Chapter 13

The way this man holds himself — I've never seen anything like it. I'm so hot for him that I feel dampness between my legs. That's what this man does to me.

If I put the fact aside that he's Alistair Devereaux, I'd be climbing him like a tree. No questions asked.

He's gorgeous, for one. The way he took charge the other night still has my head spinning.

Obviously that's what he likes in the bedroom; to eat pussy. I mean, he said so himself.

I could eat this sweet pussy all night.

The reenactment in my head still has me seeing stars.

Alistair in a suit has nothing on Alistair half naked. I haven't seen his top half because he never got around to taking his shirt off while he was ramming his huge cock down my throat. But if it's anything like the rest of him, I know I won't be disappointed.

There's something about how sure he is about every damn thing. His commanding presence. The way he pretends this attraction is one-sided and I'm some little girl who doesn't know any better. It's amusing. And it also makes me want to surrender to him. It makes me want to beg him to take me, because for some reason I can't explain, I need him.

I need Alistair Devereaux to do what he promised; look after me and ruin me for anyone else.

"Let's cut the bullshit, Charlize. I'm not playing any games." The words come out, but I know I've caught his interest. The man hasn't been able to take his eyes off me all night.

"Fine. Since you don't want me screwing other men for money, you have to compensate me somehow."

He stares at me. "Compensate you?"

"Yes. I'm not a child anymore, Alistair. If you think you can tell me what to do then you're right, for a price that is."

He frowns. I enjoy it when he's frustrated. And if I'm as much of a brat as he says I am, he would've done something about it by now.

"What are you getting at?"

"Oh, I think you know."

"I'm not paying you for sex."

"Who said anything about sex?"

"But you would like me to pay, is that it?"

I give him a small smile. Shifting in my seat I feel the racing of my heart. It's warm in here and I pull back a little to pull my jumper over my head. I fan my hair back off my face as our eyes meet again. I've no idea what he really thinks of me, but if he thinks I might squeal to the press, then he's willing to shell something out. Even if just to make him squirm, it'll be worth it.

I know that I may not be Alistair's biggest fan, but the arsehole is rich. And after what he put me through —and my shitty family, unfortunately he's now wearing the brunt of it.

"Well, I could work for you." In actual fact, I have very little idea of what he does now. But back in the day, he was working for his father's advertising agency. Judging by the Porsche he drove me home in, and his swanky townhouse in South Kensington, it leaves me to believe that he's done pretty well for himself.

And since he's always telling me that he feels so guilty and horrible for leaving me, I figure why not make him pay?

While I don't relish the idea of working for him, he's probably dull enough to pay me a ridiculous sum to quit the bar — not to mention my new sideline.

"Do you have any office skills?" He says it like he truly believes that I don't.

The fact that I haven't had any experience in an office, doesn't even come into the equation. I can do anything that I set my mind to. I've always been able to adapt to any situation, any job. And if I can serve rude, annoying people in hospitality, then I can sure as shit work for Alistair Devereaux. It couldn't be that hard.

Then again, I could always be his sugar baby.

Wouldn't that make his skin crawl? I smile at the idea.

"No, but I'm a fast learner. The only thing is; the going rate for an office bitch these days is a hell of a lot less than a high-class whore." I really hate using that word, but I needed to get my point across. And I did say ‘high-class' — it's not like I'm some cheap broad. Five grand is a lot for one night of debauchery.

He pinches the bridge of his nose like he's exasperated with me. I know I'm giving him hell, but he deserves it.

"I can't wait to hear your going rate."

"Oh, I'm not cheap, Mr. Devereaux. But since you paid for the world"s most expensive blowjob, you probably know that already."

His eyes flash with annoyance and he looks genuinely intrigued when he asks, "Did you buy yourself something nice with my money?"

"Yes, I did. In fact, I think I quite like it."

"Spending my money?"

Who does this arsehole think he is? God's gift to women? "Technically, it's my money. I earned it."

I've got news for him, and it's all bad.

His lips twitch when he says, "You certainly did."

I narrow my eyes. "Are you flirting with me?"

His eyes darken. His jaw is set like steel. And his hands are still clenched into fists on the table. One way or the other, I make him nervous. And I don't think I've ever seen Alistair nervous in my entire life. "No, but I think you are."

He can't deny the tension between us. I don't care what he says. And I kinda like the idea of him being my sugar daddy. Why not? People do it all the time.

Granted, they don't do it with their ex-stepfather, who may very well hate my guts. But no matter, I can't deny the thrill that I got when I was on the High Street today, spending that money. It made me feel good. It made me feel powerful. It made me feel like I could rule the world. Maybe that's naive of me to fill the void that I have with ‘things', but for one indulgent second, I felt completely free. And that's what money buys you.

"So do we have a deal?"

"I'll think it over." At least that's not a no. Then he surprises me by adding, "While we're on the subject, I don't like Blakefield."

My eyes go slightly round as I take in his words. He sent a car to Blakefield. I doubt the man has set foot in such a place in his entire life. Not with that giant stick shoved up his arse.

"You've been there?"

He grunts. "Of course I've been there. I had to see where you lived, and might I say, I am not impressed."

Why does he make me feel like this? Like I'm not enough. Like I'm not good enough. Like I don't already know that I don't have money. Just because he has a lot of it, he has to rub it in my face? Well, fuck him.

"Ever heard the expression that money can't buy happiness? What makes you think I'm unhappy in a place like Blakefield? Is it too lower class for your standards?"

I can tell by the disgruntled look he gives me that it is the reason. It is no secret that Alistair grew up with money. Tons of it. It's probably the only reason that my grandmother agreed to the union in the first place. That and he also got his inheritance from his own family. Little did my grandmother know it was only so my mother could get her fortune, which she inherently blew on God knows what.

This is why money means so little to me. It's always been to buy something. Affections. Gain attention. Recognition. But I don't think anyone has ever bought me anything out of love. And I'm not saying that to sound like a poor, little rich girl; I grew up in the finest of surroundings. We lived very well, even in Australia when my grandma had a huge estate in Canberra. But I learnt from an early age that money definitely doesn't buy anything except things. Collector's items. Trophies that go on a shelf to gather dust. Maybe I am materialistic, but can one blame me?

Alistair regards me with a curious look. I'd give anything to know what he's thinking.

"Frankly, yes. I thought you earned a decent wage at your job." He pauses. "Your day job, that is."

"Well, I don't actually. Hospitality workers are the lowest paid in the UK, if not the world. Maybe think about that the next time you're ordering your fancy, dirty martinis, and not tipping wait staff what they"re worth."

"Tipping is not really a thing here. But I'll have you know that I always treat people that serve me well. If I get good service, that is." There's something about his words that sound so sexy, as if that last part was meant just for me. Goosebumps rise on my skin. I know I need to stop. I know I need to get out of here and away from this man, but something inside me just won't let me run. Not until I have my vengeance.

"Let me ask you a question. How many times have you frequented the women at élégance?" I let the words hang, giving him time to really let it sink in. Maybe I do like rubbing salt in the wounds, but it's not like he's given me any reassurance. His way of dealing with things is sweeping them under the carpet.

"That's none of your concern."

"But you pay tens of thousands of dollars to be a member?"

"Why is this important?"

"I'm just trying to make a point. It's okay for you to use escorts, but not okay for me to be one."

He leans forward and for the first time I see real concern in his eyes. Maybe there's hope for him after all. "No, Charlize. It isn't okay for you to be one. We've discussed this. I'll give you money if that's what it takes — it'll keep you out of trouble at least."

I smirk. "Don't bet on it. And I don't need your money, at least, I want to earn it."

We lock eyes and he knows exactly what I'm saying.

I wouldn't mind being Alistair's dirty little secret. In fact, it might even loosen him up for a while. I can't even imagine what a night in bed would be like with him.

"Oh, you'll earn it if you come work for me."

I clap my hands together. "Good. It's settled then. So you'll make a position available for me at your office?" He hasn't taken his eyes off me.

"I'll work something out by the middle of the week. In the meantime, tell me more about Blakefield."

"Why? You've made it obvious that you don't like it. What is there to discuss?"

He laces his fingers together in front of him. "I don't want any employee of mine living in an area that isn't safe."

So I'm an employee now? This jerk has a nerve.

"It is safe. It's just not Knightsbridge or South Kensington, that's why you don't like it."

He takes a long, exasperated sigh. "A woman like you shouldn't be living subpar. You can't help your circumstances and the fact your grandmother squandered all your inheritance away. For that, I'm truly sorry. I can't see you living in that tiny, shoebox of a home, if you can even call it that."

"Hey! I'm quite partial to my tiny shoebox, thank you."

"Like I said, I'll work something out."

I fold my arms around myself, suddenly feeling a little weird about it. "I don't want to just take your money because you feel guilty."

"That isn't what you'd be doing. Consider it perhaps what you're already owed; or would've been owed if you'd gotten the inheritance money from your mother's estate."

Silence hangs between us.

I finish my entree and for the first time, Alistair picks up his fork to spear his asparagus.

This could work out lucrative for me, but I've never been a gold digger, nor have I ever been money hungry. I've learned to survive on a mere income, and I've made it work.

I may have been brought up with a silver spoon in my mouth until I left for college, but everything after that I had to work for. I did it once, I can do it again.

But deep down, I have to admit, spending Alistair's money sends a thrill through me.

Does it even matter if it is guilt money? It'll still get spent the same. I'll put it to good use and he'll feel better about himself. It's win-win.

I take another sip of my champagne.

I just have to get through tonight, make a plan and then stick to it.

Once I have enough cash, I might even take an extended trip to France or Italy.

And now? Now I plan to rectify that.