Page 4 of Seduced By Contract

Oh my God!

"Get out!"

I shiver, but contradictorily, I freeze in place.

"What the hell are you still standing there for? I told you to leave."

I know the secretary is back because I hear a noise behind me.

"Mr. Ares, is there a problem?" she asks, seeming as nervous as I am.

"Who brought her here?" he asks the woman, pointing at me. "No need to answer. Just get her out of my sight."

That finally wakes me up. I might be desperate, but I won't allow someone to talk to me like that. "I can leave on my own. I'm not a pet that needs to be led around."

"Then she's not fit for the job? She won't even be interviewed? She went through all the stages, just like the others," the secretary insists.

"Don't bother intervening for me. I'm leaving. There's no salary worth working for someone like him." I try to gather the few shreds of dignity left in me and, with my head held high, turn my back on them and walk toward the door.

"Stop," he orders, almost growling.

I want to smack myself when I obey. Maybe it's need overriding dignity.

"Janine, you can go. I'll talk to the young lady . . .”

"Madison Foster," I reply, gritting my teeth and looking him in the eye as I turn. I should have stayed quiet, but my bad temper doesn't allow it. So, forgetting who we are in the game of life, I continue like a daredevil, "I have no idea who you thought I was, but you owe me an apology."

He blinks a few times, as if making sure he heard correctly.

I think no one has ever had the courage to say something like that to him, and maybe in a normal situation, I wouldn't have either. The problem is, I'm too angry.

"Who are you?" he asks, repeating the question he asked in the beginning but now a little calmer.

"Miss Janine already said who I am, and I just confirmed my name," I reply, chin held high.

He looks me up and down.

Then, as if he hadn't been a jerk to me, he returns to the table and opens what I believe to be my folder, the same one the secretary handed him.

"Madison Foster, nineteen years old. Never attended dance college but passed all the tests. How is that possible?"

"Ever heard of talent? I can dance, and that's all there is to it." I've completely lost the desire to be sweet, which I don't have much of normally. After that little show of madness he put on, I won't allow him to mistreat me again.

He lets my snappy response slide. "Intermediate Spanish?" he asks, as if this is the start of the interview and he didn't act like an idiot two minutes ago.

"Are you sure you want me to stay?"

It wasn't the question about my non-existent Spanish that made me ask this. It's because, in an emotional battle, angeroutweighs fear. Suddenly I thought he might actually be crazy—the only explanation for such a drastic behavior change— and maybe it's not a good thing to be locked in a room with a lunatic.

"Sit down. What you need to learn about me is that I only do what I want to do. If I say you should stay, don't question me. Now, tell me about there not being a salary that compensates for working for someone like me. Are you sure about that?"

Everything in me screams to shout a resounding:yes, you brute!

However, I don't reply, because I'm not a fool, so instead, I accept his suggestion and sit like a good girl, even though inside, a bloodthirsty psychopath is still seething.

I accept the Greek ogre's change in behavior as a second chance at life.

"Answer me, Madison."

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