Page 32 of Obsession

“So let me get this straight, Miss Taylor, you were willing to go to blows for that server who was flashing her tits at my table, but you let some college kid do this to you?”

“I don’t owe you any explanations.”

“Next time someone attacks you, either you fight back, or you tell someone who can fight for you,” he drawls, his eyes glinting with a tight emotion.

I don’t answer him. He would never understand.

Ashley and Ricky both come from prestigious, wealthy backgrounds. No matter how much I want to, physically touching her would mean that she can exert her family’s influence and get my scholarship taken away from me.

Back when college had been a new start for me, a chance to fall in love and pursue my passion for art, I hadn’t realized the den of snakes I was walking into. Ricky was the kind of guy who typically never gave a girl like me a second look, so when he showed an interest in me, I was flattered. He was very charismatic, gorgeous, and smart, and I quickly fell hard for him.

When he pleaded with me in that charming way of his to just get him off, I hadn’t realized that he and Ashley were in their own very complicated and twisted relationship. I was simply a pawn, and they were laughing behind my clueless back. I just have to get through this next year or so and I’ll be done with them both.

“You ready?”

Mr. Middleton has no intentions of putting off the shopping trip because after Lars wraps my ankle in an Ace Bandage, I’m packed into a dark SUV driven by Parker, and we drive towards the poshest part of Los Angeles.

When we stop in front of a chic-looking store with a gold and white design, the streets are crowded with mainly fashionably dressed women carrying designer purses. I feel so out of place in my faded jeans and beige blouse that it’s almost laughable.

Mr. Middleton pauses at the entrance. “I have an appointment with Clark.”

“Who’s Clark?” I whisper to Parker, who grins.

“A stylist.”

“What?” I ask, astounded, but we’re already being ushered in.

“Mr. Middleton,” I say in urgent hushed tones. “You can’t hire a stylist to dress me. I’m just a manager. Steve wore the same thing every day.”

Black slacks. Black button down.

“Exactly,” he responds easily. “He didn’t fit the part.”

“This is feeling very Pretty Woman-ish,” I whisper disapprovingly to Parker, remembering a previous exchange I had with Naomi.

“Trust me, it ain’t,” he replies. “The boss is no Richard Gere.”

Clark is an exuberant man with silver hair, deeply tanned skin, and purple eyes. It’s the eyes which throw me off first until I realize that he’s wearing tinted contact lenses.

“Mr. Middleton!” He throws open his arms in welcome, and I freeze, wondering if he’s planning to hug my stone-cold boss. I can’t imagine anyone hugging Hunter Middleton.

But Clark stops short a few feet away, “So who have you brought for me to transform?”

When Mr. Middleton looks over at me, I wonder if passing out would let me out of this whole thing. I’ve never really enjoyed shopping, probably because I’ve never had any money. But it’s a dizzying sensation to have to model outfit to outfit, from blouses to skirts to pants. I draw the line at underwear, though.

“Absolutely not,” I hiss under my breath. “Nobody’s looking at what I’m wearing underneath my clothes.”

Mr. Middleton gives me a long, contemplative look, and I suddenly feel the urge to cover up. It’s like he’s undressing me with his eyes…one garment at a time.

“Whatever you want, Miss Taylor.”

When we leave the store, I did not realize just how much he purchased. There are so many bags in Parker’s hands that I feel faint.

“That’s too many,” I say out loud. “Did you buy everything I tried on?”

“No.”

I don’t believe him, but my feet are aching, and I’m starving. All I care about at this point is eating.

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