Read To Have (The Dumont Diaries) for Free Online Page B

glare I have, moving across the room and yanking open the closet door.
    “I see you found some pajamas.”
    “Yeah. You’ve got enough female clothing in here to outfit half of the city.” I grab a tee-shirt dress and a pair of underwear, the tags still hanging from the lace. Stepping fully into the closet I turn and shut the door on the man’s face, cutting off whatever words were about to come out of his mouth.
    I feel a bit of adolescent pleasure at the slight, at the ability to show some of the frustration that is building up inside me. I pull the panties on, popping off the tag and tug the dress over my head, forgoing a bra. I study myself in the mirror, a critical eye looking for flaws. I look younger, my makeup-free face much different than the vixen look I go for at the Club. My hair is curly, a result of going to bed with it wet, the strands exacting their revenge in the form of uncontrollable volume and curl. I run my hands through a few times before giving up and opening the door. To one irritated green-eyed face.
    “Sorry,” I say breezily, dipping down and grabbing a set of jeweled sandals from a basket by the door, examining the size before slipping them on. A size too big, but acceptable to get home with. Someone at the club will be all over them.
    I can feel his frustration, the emotion making me smile, my spirits rising as we exit the house and head to the main home, sunlight dancing off of the pool’s water and sending playful highlights over my legs. I am close to getting paid, getting in that limo, and heading back home in style. With this payday, I will be flush for a while, six months at least, six months of no stress, no blowjobs, and no bullshit from Dibs over late rent or the utility bill.
    I couldn’t have been more wrong. About getting paid, about going home, and about six months of bliss.

CHAPTER 10
    I look at the document in confusion. My event-planning college courses never prepared me to read legal documents. But, despite my lack of legal knowhow, this document seems prepared for someone else entirely. Words that don’t belong near me jump from the pages.
    Marriage.
Prenuptial.
Assumption.
Loyalty.
Confidentiality.
    I set down the page and look at him. BlueEyes. Mr. Dumont, sitting on the other end of the long dining table. The same table on which I laid naked, touched myself before him and his guards, begged him for more as I exploded before him.
    “I’m confused…” I say slowly. “Is this document for me?”
    “Yes.”
    Yes . As if that one simple word gives me any answer whatsoever. “Why?”
    “It’s a proposal. Last night was an audition of sorts. To see if we are sexually compatible. I have strong sexual needs, and you prove equipped to handle them. I need, for various reasons, a wife. I’ve had you followed for several weeks. You seem to have a fairly pathetic life, no security, no boyfriend, no familial connections. I am offering you a business proposition.”
    No familial connections . The statement hurts, reminding me of my abandonment of my father. An abandonment that our weekly phone calls doesn’t make up for. I glance back through the documents, taking my time, trying to calm my mind down from the hypothetical cliff edge it is standing on. “I don’t see a compensation structure.”
    That produces a laugh, one short bark that holds no humor whatsoever. “Compensation?”
    I meet his mocking smile head on. “Yes. Business propositions involve compensation on both parts. I understand what I am giving up, but fail to see what I am getting from this arrangement.”
    He held out his hands, gesturing to the house. “This life . You are barely struggling by. I am offering you a life of luxury, with everything you want, at your fingertips. You will not have to work, not have to straddle sweaty men with wandering fingers.”
    I arch a brow at him. “Like you?”
    He doesn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor, sliding back from the table and standing. “Look