"What?" I asked, stunned, my voice barely above a whisper.
He stepped closer, the air between us thick with tension. "I want you to be mine. There will be terms and conditions, of course. And I'll pay you double—maybe even more than what you're currently earning."
I blinked. This couldn't be real.
This is madness. Who the hell says things like that? Who owns someone and pays them? The only thing that came to mind was prostitution. And that's not me. I may not be perfect—I may have made some reckless choices—but I've never thought about selling myself.
I stepped back instinctively. "This sounds a lot like you're trying to hire me for sex. I'm not that kind of woman."
He raised his hands, his tone calm. "No one has to know about this, Star. All I want from you is sex, yes—but I'm not trying to change who you are. I actually respect you… more than you think."
My chest tightened. "I don't even know you. You don't know me. What makes you think this will work?" My voice trembled, but I held my ground. "What if one of us catches feelings? What if someone finds out?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he closed the distance between us and kissed me.
For a moment, I froze. But his lips were warm, urgent. And part of me—some wild, curious, aching part—kissed him back. His hands roamed down my waist, gripping me with intent. He unbuttoned my blouse slowly, eyes locked on mine the whole time, giving me the chance to stop him.
I didn't.
He slipped off my bra and lifted me onto the desk, his breath brushing against my neck.
"There's not much I'm asking for," he murmured, "and I'll take care of the rest."
"I—"
"Shhh," he whispered, brushing his thumb along my jaw.
**
What happened in that office was nothing like I expected. I came for a job interview… and ended up having sex with the CEO of the company.
I'm such a bitch. Who does that?
Apparently, Star Lowell Jones.
He buttoned up his shirt like it was just another Monday. I watched him, still trying to catch my breath, clothes half-on, shame creeping in.
"I don't even know your name," I said, not hiding the edge in my voice.
He smirked. "Meet me at the Blue Moon Club tonight." He turned and walked to the door. "You can keep calling me Daddy. I like it."
Was he serious?
I scrambled to dress myself, smoothed my hair, and forced my expression into something resembling neutral before walking out. The receptionist gave me a dirty look that I didn't have time or energy to address.
Outside, I fumbled for my phone and called Zoey. Straight to voicemail.
"Hi, this is Zoey. I'm currently busy at the moment. Please call me later."
"Listen, bitch, you better call me the second you hear this voice note. I have tea, and it's boiling hot."
I ended the message, unlocked my car, and climbed in. Just as I was starting the engine, my phone rang. Unknown number. I assumed it was Zoey calling from another phone.
"Hey, Zoe—"
"I thought I said this is something we keep to ourselves."
I froze. His voice. Him.
"What the hell—are you stalking me now?"
"You better listen, kitten," he said, tone low and dangerous. "Disobedience comes with consequences."
He hung up.
My heart pounded in my chest. Who is this guy?
Before I could catch my breath, a new notification popped up. A bank transfer. The amount made my jaw drop—easily enough to cover groceries for weeks.
Another message followed:
"Buy something to wear tonight."
Is this man insane?
Who just sends that kind of money for a single night?
Who the hell is he… and what am I getting myself into?