Page 47 of Ruthless Lullaby

Three designer dresses, one red, one black and one green. Silky material, straps to keep my breasts in position, and a design that’s nothing short of breathtaking.

Holy shit!

I gingerly lift the slinky red dress from the tissue paper, marveling at the buttery soft fabric and intricate beadwork. Then, I go over the rest. Every single piece, from the curve-hugging cocktail dresses to the shoes, is exactly my size. The colors, the styles, even the brands - it's all uncannily tailored to my personal taste.

How?

How could Maron possibly know my measurements, my fashion sense, down to the last detail? I remember the way his eyes used to linger on me at the office like he was mentally cataloging every inch of my body.

"Holy Gucci, Batman!" Betty walks in as I'm sitting on the couch, surrounded by a sea of designer labels and luxury perfumes. She takes one look at the opulent spread and her jaw nearly hits the floor. She makes a beeline for the coffee table. "Did you rob a fashion show or something?"

I can't help but chuckle at her excitement. "It's...” I stop and hesitate if I should tell her. But when did I ever withhold information from my bestie? The only thing I can’t mention to her, is the contract, of course. “It’s from Maron," I tell her before I could think better of it.

Betty freezes mid-reach for a glittering bottle of perfume and her eyes go wide. "Maron? Like Korolev Maron? CEO of Global Media Maron? Maron who fired you like five minutes ago?"

"Thanks for the reminder, Bets. Who needs enemies when I can have friends like you?"

She stares at me. "Let me get this straight. You sent your boss your naked photos by mistake. After enjoying them, he fired you. Then, he looted a fashion show and had everything shipped to you in that cardboard box over there. Am I in the ballpark?"

I nod, pulling my mouth to a grin. "That's pretty much the gist of it."

Betty lets out a low whistle as she takes in the small fortune's worth of designer goods. "Damn girl, he's got it bad for you. Like, 'Pretty Woman' bad. This is venturing into serious sugar daddy territory."

I groan, burying my face in my hands. She’s not wrong. I must never ever mention the contract to Betty. Or anyone.

"Don't even joke about that, Bets. Can you imagine me as some billionaire's arm candy? I'd probably spill caviar on my shoes and use a Birkin bag for takeaway food."

Betty snorts out a laugh, but there's a hint of concern in her eyes as she plops down next to me on the couch. "Seriously though, Min… I know Maron's hot and all, but he's got 'danger' written all over him. I mean, do we really know who the guy is apart from being an asshole?"

I sigh, leaning back against the cushions trying to sort through my tangled thoughts. "Not much, honestly. He's always been a mysterious figure."

"Exactly," Betty presses, her tone turning serious. "And now he's sending you thousands of dollars' worth of clothes, just like that? I don't know, Min. It just feels... sketchy."

I chew on my lip, torn between my gut instinct and the magnetic pull I feel towards Maron. "I know, I know. Trust me, every rational part of my brain is screaming at me to return this stuff and block his number."

"But...?" Betty prompts, sensing my hesitation.

But I signed a contract I can’t tell you about.

A contract that technically makes him my sugar daddy. Which also makes me his sugar baby. Or trophy wife. Scratch that: glorified slut. Let’s just call it what it is.

Cut it out, Mindy!

"But... I guess there's something magnetic about him," I admit. I look at the clothes spread out on the bed. "Honestly, Bets, would you send these beauties back?"

Betty lets out a long, slow breath, shaking her head in amazement. "No, I probably wouldn’t. But girl, you are playing with fire here. This is the kind of thing that ends with either a ring on your finger or concrete on your feet while you sink to the bottom of the Hudson River."

I can't help but bark out a laugh. "Wow, way to paint a picture, Bets."

She shrugs, looking unapologetic. "Hey, someone's gotta be the voice of reason here. And right now, that voice is saying 'tread carefully, babe.' Maron's not the kind of guy you can just dip your toe in with."

I know Betty's got a point. But what other option do I have? Get consumed by guilt while I watch my Mom die from cancer and my sister from addiction? Not to mention that my body behaves like a goddamn porn star, just thinking of Maronand the sex we had. His scent. His ripping muscles. His voice. His neatly groomed pubic hair. His libido. The intensity of our encounter.

Betty spritzes the fragrance into the air and takes an appreciative sniff. "Damn, Mindy, this smells like sex and money had a baby. Maybe I should start seducing billionaires too."

"Or launch your matchmaking business as soon as you can," I reply. "Then you'll have the luxury of choosing from the stinking rich guys who sign up."

"Oh, I will," Betty laughs. "But before that happens, you need to tell me what it feels like to date a mysterious billionaire like Maron Korolev. I imagine that’s what’s happening here."

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