The Billionaire's Command
Page 25
“That’s an excellent question,” he said, but instead of answering it, he went back to tapping at his phone.
I sighed, and went back to staring out the window.
Finally, after about a million years, traffic cleared out, and we turned north. I tried to figure out where we were going. Even after three years in the city, I still didn’t have a terrific grasp of the geography, but I was pretty sure the address he’d given the cabbie was on the Upper East Side. It made sense. That was where rich people lived, and I couldn’t imagine Turner settling for anything less than the absolute best.
He’d picked me, after all.
Lord. You could peel paint with that sarcasm.
“So where’s my up-front money?” I asked, breaking the silence in the cab.
He glanced up from his phone. “I’ll wire it to you,” he said.
“You don’t have my bank account,” I said.
“Of course I do,” he said. “It’s in your file. Germaine gave it to me.”
My face flushed hot. I couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or anger. Maybe both. “You looked at my file?”
He frowned at me. “Of course I did. I look at all of the employees’ files.”
That made sense. He was the owner. But it still felt like a violation, like he had seen some private part of me without my knowledge. “So you know my real name.”
“Yes,” he said.
“But you’ve never used it,” I said.
“I didn’t think you would want me to,” he said.
I could not figure this man out. He had no qualms about paying me for a month of sex, but using my real name crossed the line? “You know, you’re kind of weird,” I said.
He only raised an eyebrow.
“So, if we’re talking about names,” I said. “I thought Turner was a fake name.”
“It’s not,” he said. “You caught me off guard when you asked. I couldn’t think of anything plausible on the spot. I knew you would assume it was an alias.”
I cocked my head, considering him. He took the subway, and didn’t mind telling me that he had a hard time thinking on his feet—and yet he was the most commanding person I had ever met. Maybe being willing to admit vulnerability was part of that. He was so confident, so assured of his own power, that confessing to the occasional weakness didn’t matter. He would still be able to control any room he walked into, just by existing inside of it. “What’s your first name?” I asked.
“Alex,” he said. “Alexander.”
“Alex Turner,” I said. Oddly plain. “I thought you’d have some name like Maximilian Reginald the Eighth.”
He laughed again, like it had been startled out of him. “If my parents had burdened me with a name like that, I would have changed it as soon as I turned eighteen.”
“So I can call you Alex, right?” I asked.
He sighed. “I suppose so. I don’t imagine I would have any luck stopping you.”
“Probably not,” I said. “I’m pretty stubborn.”
“Christ, I’m going to regret this,” he said, and went back to his phone.
I turned back to the window, feeling smug. I had scored a point against him. An imaginary point, that didn’t count toward anything, but still. An empty victory was better than no victory at all, right?
The cab glided up 5th Avenue, Central Park on the left and fancy apartment buildings on the right. I gawked up at the elaborate facades like a tourist. I didn’t get up to the Upper East Side much, so it was still kind of a thrill to see the old mansions and imagine the glamorous people who lived inside. In a way, it was hard to imagine Turner living among them. Alex. He seemed too—well. I wasn’t really sure. Too something. Too blunt? Too unconcerned with what other people thought about him? He knew who he was, and what he was worth, and I couldn’t picture him going through the motions of upper-class society. Or, okay, what I imagined upper-class society to be like. It wasn’t like I really had any idea what rich people did. Bought tiny dogs. Rode horses.
“We’re here,” Alex said, and the cab pulled over to the side of the road and came to a stop.
The sort of giddy disbelief I’d felt since we left Germaine’s office evaporated abruptly. It was like waking from a dream, and then cold reality set in. I was sitting in a cab with a man I barely knew, about to go up to his fancy apartment and have sex with him. We weren’t friends. We were barely acquaintances. And I had sold myself to him for the next month.
Well. It probably wouldn’t be boring, at least.
* * *
The doorman let us in with such a bland expression on his face that I was sure he was judging me for my flip-flops and raggedy cut-off shorts. I shot him a bright smile as I followed Turner into the building. I didn’t give a shit what he thought about me. That was one of the advantages of occupying a spot at the bottom of the social totem pole: no reputation to worry about. I was trash, and I didn’t care who knew it.
The inside of the building was pretty nice, but not any fancier than the club. I’d been hoping for a tiger-skin rug or something. Turner walked directly toward the bank of elevators at the back of the lobby, so I didn’t have much time to gawk. I had to scurry to keep up with Turner’s long strides.
As soon as we were in the elevator, he turned to me and slid his hand beneath the strap of my bag. “What’s in here?”
I frowned up at him. “That’s your seduction technique?”
“I don’t need to seduce you, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ve already got you.” He tugged the bag from my shoulder and opened it. “Very nice. Are you planning to wear all of these for me?”
“You told me to clear out my locker,” I said. “So I did. I don’t know what you’re going to ask me to do. Maybe you’ll want me to wear some lingerie. It’s not like you gave me any guidelines.”
“Touchy,” he said. He passed my bag back to me, and I hiked it back onto my shoulder. “Surely you know that I’ll provide any… necessary accoutrements.”
I didn’t even know what that word meant. “I like to be prepared,” I said. “Time is money.”
He huffed out a breath, and then the elevator doors slid open.
The elevator opened into a small entryway, kind of like the front room of the club. He went out into the marble-floored foyer, and I followed him, curious, glancing around at the mirrors and vases and elaborately arranged flowers. A large wooden door was set in one wall, with a doorbell beside it. Turner unlocked the door and immediately headed inside, without looking to see if I was following, and there was nothing I could do but trail after him like a little lost sheep.
I sighed, and went back to staring out the window.
Finally, after about a million years, traffic cleared out, and we turned north. I tried to figure out where we were going. Even after three years in the city, I still didn’t have a terrific grasp of the geography, but I was pretty sure the address he’d given the cabbie was on the Upper East Side. It made sense. That was where rich people lived, and I couldn’t imagine Turner settling for anything less than the absolute best.
He’d picked me, after all.
Lord. You could peel paint with that sarcasm.
“So where’s my up-front money?” I asked, breaking the silence in the cab.
He glanced up from his phone. “I’ll wire it to you,” he said.
“You don’t have my bank account,” I said.
“Of course I do,” he said. “It’s in your file. Germaine gave it to me.”
My face flushed hot. I couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or anger. Maybe both. “You looked at my file?”
He frowned at me. “Of course I did. I look at all of the employees’ files.”
That made sense. He was the owner. But it still felt like a violation, like he had seen some private part of me without my knowledge. “So you know my real name.”
“Yes,” he said.
“But you’ve never used it,” I said.
“I didn’t think you would want me to,” he said.
I could not figure this man out. He had no qualms about paying me for a month of sex, but using my real name crossed the line? “You know, you’re kind of weird,” I said.
He only raised an eyebrow.
“So, if we’re talking about names,” I said. “I thought Turner was a fake name.”
“It’s not,” he said. “You caught me off guard when you asked. I couldn’t think of anything plausible on the spot. I knew you would assume it was an alias.”
I cocked my head, considering him. He took the subway, and didn’t mind telling me that he had a hard time thinking on his feet—and yet he was the most commanding person I had ever met. Maybe being willing to admit vulnerability was part of that. He was so confident, so assured of his own power, that confessing to the occasional weakness didn’t matter. He would still be able to control any room he walked into, just by existing inside of it. “What’s your first name?” I asked.
“Alex,” he said. “Alexander.”
“Alex Turner,” I said. Oddly plain. “I thought you’d have some name like Maximilian Reginald the Eighth.”
He laughed again, like it had been startled out of him. “If my parents had burdened me with a name like that, I would have changed it as soon as I turned eighteen.”
“So I can call you Alex, right?” I asked.
He sighed. “I suppose so. I don’t imagine I would have any luck stopping you.”
“Probably not,” I said. “I’m pretty stubborn.”
“Christ, I’m going to regret this,” he said, and went back to his phone.
I turned back to the window, feeling smug. I had scored a point against him. An imaginary point, that didn’t count toward anything, but still. An empty victory was better than no victory at all, right?
The cab glided up 5th Avenue, Central Park on the left and fancy apartment buildings on the right. I gawked up at the elaborate facades like a tourist. I didn’t get up to the Upper East Side much, so it was still kind of a thrill to see the old mansions and imagine the glamorous people who lived inside. In a way, it was hard to imagine Turner living among them. Alex. He seemed too—well. I wasn’t really sure. Too something. Too blunt? Too unconcerned with what other people thought about him? He knew who he was, and what he was worth, and I couldn’t picture him going through the motions of upper-class society. Or, okay, what I imagined upper-class society to be like. It wasn’t like I really had any idea what rich people did. Bought tiny dogs. Rode horses.
“We’re here,” Alex said, and the cab pulled over to the side of the road and came to a stop.
The sort of giddy disbelief I’d felt since we left Germaine’s office evaporated abruptly. It was like waking from a dream, and then cold reality set in. I was sitting in a cab with a man I barely knew, about to go up to his fancy apartment and have sex with him. We weren’t friends. We were barely acquaintances. And I had sold myself to him for the next month.
Well. It probably wouldn’t be boring, at least.
* * *
The doorman let us in with such a bland expression on his face that I was sure he was judging me for my flip-flops and raggedy cut-off shorts. I shot him a bright smile as I followed Turner into the building. I didn’t give a shit what he thought about me. That was one of the advantages of occupying a spot at the bottom of the social totem pole: no reputation to worry about. I was trash, and I didn’t care who knew it.
The inside of the building was pretty nice, but not any fancier than the club. I’d been hoping for a tiger-skin rug or something. Turner walked directly toward the bank of elevators at the back of the lobby, so I didn’t have much time to gawk. I had to scurry to keep up with Turner’s long strides.
As soon as we were in the elevator, he turned to me and slid his hand beneath the strap of my bag. “What’s in here?”
I frowned up at him. “That’s your seduction technique?”
“I don’t need to seduce you, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ve already got you.” He tugged the bag from my shoulder and opened it. “Very nice. Are you planning to wear all of these for me?”
“You told me to clear out my locker,” I said. “So I did. I don’t know what you’re going to ask me to do. Maybe you’ll want me to wear some lingerie. It’s not like you gave me any guidelines.”
“Touchy,” he said. He passed my bag back to me, and I hiked it back onto my shoulder. “Surely you know that I’ll provide any… necessary accoutrements.”
I didn’t even know what that word meant. “I like to be prepared,” I said. “Time is money.”
He huffed out a breath, and then the elevator doors slid open.
The elevator opened into a small entryway, kind of like the front room of the club. He went out into the marble-floored foyer, and I followed him, curious, glancing around at the mirrors and vases and elaborately arranged flowers. A large wooden door was set in one wall, with a doorbell beside it. Turner unlocked the door and immediately headed inside, without looking to see if I was following, and there was nothing I could do but trail after him like a little lost sheep.
