Page 26 of The Boss' Pet

I realize I am still not saying thank you at this point. I am just stumbling over a series of explanations that don’t do anything to give him what he wants.

“Thank you,” I say. “You are incredibly generous.”

“I am incredibly rich,” he says, not bragging, but simply as a matter of fact. “To me, this apartment is pocket change.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you anyway.”

He must have been shocked by my place. He must think I was living in abject poverty. It is wild to come face-to-face with the inequality of billionaires versus everybody else. Marcus Waterstone quite literally does not live in the same world as the rest of us.

“I want to know you are living somewhere safe,” he says, confirming my suspicions. “I’ve had your things moved here, such as they were. You should find your clothing in the appropriate places in the bedroom.”

“Thank you. Can I get a puppy?”

His features expand into a smile. “Is that what you want?”

“Worst thing about renting is you can’t really have a dog. But if I own this sweet pad, then I can get a puppy. Plus, most of the flooring here seems like it’s tile or something, so it’s not like it’s going to be damaged by a dog.”

“You don’t have to ask me for a puppy,” he says. “You don’t have to ask me for anything you desire.”

This is all happening so quickly. I would be insane not to worry about it. I know this isn’t a financial burden on him, but it is a complete change in living circumstances for me. My old apartment was a mess, but it was my mess, and there are things in there that I really hope his movers missed. Like the paper draft of the article I am writing about him. I wrote some very, very uncomplimentary things in that article.

“This is really generous,” I repeat. “But I don’t think I can accept it. I haven’t done anything to earn it.”

“I didn’t do anything to be born into a vast fortune,” he says. “But here we are. Worry less about what you deserve, and more about what suffering you can alleviate.”

He doesn’t get it, and I know better than to throw this incredible gift in his face. I guess I’m just going to have to accept his largesse and try not to feel too spectacularly guilty as a result. I have a job to do where Marcus Waterstone is concerned, and I am going to keep doing it no matter what.

“What would have happened if I was bad tonight?” I ask the question with a little smirk. “Would I have gotten a less nice apartment?”

He chuckles. “The real question, is what would have happened if you’d been a perfect little pet tonight?”

“Wow! What?” My exclamation is genuine, as I realize he has an almost endless capacity to spoil me if he wants to.

“You’ll find out one day,” he smirks. “I am certain I can get you to behave yourself eventually, with the right training and reinforcement. For now, this is a much safer place for you to stay.”

Much safer. Much nicer. Much bigger. Much everything-er.

He is spoiling me. That’s one way to look at it. The other way to look at it would be to say he is controlling me. He quite literally has me where he wants me. He also has complete control of my life, and everything in it.

I’d be freaking out a lot more if this didn’t all completely play into my plan. If I had known I could get Marcus Waterstone to effectively take me economic prisoner when I decided to write my expose, I’d have been unable to contain my excitement.

“I can’t believe you’re being so generous,” I say, starry-eyed. Privately, I know that paying for an apartment like this is the equivalent of me giving an unhoused person a nickel. It means absolutely nothing to him. His wealth is so vast he could have hundreds, if not thousands of women stashed away in various apartments all over the world. In fact, the fact he just did this for me means that’s actually quite likely. I should look into that. There may be other tenants of this very building living at Marcus Waterstone’s pleasure.

“I’m being careful with the toy I intend to play with,” he says.

I wonder if he wants to be appreciated, or if this is all just a game to him. I wonder how boring it must be to be the kind of rich he is. There are no real stakes in his life. Even if he loses almost everything, he would still have more than most people ever had.

“You look at me with so much curiosity. It makes me wonder what is going through your pretty head,” he comments.

“Women don’t usually look at you with curiosity?”

“Women usually look at me with self-interest,” he says. “And desire, of course.”

“Of course,” I smile. He’s very self-aware, and arrogant to—well, beyond a fault. But who is ever going to pull him up? Marcus is above every law that was ever enacted.

He’s untouchable.

A little yawn escapes me at what is probably the absolute worst time for such a thing to happen. A billionaire tells me how hot women find him and I yawn? Nope. That’s not going to do me any favors.

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