Page 18 of Violent Hearts

Chapter 9

Jared

It's hard to get her to talk. I've never been with a woman who was so reluctant to engage in mundane chit-chat. I have to worm every single word out of her, even about the most mundane topics. I hoped to find out more about her work and how she intended to proceed with it once she's living with me. I thought it would be smart to approach the subject carefully, slowly, by talking about innocent, random topics, allowing her to talk about herself as much as she wanted to so she would become comfortable enough with me to open up about more delicate issues.

But Ann is making this really hard. She speaks in short sentences, only giving up the absolute minimum. She barely even looks at me, instead keeping her eyes glued on the food. At least she's appreciating that part of our evening. It's easy to tell that she genuinely enjoys every single dish, and while she was adamant that I not mistake her for a common call girl or whore, she doesn't seem to care what I think about her eating behavior. After being somewhat hesitant at first, she soon digs in as if she hasn't seen food in days. Not once does she cast me one of those insecure looks seeking reassurance that I've grown accustomed to receiving from other women. Most of them look at me as if they were asking for permission to eat, and I've always hated it with a passion.

"Glad you're enjoying your food," I comment, mostly to see if my remark causes her to break.

She's still chewing when she looks up at me, hurrying to swallow before coming up with a reply.

"It's fantastic," she says. "I give you that, you know good food."

I huff. "How generous."

She casts me a cocky smirk, an expression that’s usually part of my repertoire. This girl will be a piece of work, that's for sure. I can't wait to bend her over my knee and hear her yelp in pain when my belt leaves its mark on her sweet perky ass.

If she agrees to all of this. I need to remind myself that nothing is official yet. She needs to sign the contract first and become mine completely, ready to submit to my will and ready to put her own life on hold for as long as I need her.

As soon as the dessert plates are cleared from our table, she looks up at me with expectant eyes.

"Would you like an espresso?" I ask.

"No," she says. "I want to talk business."

"Hold your horses, young lady."

I cast her a warning look, a gesture that's lost with her.

Belinda said it would be hard to find a girl who is as cold-hearted and calculating as me, but that was before this one appeared. Ann doesn't strike me as a dreamer, a girl with a soft heart and a strong yearning for romance, the desire to find her one and only, and live her own fairy tale ending with a prince riding up on his white horse. It definitely wouldn't hurt if she had at least some of those qualities, though.

I order an espresso for the both of us, even though she indicated she didn't want one. I hate drinking by myself, and I'm sure she'll take hers with a smile once it's placed in front of her.

She shoots me an angry glare when the espresso is brought to our table. She probably resents me for disregarding her comment about not wanting one. I don't care. We're playing by my rules, and the sooner she understands this, the better.

"You've seen my inquiry," I begin, making sure to capture her attention by intensely fixating on her eyes. "I need someone to play the role of my girlfriend in public. I'm about to announce my candidacy to run for Congress, and I need someone to make me look good at official events, someone who can convince people that I'm loyal, trustworthy, and good-natured."

"Which you are not," she responds. Her tone sounds so unapologetic that I don't trust my ears for a moment.

I choose to ignore her remark.

"Could you handle this level of responsibility? This job requires a lot more than being my personal slut. I'd also expect you to be able to hold a conversation, speak about public affairs - in a non-offensive way, of course - and make people believe that you truly are my life partner, and have been for a few years. I'm not in the public eye yet, and haven’t been, so it'd be easy to make this relationship seem more established and serious than it actually is."

She looks at me, her face relaxed and without expression. It's hard to know what she's thinking.

"If you're not simply looking for someone to keep your bed warm, why did you go to the agency?"

Unlike most other girls, she has no trouble withstanding my unyielding gaze. I can't intimidate her with a simple look, at least not yet. Her submission will have to be earned, and it might be the hardest one I’ve had to earn yet.

I can't fucking wait.

"Because I need that partner to be more than a symbol for my legitimacy," I tell her. "I've been a client at this agency for long enough to know they provide quality girls who are mentally and physically stable enough to handle what I demand from them."

She narrows her eyes.

"Submission," she says, in a voice so low that I can barely hear her. "Your inquiry said that you want a girl who will submit to your will. What does that mean?"

Our eyes lock on each other again, testing, searching for something, but I'm not sure if we're looking for the same thing.

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