Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Brynn

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’ve lost my mind. Who would accept such an offer from a total stranger?

Okay, he’s not exactly a total stranger. I’ve seen him many times, but we’ve never spoken more than a few words to each other.

“Would you like more coffee, sir?”

“Shall I heat your croissant, Mr. Bennett?”

“That would be lovely, Brynn.”

“Is my regular table available?”

I’m having second and third thoughts as I scramble to pack both my suitcases. I have no idea what I should take, and I can’t believe he’s going to pay someone else to come in here and pack the rest of my things. That part makes me nervous.

I clear out my bra and underwear drawer first because the thought of someone touching them makes me cringe. I also clear out my nightstand, where I keep my favorite vibrator, a bullet, and lube. I’d die of humiliation if someone saw those items.

I definitely do not own a single thing in my wardrobe that would be appropriate to wear even if my job were to clean Mr. Bennett’s toilets or work in his garden. So it’s good that he intends to purchase whatever clothes he wouldn’t be embarrassed to see me in.

I pause and rub my forehead. I’ve lost my mind. I haven’t even told my roommates yet. Not that we’re close. We’re friendly, but living here is just a place to sleep. I don’t socialize with them. And Mr. Bennett is right; all three could afford this place without me. I doubt they will care that I’m leaving.

When I’m done, I realize there’s no reason for Mr. Bennett to send someone to pack anything else. I don’t own the furniture, and I’ve got all my personal belongings in my two suitcases, jamming the last few things into my satchel.

I open my bedroom door and pull my suitcases into the hallway. I quickly realize I’m not even going to have to face any of them this morning. They’re all still asleep after partying all night.

When I arrived back after being at Edge, none of them were home yet. I heard them come in much later. They weren’t quiet. Drunk people never are. I keep thinking of additional side bonuses to Mr. Bennett’s offer. I bet his home is quiet. I’ll get better sleep.

I’ll need to come back here later and tell my roommates about my move, but I’m glad I don’t have to deal with it this morning. It’s exactly ten o’clock when I look out the front window and find Mr. Bennett’s driver, Charles, already out front. Jeez.

As soon as I open the front door, Charles steps out of the car and hurries toward me. “Let me get those for you, Ms. Flores.”

“Thank you, Charles.” I’m kind of surprised to see him this morning since he’s the same man who drove me home last night. “Do you not sleep?” I ask him.

He chuckles. “I sleep. Don’t you worry, ma’am.”

It’s weird for him to call me ma’am . I’m barely an adult in my mind. He’s like forty. He must spend every moment he’s not driving working out because he looks like he could lift the front of the car with one hand. He’s also kind, and I appreciate that. It calms my nerves.

After loading my cases into the trunk, he helps me into the back of the limo and jogs around to get behind the wheel. “Mr. Bennett is expecting you,” he states.

It seems odd. Of course, he’s expecting me. He’s the one who told me to be there at this time.

Charles glances at me in the rearview mirror and smiles. Perhaps he read the confusion on my face. “Mr. Bennett is a busy man. I’ve never known him to be at home this late on a Saturday morning. Oh, when you have a chance, would you please text me your class schedule?” He hands me a business card over the top of the seats.

I stare at it, confused.

“That’s my cell number. Program it into your phone. Anytime you need me to pick you up, just text me.”

I nearly groan as I remember Mr. Bennett saying he would have his driver take me to and from school. I need to talk to him about his overprotective tendencies. “I’m sure it won’t be necessary, Charles. I can figure out transportation.”

Charles frowns. I can see his expression in the rearview mirror. “It’s my job, ma’am. I don’t think you’ll want to argue with Mr. Bennett about safety. ”

Safety again. Why is this man so concerned with my safety?

I sit back and stare out the window as Charles makes his way through traffic, finally pulling into the underground parking garage of a high-rise. He maneuvers the limo down to the lowest level before pulling into a parking spot marked as reserved. There are several reserved spots here. I wonder how many of these cars belong to Mr. Bennett.

Charles comes around to open my door before I have a chance to open it myself. He quickly grabs my suitcases from the trunk as I adjust my purse and satchel on my shoulder. My bag is heavy. It’s jammed full of my textbooks and computer.

“Can I carry that for you, ma’am?”

“No. I’m fine. And please, call me Brynn.”

He chuckles. “Yes, ma’am.”

I sigh. He’s not going to call me Brynn. Mr. Bennett probably forbids it. I feel awkward, though. If we’re going to compare social statuses, Charles ranks about twenty rungs higher than me. I’m nobody. Just a poor girl who came from nothing, working my way through college. I can afford boxed mac and cheese, peanut butter, and cheap bread. My entire wardrobe cost less than the suit Charles is wearing. I’m hardly worthy of his ma’am ing.

Charles uses a card connected to his keys to swipe over the pad next to the elevator. “This is Mr. Bennett’s private elevator. It only goes to the top floor.”

Holy shit. I’m so out of my element. Will I need one of these key fobs to get to his penthouse? He’s so controlling he probably won’t let me come or go without Charles anyway.

It’s not that I have a huge social life. I have no social life whatsoever. I haven’t had time to socialize since I was about five. But the thought of being micromanaged causes me anxiety.

I can picture Mr. Bennett looking down at me with his furrowed brow and saying something like, “If you need to go someplace, you’ll check with me first. I’ll approve all of your friends and locations.”

I squeeze my thighs together, shocked by my reaction to thoughts of his overbearing, antiquated ideas. I’m frustrated that the thought of being managed by him makes my panties wet.

I shudder at the visual of him towering over me, making his demands. What’s wrong with me?

When the elevator opens, I nearly jump out of my skin. I’ve been daydreaming. I never do that.

Charles nods for me to step inside before him, and then he rolls my suitcases out of the elevator.

I’m too stunned to take another step. I knew Mr. Bennett was rich, but this is a whole new level of wealth for me. I haven’t seen a home like this, not even in the movies.

The elevator opens directly into the largest living room I’ve ever seen. Everything is sleek, black, white, and gray. Nothing is out of place. Even the pillows on the sofas are precisely angled.

I flinch as Mr. Bennett steps into the room from an arched doorway on the left. “Ah, you’re here.” He gives me a warm smile. “Please, come in. Charles, would you mind putting Brynn’s things in her bedroom?” He turns back to me. “I’ll give you a quick tour before your stylists arrive. I trust you’ve eaten?”

He’s said so much so fast it’s hard for me to keep up. I swallow and focus on the last part. “I, uh, no. I didn’t have time. I’m fine.”

His brow furrows. I suspect I’m going to see that often when he’s displeased. It makes me feel about ten years younger when he looks at me like that. It also makes my damn pussy clench. My panties are going to be soaked before noon if I keep reacting to his extreme dominance.

“Breakfast is important, Brynn. I expect you to eat something every morning before your classes. Your brain isn’t at its best without fuel.” He nods over his shoulder. “Come. Let’s get something in you first.”

Charles returns from somewhere in the penthouse, wherever he took my suitcases. “Can I take your other bags, ma’am?” He points toward my purse and satchel.

“Uh… Sure. Thank you.” I hold them out to him.

Mr. Bennett is waiting impatiently in the same archway, and I hurry toward him. As I follow him through to the largest, brightest, most modern kitchen I’ve ever seen, he continues talking. It’s hard to focus on his words with so much to see, but it seems important. There might be a quiz later. “I’ve had a desk put in your bedroom where you can study without distraction. Shelves for your books, too. You can set it up however you’d like later today. There’s a power strip and a router. Sebastian has left you a list of passwords.”

“Sebastian?”

“My house manager. You’ll meet him later.”

Jesus. House manager?

A woman in her fifties suddenly bustles into the kitchen from a door at the rear. She’s slightly plump and not very tall, but I can tell it doesn’t slow her down. She smiles broadly. “You must be Ms. Flores. Welcome.” She hurries forward to shake my hand .

“Brynn, this is Georgia Renford, Sebastian’s wife. She’s the best chef in all of Seattle. You will eat well here.”

Georgia waves a hand through the air dismissively. “Don’t be silly. I just put food on the table.”

I like her already, and I like the way Mr. Bennett treats his employees.

Mr. Bennett grunts. “Georgia, Brynn hasn’t eaten anything today.” He glances at his watch, even though I’m sure he could have guessed the time almost to the minute. “Would you please make her a smoothie? Nothing heavy that will spoil her lunch.”

“Of course. I’d be glad to. Is there anything you don’t like, dear?”

I shake my head.

Mr. Bennett surprises me by lifting my chin and meeting my gaze. I’m not a short woman. I’m five-nine, but he towers over me at, I’d guess, about six-four. And it’s intimidating. “Words, Brynn. I’ll expect you to express yourself politely with words, not head shaking.”

I swallow hard. Damn, he’s intense. And so demanding. My heart is racing as I stare at him. My nipples harden. Traitors. I also clench my thighs together.

He’s still holding my chin, and he gives the slightest smirk. He knows. Holy shit. He knows how he’s affecting me.

When he releases me, I somehow manage to turn toward Georgia and speak in a squeaky voice. “I’m not a picky eater, ma’am. Thank you.”

She smiles as though nothing about the chastising exchange I just had with Mr. Bennett was the least bit strange. “I’ll get you a smoothie right away.”

I don’t see how I’m going to swallow, but I doubt arguing with Mr. Bennett is in my best interest. What have I gotten myself into?

Think of the endgame, Brynn . This man is saving my ass. I will no longer have to work forty hours a week while taking a full load of classes. I’ll get more sleep. I won’t have to stress over the rent or what I’m going to eat. I won’t have to worry about the tuition or finding a used book for the statistics class I’m currently taking. We’re only a few weeks into the semester, but I still haven’t found the last book I need. I can’t afford the new one, and there are no used ones available.

“Come,” he orders. “We’ll do a quick tour of the house to orient you so you’ll have time to drink your smoothie.”

I hurry after him. I feel like a child. He’s not in his usual three-piece suit, but he’s still dressed well enough to attend a high-power meeting with the president of any company. His idea of dressing down on Saturdays is laughable.

He’s wearing navy slacks, a blue button-up shirt, and brown loafers. He’s not wearing a tie, and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. He’s drool-worthy. As I follow him, my gaze strays to his fantastic rear. His pants are tailor-made to hug his perfectly toned glutes.

He stops suddenly and turns toward me so fast that I have to jerk my gaze up to meet his. My face heats a hundred degrees when he lifts one brow. “Were you checking out my ass, Ms. Flores?”

I gulp and shake my head before remembering he insisted I not do that. “No, Sir,” I lie.

He chuckles, lifting both brows now. “No harm in looking at me. Lord knows I’m used to it. But I suggest you not make a habit of lying to me. ”

Or what? I want to say. I hold my tongue.

He smirks. “I can read the challenge in your expression, Brynn. Trust me, you don’t want to know the answer to that question yet.”

I’m so stunned that my head is spinning. Does he plan to punish me?

He pushes a door open and continues talking as though he hasn’t just caused my jaw to hit the floor. “This is my office. I’m usually in here when I work from home.”

I follow him as he continues to point out countless rooms, guest rooms, a workout room that’s larger than the average gym, bathrooms, a theater room, and a library. Some of the doors are closed. There are a few he skips entirely. I can’t believe how large the top floor of this building is. Many of the rooms have floor-to-ceiling windows with an amazing view of the city from every angle.

Finally, he comes to the end of the long hallway. There are two doors left. I’m struggling to breathe as I assume one of them leads to his room and one to mine. Of all the guest rooms in this penthouse, why has he chosen the one closest to his for me?

He pushes the right-hand door wide open and steps inside. “This is your room. Closet’s over there. Bathroom’s over there.” He points as he talks.

I shuffle into the room. It’s larger than the entire house I grew up in. The ceiling is high, and the windows have a spectacular view. There is a queen-sized, four-poster bed with fluffy white bedding and a pile of pillows. “I wasn’t sure what colors you like, so you can add whatever will make it feel like home. If you’d like me to have it painted, show me some color options so I can approve them, and then Sebastian will get it done. ”

Paint the room? Why would I need to paint the room? I’m only staying here for a year. Not even that long. Maybe only ten months. “It’s fine. I’m not that picky, Mr. Bennett.”

As if I haven’t spoken, he continues, “I left some paint swatches on your desk. Look through them.”

I glance at the desk. It’s huge. All of the furniture is white and looks expensive. Dresser, bed posts, corner desk unit, nightstands, bookshelf, armoire… There is no way I could ever fill all this furniture with my meager belongings.

My gaze suddenly stops when I spot the enormous monitor sitting on the desk. He must notice where my attention has landed. “I took the liberty of getting you a state-of-the-art computer. If you need a new laptop to carry to and from class, let me know.”

I yank my gaze to his. “You bought me a computer?”

“Yes. You need it for your classes.”

“No, I don’t. I have my laptop. It works fine.”

He narrows his gaze. “How old is it?”

My hackles rise defensively. “It’s refurbished. It suits my needs.”

He sighs. “You’re going to have to get used to me buying you things, Brynn. It’s what I do. I have enough money to furnish a room and purchase electronics. Please just say thank you so we can move on.”

“When did you buy that computer?” I ask. I glance around. “And the rest of this furniture?” Somehow, I get the feeling he put this together this morning.

“When I got home last night.”

“Seven hours ago?” My voice rises. How is that possible ?

“Yes,” he says matter-of-factly as though I’m the crazy one.

It must be nice to have enough money to put an entire room together, including electronic equipment, between three and ten in the morning. Mindboggling. “And you couldn’t also get it painted before I arrived?” I blurt out before thinking.

I slap my palm over my mouth. There’s no telling how he might react to my sassy remark.

He surprises me with a slow grin and shrugs. “Like I said, I didn’t know what colors you like.”

I need some distance from this man. He’s so intense that he’s making my knees weak. Even his scent is mouthwatering. I’ve enjoyed it every time I’ve served him coffee, and that hasn’t dissipated this morning. I’d like to grab the front of his shirt, pull myself onto my toes, and nuzzle his neck.

The thought makes me shudder. This is a business arrangement. Nothing more. He’s paying me to pretend to be his girlfriend, not to fuck him.

Mr. Bennett turns to leave the room. “Come.” There’s something about his tone every time he orders me to follow him that doesn’t leave any room for argument. He means for me to come. Now .

I’m going to come, all right. In my panties.

When he pushes the door open to the room across the hall, I stop breathing. If I thought my room was huge, there are no words for the master suite. It’s not just one room. It’s several. I wonder what’s behind all the doors.

The main room has an enormous king-sized bed; it’s so high off the floor that I would have trouble getting onto it. It and the rest of the furniture is a deep mahogany, very masculine. Unlike the room I’ll be staying in, this one has darker tones. The paint is a rich, light-chocolate color. The hardwood floors are darker than mine. The bedding is dark brown.

I’m speechless.

“You can explore more later. Let’s get your smoothie.” He surprises me by taking my hand in his and giving it a slight tug.

My heart is going to beat out of my chest as I let him lead me back to the kitchen. He’s holding my hand the entire time. It’s oddly intimate, considering we’re not really in a relationship. I wonder what his staff thinks I’m doing here.

When we step into the kitchen, Georgia spots us and smiles. “I’ve made you my specialty.” She points toward the large pink drink on the island. It looks so delicious, my stomach grumbles. It’s even in a fancy fluted glass with a fat pink straw.

Mr. Bennett releases my hand and sets his palm on the small of my back to guide me toward the island. As I take a seat on the barstool, he says, “Drink as much as you want. We’ll have a slightly late lunch today. The stylists will be here in a few minutes.”

I’m incredibly nervous about these stylists—plural—he speaks of. Why on earth do I need anyone to help me buy clothes? I suppose I should be grateful. I certainly don’t want to choose what Mr. Bennett wants me to wear to his functions.

I’m surprised I’m able to drink the entire smoothie. It was even better than it looked, and I feel much better. While I drank it, Mr. Bennett stood next to me, checking his phone and tapping it. I assume he’s answering questions or emails. The man is important .

“Ah. They’re here,” he announces as Georgia takes my empty glass from me.

“Thank you, ma’am. That was delicious.”

She smiles. “Please, dear. Call me Georgia.”

I almost giggle. It’s a mirror of the conversation I had with Charles in the car. He’s never going to call me Brynn. I doubt I’m going to call her by her given name, either. We’ll see. “Yes, ma’am.”

She chuckles.

“Come.” That command again. It’s just one word. With exactly the right tone to make a shiver race straight down my spine until it reaches my pussy. He holds out a hand and helps me down from the stool.

I follow him like the obedient girl he seems to see me as.