Page 17 of His to Possess
Brief silence engulfed us, filled with tension unlike any other. Questions roamed through her head, I could tell, but most of them more than likely remained unspoken.
"Why the contract?" she finally asked. "Why not just hire me as a regular employee?"
I smiled, appreciating her directness. "Because I value precision in all my dealings. The contract ensures that we both understand exactly what is expected. No room for misinterpretation or disappointment."
Laurel took a deep breath, her resolve visibly wavering. "And if I don't like what I see in this contract?"
"Then you walk away," I said. "No harm, no foul. But I think you'll find the terms quite agreeable."
She nodded slowly, her curiosity clearly piqued as she picked up the contract from my desk. "Fine. I'll look it over. But I'm not agreeing to anything yet."
"Of course not," I said, unable to keep the triumph from my voice. "I wouldn't expect anything less from a woman of your caliber." I moved back behind my desk, a clear dismissal. For one last time, I allowed my gaze to wash over her, taking in every single detail of the beautiful woman in front of me. "I look forward to hearing from you soon."
Laurel hesitated for a moment, clearly torn. But in the end, she nodded stiffly and turned to leave. As the door closed behind her, I let myself have a moment of pure satisfaction.
The game had begun, and I've already won.
Chapter 7
Laurel
I sat at my kitchen table, staring at the contract spread before me. The ominous white pages seemed to mock my cozy apartment, a jarring reminder of the decision that loomed over me. I read it three times, each pass leaving me more conflicted than the last. Perhaps I should have had a lawyer review it, just to ensure I didn't miss anything. But who could I bring a contract like this to? How would I even look them in the eye after presenting something like this?
It felt like I was selling myself out, yet if I wanted to succeed in a brand-new city, it felt like I had no other choice. Rex Compton had his eyes on me, and I didn't doubt him when he said that many doors would be permanently shut for me if I worked against him.
The weight of it all pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe. Frustration and anxiety built in my chest until I couldn't take it anymore. I stood abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor with a harsh sound that echoed my innerturmoil. I couldn't look at those pages anymore. Not even for a second.
I headed to the kitchen, my steps unsteady. My hand reached for a bottle of red wine, fumbling with the corkscrew. The pop of the cork was loud in the silent apartment, a small release of tension that did little to calm my nerves.
I took a long, careful look around my place. The whole incident in Paris had completely worn me out, left me running on empty, so this was the best I could manage for now—a small one-bedroom apartment with plain beige walls that I wasn't allowed to repaint, thanks to the rental agreement. Most of the furniture I had came from thrift stores or online marketplaces. It was all second-hand, but that didn't bother me. I didn't spend much time here anyway. Besides, I preferred to invest my money in things that helped build my image, such as elegant clothes and quality shoes. People always said not to judge a book by its cover, but the truth was, they did. I never let myself forget that. Still, the one thing I truly liked about this place was the big windows. During the day, they let in a lot of natural light, which made the whole apartment feel a little more alive. Right now, though, they offered a quiet view of the city. Everything outside looked peaceful, especially when compared to the storm of thoughts and feelings racing through my head.
I poured a generous glass of wine, watching the rich burgundy liquid swirl as I carried it back to the table. The first of many, I thought wryly. I took a long sip, letting the warmth of the alcohol spread through me, before setting the glass down with a soft clink. The effect was almost immediate, to some degree, at least.
What was I doing? The question snuck its way into my mind once again. I wouldn't be the first person to sell out for the sake of her passion. Sure, Rex was attractive, but I made sure he knew nothing would happen between us. Nothing of substance,anyway. I was never the kind of person to mix pleasure with business in any way, and I wasn't about to start now.
This is for the sake of my career, I told myself firmly before returning to that damn table once more. I had to review everything and decide what to do. Despite his reminder that he didn't want me to rush, I also sensed that a man like Rex didn't have unlimited patience.
Drawing a deep breath, I pulled the documents closer. My fingers traced the edges of the paper as I steeled myself to confront its contents once more. The words swam before my eyes, each clause a potential trap, each paragraph a step further into Rex Compton's world.
I took another sip of wine, larger this time. The alcohol dulled the edge of my anxiety, but it couldn't erase the gravity of what lay before me. This wasn't just a job offer—it was a crossroads, a choice that could reshape my entire future.
My eyes skimmed over the pages again, catching phrases that made my stomach churn. The clinical language couldn't disguise the underlying implications. It was more than a business arrangement; it was an invitation into darkness, a seduction wrapped in legalese. The words concealed his intention in delicate deceit, sharing just enough to lure me in, but keeping the specifics out of my reach.
The sensible part of me screamed to tear up the documents, to run as far as I could from Rex and his world. But another part, a part I wasn't entirely comfortable acknowledging, was intrigued. Tempted, even.
The wine glass was empty now. I reached for the bottle and poured another generous serving. As I brought the glass to my lips, I caught my reflection in the dark liquid. The woman staring back at me looked torn, uncertain. Was this really who I wanted to be?
I steeled myself, drawing a deep breath as I pulled the papers closer. This time, I wasn't reading them as a victim, but as a strategist. My eyes narrowed, scanning each clause with renewed determination.
The exclusivity clause jumped out at me first. "You will commit exclusively to Rex Compton." I felt a flicker of defiance. I took another sip of wine, letting the warmth spread through me as I considered the possibilities.
My gaze fell on the appearance clause next. "You will adhere to the appearance standards set by Mr. Compton." I grimaced, imagining myself as a doll for him to dress up.
The sexual terms made my stomach churn. "You will submit to the desires of Mr. Compton." I felt a mix of disgust and, surprisingly, a flicker of arousal. The idea of being at his mercy… I shook my head, taking another swig of wine. This wasn't me. I wasn't the type for emotionless encounters. And yet, there was power in sexuality. If I learned what drove him, what made him tick, I could turn the tables.
As I continued reading, the living arrangements clause caught my eye. "You will reside at a location chosen by Mr. Compton." The thought of being under constant surveillance made me feel claustrophobic already, presenting yet another question in the endless circle. Why? Why would he want to monitor where I stay?
I sighed. It was more than likely better if I didn't know.
