Cora asked.
She nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty basic, but blanketed so I guess he could do whatever the hell he wanted.”
“That sounds dangerous and kind of scary,” Cora said, but didn’t seem the least bit worried. “And kind of kinky.”
Sorcha rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair, breathing out roughly. “I am sure he’s just as big an ass in the bedroom as he is at the office.”
“I can’t even imagine what assholish things he likes to do.” Cora leaned in close. “Do you think he likes that BDSM stuff?” Cora said softly, as if someone would hear.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but the contract did state that I wouldn’t be hurt. I’d also have to attend any functions that fall during that week.” She closed her eyes and let her head fall back on her neck slightly, thinking about it all.
After she had left Rian’s office she had gone straight home, hoping Cora was still there. Fortunately, her friend had been, and for the next hour she had replayed everything to Cora, not sparing anything, not even when he pressed his dick into her back. But what surprised Sorcha was the fact Cora had outright agreed that being Rian’s was a bad idea. She had been offended for Sorcha, cursed him and called him some pretty vivid names, but she had never actually said don’t do it. “And you think I should sign this contract, and be Rian’s bitch for seven days?” Sorcha asked and leaned back in her seat.