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Hearing his voice, even this pale imitation over
my cell phone speakers, was bringing back memories of yesterday, when he
cornered me in his office and pressed me against the wall.
    My cheeks heated. Don't think
about that! I commanded myself.
    “Have you given any further thought
to my offer?” he asked, which made it hard not to think about. Almost absently
the hand toying with the towel on my head drifted down to the hot space between
my thighs and began toying with that instead.
    No matter how I sliced it, that
couldn't be a good sign. I didn't take my hand away, however. The richness of
his voice had made me wet and slick.
    “I went to see a lawyer today,” I
told him.
    The other end of the line was quiet
for a fraction of a second longer than I expected. “Good,” he said. “I'm glad.
You should have legal counsel when signing legal documents.”
    Yeah. And she told me to marry
you if the sex was good. My middle finger circled my clit as though
pondering just how much it could get away with while I talked on the phone.
“Uh-huh. Anyway, I have a few changes to make.”
    This time the silence on the other
end was definitely longer than I expected. A few other fingers joined
the first. At last there was a rustling sound, and I heard him sigh. “We should
meet.”
    I hadn't expected that, although
I probably should have. “Okay. At your office?”
    “No,” he said. “It's almost lunch
time. We should meet for lunch.”
    My roving hand stilled and my
nerves shot through the roof. “Uh. Okay. Where?”
    This time when he spoke, I could
hear the smile in his voice, and that made me even more nervous. “I'll send a
car to pick you up.”
    “How should I dress—” I started to
say, but he hung up on me.
    I stared at the phone in my hand.
Quickly, I redialed his number, but it went immediately to voice mail.
    My eyes flew to the contract where
it sat on my coffee table. All that shit about being submissive... that's what
he was doing, wasn't it? He was trying to show me just how much power he held.
    “Ass!” I said out loud, though I
would have been hard pressed to tell anyone listening if I were calling Waters
an ass, or merely commenting on the general situation. Maybe both.
    I jumped up from my seat, shedding
my towel and bathrobe.
    Two could play this game.
     
    *
     
    Anton Waters knew where I lived.
    I mean, of course he did, it
was right there on his stupid contract, but the fact that a fancy-ass
car—black, naturally—pulled up to my shitty apartment in my little low rent
neighborhood reminded me that he knew where I lived. Suddenly my tiny
shoebox didn't seem so safe and snug. For reasons I couldn't define, the idea
that he could probably find me whenever he chose gave me the shivers.
    I took a drag of my cigarette and
lifted my chin.
    To his credit, the driver Waters
had sent only did a double-take when he saw me, and it was only a small one, at
that. But it was enough. I knew I had done a good job.
    I'm not in the habit of dressing
up, and I have to make my clothes last when I get them, so luckily I still had
some truly awful clothes left over from college. The tiny red skirt I wore
contrasted horribly with the orange blouse, worn because it revealed a truly
indecent amount of cleavage. Knee-high leather boots and some torn fishnets
leftover from that Halloween where I dressed up like Sally Bowles completed the
outfit, and I'd layered the blue eyeshadow on like it had gone out of style in
the eighties. I hadn't had time to do my hair so it still hung straight and
wasn't a glorious frizzball like I'd wanted, but I thought I looked pretty
good. For my purposes anyway.
    The driver recovered and opened the
door. "Ma'am," he said. "My name is Zachary. Let me know if you
need anything."
    "Thank you," I told him,
and got in.
    The car was even nicer on the
inside than on the out, and the outside had been pretty damn sweet. Buttery
leather seats caressed my thighs through my fishnets, and there was a tiny