Page 18 of Valentine's Slave

“I’ve taken the week off work, and I suggest you do the same,” Valentino replies. “You’ll be with me twenty-four seven for the entirety of the seven days, and as for what we’ll be doing—whatever we like. The options are endless.”

I take that to mean sexual excursions in multiple locations. If this guy only gets it on once a year, I assume he’ll want to take full advantage of the limited time he has.

“The dates here say 12 p.m. on Thursday, February eighth, until 12 p.m. on Thursday, February fifteenth,” I say. “But I’m busy on the evening of Sunday, February eleventh.”

Valentino cocks an eyebrow, flashing me those black eyes. “And what exactly is so important that you can’t attend your fifty-thousand-dollar commitment?”

I roll my eyes. I hadn’t wanted to go into detail, but the dude is a prick.

“It’s my nephew’s tenth birthday, and six months ago, I bought us tickets to the Bring Me the Horizon concert on the same day,” I say. “They’re his favourite band, and I can’t let him down.”

Valentino looks at me long and deep, and then nods. “Very well. What time will you be away on the eleventh?”

“We’ll have an early family dinner, and the show ends at 11, so considering transportation time, that’ll probably be 3 p.m. to midnight.”

That’s nine hours, I realize, almost an entire half of one of the seven days in the contract. Part of me fears that Valentino will get angry. I have no idea how he is, if he has a temper, how he acts when he doesn’t get what he wants. This is a great opportunity to see how he’ll react, as uncomfortable as it makes me.

“To compensate, you may arrive at midnight on the eighth instead of at 12 p.m. on the ninth,” he replies cooly. “I’ll send an Uber to pick you up, and as for your time away on the eleventh, I’ll drop you off and pick you up myself.”

I quickly do the math.

“I’m only away for nine hours, and yet you’re asking for twelve extra in return,” I note.

Valentino smirks. “Consider it interest. It also may be more comfortable for you to arrive here at midnight rather than at 3 a.m.”

“Right.”

Dropping me off and picking me up for the birthday sounds like that weird mix of gentleman and prick again. Or maybe it’s just his control-freak side trying to see where I live and who my family is.

“A ride isn’t necessary,” I add. “I’ll take an Uber there and back.” I will have a fair bit of extra cash to play with by then, but Valentino looks at me hard.

“I said, I’ll pick you up and drop you off.”

Definitely control freak, then. If I don’t have a choice in the matter, I’ll make sure he drops me off far away so that no one gets a glimpse of him.

“If you insist,” I say stiffly. Sounds like the slave master always gets his way.

I go back to reading the contract word by word, being very careful that there are no trip-up contraptions to get me stuck in something slimy. Really, I should have a lawyer look at it before signing anything, but I haven’t got the time or money for that.

One half of the sum will be wired to me upon arrival, and the other half right before I leave on the last day. My banking information is required, and so is my clothing size.

“Let me guess—you’re going to buy all the lingerie you want me to wear?” I ask.

That dirty glow comes back into Valentino’s eyes, and he brushes a strand of dark hair out of his eyes. “Precisely.”

“Will we be sleeping in the same bed?” I ask.

“That’s to be decided.”

There’s a part at the bottom about full confidentiality, that Valentino won’t speak of our agreement to anyone, though nothing binds me to silence, and as soon as the week is over, we owe each other nothing and will pretend the other doesn’t exist. No connection required, no messages, no contact ever again.

I’m still not quite sure why he’s going through all the trouble, but it works to my benefit, and I have no problem with him dropping 50k on our ‘agreement’.

I fill out my banking information and clothing size. I’m glad the contract doesn’t require my address, since at the moment, I don’t exactly have one.

“I’m ready to sign,” I say when I get to the bottom.

Valentino looks directly into my eyes, still wearing that impeccable suit. He didn’t even let me see his chest hair.

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