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CHAPTER THREE
I waited until the next day to call and give him my answer.I’m not sure why.It didn’t take me long to make my decision.
In fact, it took me maybe five minutes.All I had to do was look him up online, find out that he was indeed very rich, a billionaire, but that he had no red flags on him.
I guess I didn’t want to seem too eager.Or perhaps I was hoping a stray wisp of willpower would appear and I’d resist the offer.
Because in the end, I always knew what it was.There was never anything innocent between the two of us.It was always illicit.Lustful.Passionate. Carnal.
“I’ll do it,” I told him as soon as he picked up.
I swear I could feel the satisfaction in his voice as he said, “Good.Now tell me your real first name.”
“Greta,” I answered honestly.I’d never given my real name to a customer before, but this had clearly gone beyond that.In for a penny.
I could hear the smile in his voice.“I like it.It’s lovely.”
“Thank you,” I told him politely, feeling oddly flattered at such innocent praise.
“Let me arrange some things and I’ll call you back with the details.”
It was the strangest thing I’d ever done.Not just the weekend, but everything leading up to it.He worked around my schedule to give me a complete makeover on his dime.
I didn’t complain about any of it.
My turquoise blue hair had been fun for a minute, but I’d already been thinking about changing it back so I didn’t protest when the stylist he sent my way stripped the color out and then gave it a keratin treatment.The end result was a smooth platinum blonde that wasn’t far off from my natural color.There was a faint trace of the blue left, but it only added layers to the strands and kept them from being too boring for my taste.
An aesthetician/makeup artist spent an afternoon treating my skin, matching my color tones, painting my face, then sending me off with more top of the line cosmetics than I’d ever owned at once.
I certainly didn’t complain about that part.
The third step to the makeover was the most nerve-wracking.He’d scheduled me to work with his personal shopper to find clothes for the weekend, simply giving me a time and address for the appointment.I didn’t even realize he’d directed me to a private estate until I was pulling up in front of a guarded, wrought iron gate.
I had to show a photo I.D. before the stone-faced security guard let me in.
With trepidation I made my way along an expansive drive to the biggest mansion I’d ever set eyes on in real life.It was the stuff of television, a sprawling, Spanish style fortress surrounded by ten foot high walls.
I didn’t know where to park, so I went for bold and left my car right at the front door.
I’d worn a plain white tank and cutoff jean shorts with some old, comfortable platform wedges.My hair was in a messy topknot, my face scrubbed clean of makeup.I’d simply come to try on clothes, so hadn’t even thought to dress any nicer, and I felt underdressed to the point of trashy as I rang the doorbell.I had no clue who would answer, but I was relieved when it was a woman instead of Mr. Bossy himself.
Her hair was cut into an ageless black bob.I guessed she was somewhere in her late forties.She was elegant, her clothes and accessories classic and stylish.I could guess how I’d be dressing for the weekend just by looking at her; tasteful and boring.
“Nice to meet you,” she said.She didn’t seem particularly happy to see me, but she was civil enough.“I’m Mr. Kashnikov’s personal shopper.I have a room set up with samples for you.Right this way, please.”
She’d left me little room for further introduction, so I followed her without a word.
She led me down several long, impressive hallways, and up a back flight of stairs before she turned into a large living area that was filled with nothing but racks of clothing.
She moved to one of the racks, grabbing a strapless nude bra, and thrusting it at me.“Put this on.It should fit, and work with most of the dresses.”
I glanced around.There wasn’t a closet to change in, or even so much as a privacy screen, but I quickly shrugged it off.
There was clearly no need for modesty here.I showed off more every night at work, obviously.
Still without speaking, I stripped down and put on the bra, glancing around at the racks of clothes.
They weren’t what I was expecting.
