Page 23 of Cruel Offer
“If you say so,” Sebastian says doubtfully.
“What?” Thinking about Piper-Lily took me out of the moment, and I have no idea what we’re talking about.
“I just think that keeping your emotions out of the equation while living in the same house and fucking every night is going to be…difficult,” Sebastian says carefully.
“We’re not fucking,” I protest. Just doing everything but. “She’s a virgin and it’s going to stay that way until her auction date.”
Theo, Becker, and Sebastian look at each other. It’s quiet. Theo busts up laughing first, then they all join in. Even Becker, who rarely laughs out loud at anything.
“Jesus, Nate. You seriously think you’re going to keep your dick out of a woman who looks like that?” Theo scoffs.
Oh, I didn’t say that exactly. Nor do I intend to share what I do have in mind. I have plans for Piper-Lily that will give me all the pleasure I’m craving while keeping her virgin status completely intact. There’s plenty I can show her about giving and receiving pleasure that doesn’t require popping her cherry.
Heat floods my groin.
Becker crumples his list. “Enough of this.Good luck, Nate. I still think you’re an idiot and please keep QG’s name out of it if things go south. Moving on.”
We talk financials and the status of the company’s investments, the running of The Regent here in New York and The Quattuor Club down in the Bahamas, and other day-to-day business things. My mind keeps straying to Piper-Lily, though. Tonight I have a client dinner. Then a client breakfast first thing in the morning. My new toy will be at my house at noon with her things, ready to fill the space with her sweet perfume. I’m edgy at the thought of waiting so long. I want her therenow.
“Let’s talk more about the fruit guy. Where are you at with the terms, Nate?”
Becker looks at me as if he knows my mind is elsewhere. Piper-Lily hasn’t even moved in yet and I’m already consumed with how much I’m going to enjoy this arrangement.
With absolutely zero feelings involved.
10
PIPER-LILY
Windemere meetsme at the door of his brownstone at exactly noon. He’s dressed in a business suit, this time with his button down fastened all the way to his throat, unfortunately. No delicious flash of smooth, tan chest for me today.
Though maybe that’s for the best. I can’t be going all googly eyed and weak in the knees around him the very first day I move in. I’m already anxious enough about the whole thing.
I had to talk myself into going through with the arrangement all morning. Packing my things and saying goodbye to my mother were more difficult than I anticipated. After everything I’ve gone through over the last few months, getting away from my parents had seemed like a really good idea. Especially my father. But actually walking out the door and knowing I wouldn’t be coming back for at least half a year was a whole other story.
My mother hovered around my bedroom door as I tossed clothes into my suitcases and collected my toiletries. But she didn’t come inside, and she didn’t offer to help. Ithink watching me prepare to leave was hard enough on her.
Not only that, but I know she can’t be happy about living in the guest cottage alone with my dad, and I don’t blame her. I still think she should just leave him, but I can’t force her. Hopefully giving her time to consider her options will make her more open to the idea when I bring it up again. Because I haven’t spoken my final words about the subject.
Not even close.
What would she think about what I’m doing? I can’t tell her, of course. There’s a part of me that wishes I could, that we have the kind of relationship where I could tell her everything. But I don’t want to add more weight to her shoulders and be the reason even more deep lines form around her eyes.
After hauling my suitcases to the car Windemere had sent for me (I told Mom it was my Uber to the train station—off to a great start with my new life of lies, aren’t I?), I gave her a brief hug and promised to call soon. And then I climbed into the back of the car and waved at her as I pulled away. I had half a thought to stop and see Nana before heading into the city, but I knew if I did, I would probably break down and not go through with the plan. I spent most of the almost three-hour drive trying to convince myself that I had no reason to be so nervous about the arrangement.
But the second I saw him at the door, taking up space with that tight, lean body and those intense brown eyes, I realized that the reason I’m so nervous is because this man could devour me. I am completely at his mercy for the nextsix months, and if I base our interactions on his looks alone, I’m going to be in trouble. Once I get my hands on him, I might never stop wanting more.
The way he’s looking at me right now suggests he might be having the same thoughts.
After he instructs the driver to leave my bags in the front foyer, I stand there awkwardly while Mr. Windemere looks me over, that familiar smirk playing on his lips. But I can’t tell if it’s a good smirk or a bad smirk, and I almost expect him to tell me he’s changed his mind and turn me away.
My confidence is shot after what happened at the club. Yes, I signed a legally binding contract with Windemere, but it doesn’t erase the fear that he’s going to reject me, too.
“The domestic staff’s entry is around the corner,” he says coolly. “Follow me.”
We go out the front, down the steps, and then around the side of the brownstone to a simple white door at the rear of the building with a keypad mounted over the deadbolt.
“This is the only door that you use to come and go, understood?” he says.
