Page 37 of The Boss' Pet

She hurt him. I see that. And not only did she hurt him, but the other awful billionaires still needle him about it. That’s rough.

“They’re not very nice people,” I point out, in between bites of croissant.

“No. They’re not. That’s why I decided my next pet would not come from my world. I chose you because you have no connections. You were curious about me, but you don’t know enough to be any kind of a threat.”

“Mmm,” I say, taking a long sip of orange juice to hide my guilt, and the shame that’s starting to well inside me. “Also, you’ve given me absolutely no choice, so that’s nice too.”

“Don’t be sassy, Charlie,” he says, his eyes flicking between me and whatever information is on his tablet. “I haven’t given you much in the way of choice, because you’ve demonstrated you don’t know what to do with yourself when you do have one.”

He can rationalize any of his behavior away, clearly. I feel a little less guilty than I did before. Marcus has taken me prisoner. I don’t owe him loyalty. He chose me specifically because taking me saved him from having to be vulnerable. He still hasn’t asked me a single thing about myself. That means he’s either not curious at all, or he’s already found out everything he thinks he needs to know.

He’s looking at his tablet, and I am looking at him. My eyes keep tracing the lines of his face, the shape of his mouth, chin, and jaw. Marcus Waterstone is the embodiment of good breeding, and hotness goes a long way in this world, even when it shouldn’t. Maybe especially when it shouldn’t.

“I believe Adeline is going to be in attendance tonight,” he says.

“Adeline? That’s the ex’s name?” I tuck that away mentally.

“You’ll be wearing clothing of my choice,” he says.

“Of course.”

He seems pleased by my immediate acquiescence, but I know that anything he chooses, and anything he has purchased, is going to be better than my meagre wardrobe.

The day passes quickly. I don’t have anything specific to do, but like most animal pets, it’s not hard to while away eight hours or so lying on various couches, snacking on treats, and generally having a very nice time not having to work for anything. It’s scary how comfortable this is, and how quickly I could get used to a comfortable, captive existence.

When I see Marcus again, I’ve had plenty of time to think. Not just about my predicament, but about him, and why he is so obsessed with having a female mate as a pet. Most men like him want trophy wives, or unofficial harems. Marcus’ predilections are more intimate, sweeter, but also a great deal darker.

I have the advantage of already knowing a great deal about him. Everybody does. The Waterstone family has been a cornerstone of American culture for generations. They have been beset by the sort of tragic bad luck that only follows incredibly powerful and important families.

Marcus was famously orphaned when he was just thirteen years old. An entire fortune fell to him. His mother and father were tabloid favorites, and there was a lot of speculation at the time that he would grow up rich and troubled, frittering the Waterstone fortune away.

That didn’t happen. Marcus proved to have more self-discipline than people three times his age. He built the fortune up exponentially, and now his family’s name is a global phenomenon.

“It’s time to get ready, pet. There’s a dress in the bedroom, and all the cosmetics you should need.”

That’s my cue to go and make myself pretty.

I do as I am told.

He’s chosen a little black dress for me. It’s simple, yet elegant, and when I put it on, I can instantly feel how good the tailoring is. This wasn’t taken off a rack. This was made by someone who knows how to accent the female form. It hugs my breasts and cinches in at my waist. I think it has a little extra support there, making me feel held snugly.

I do my makeup as well as I know how. Fortunately for an outfit like this, simple cosmetics are effective. A smoky eye, a red lip, a little blush.

“Beautiful,” he says when I present myself to him.

“Thank you,” I smile.

He makes me feel beautiful. I know he would not choose just anybody to be with. I know he must have chosen me for a reason—maybe because I got under his skin in the interview?

It occurs to me on the way to the Embassy that Marcus hasn’t actually asked me a single question about myself. There are two possible reasons for that. One, he is entirely self-obsessed, and I am quite literally nothing more than a possession to him, or two, he already knows all he needs to know. I don’t know which one of those options is worse.

I don’t have long to worry about it, because before I know it, we are at the Embassy, and I am once more in the swirl of rich, glamorous people, being introduced here and there to a crowd who weren’t present the previous evening.

There are a lot of very good-looking men and women here, but through the crowd, I notice one particular woman who has the look of a late 90’s supermodel. She is tall, graceful, and her features look like they’ve been carved from marble. How can they be so delicate and yet so strong at the same time?

“Wow,” I breathe. “Who is that?”

Marcus follows my eyeline.

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