Bartered Submission: The Billionaire's Wife, Part 5 (A BDSM Erotic Romance) (2 page)

"Yeah. Which reminds me, you might not want to go on
the internet today."

I blinked. "What?" I hadn't even thought to check my
email yet. My phone was almost out of battery life and I'd left my
charger in my apartment, which was way out of reach now. I'd had to
turn it on and write down Sadie's number and call her from the
landline—Landline! How quaint!—in the living room.

"You're all over it." She sat down at the kitchen
table—a gorgeous wrought iron and glass affair—and sipped her
coffee. I stood in the middle of the kitchen and stared at her.

"What?" I said again.

"Don't worry," she told me. "I hacked into your
Facebook account and made it private, and then I sent a really
flattering photo of you to a couple of celebrity gossip blogs."

My mind was blown. "What?" I said a third time. "I
mean... What?"

Sadie gave me an irritated look. "Well, I didn't want
anyone getting their hands on that photo of you where you're on the
beach and wearing your wet swimsuit under your jeans and it looks
like you've wet yourself."

"Yeah..." I said slowly. "And you don't think you'd
be a good personal assistant... why?"

"I didn't say I wouldn't be a good one," she said.
"I'd be great. But I don't come cheap."

I groaned.
"Anyway.
I don't want to talk about the internet."

"That's probably a good thing."

I bit my lip and sat down across from her. "How bad
is it?"

"It's great," she told me. "Just a bunch of celeb
gossip sites talking about the marriage of the worlds hottest, most
eligible billionaire to some no-name girl. Men think you're hot,
and women hate you."

"What about gay men?"

"I think Perez Hilton likes your hair."

I stared out at the garden from the faceted glass of
the window. "Well, that's something, right?"

"You'd better look fabulous the next time you leave
this house," Sadie told me, "but other than that, yeah, that's not
bad."

I took a deep breath. "Okay. Right. Not that
bad."

She took another sip of her coffee. "Now, what's this
about you trying to find out what makes him tick?" she asked me. "I
thought you just wanted to marry him for his money."

"He won't tell me why he wanted an arranged
marriage," I said. "I mean, he kind of did, but it can't be the
whole story."

"So why?"

"He says it was the best way to get a companion."

Sadie barked a laugh. "He should get a dog."

I nodded. "He
should
get a dog. He likes dogs. I read that in one of his
interviews. But you can't fuck a dog."

"Weeeell..." Sadie said.

"Ew!" If we'd been back at my apartment, I would have
thrown a pillow at her, coffee or no coffee. But we were in Anton's
immaculate house. And I didn't have a pillow. "Don't be gross."

"I'm just
saying.
You
said
he had
control issues. Sit. Down. Stay. Seems like it'd be perfect for
him."

I shot her a glare. "Don't ever tell
anyone
I said that."

"Relax." Sadie gave me a smirk. "You pay me well
for my silence.
And
my expertise
in the field of Felicia Studies, which I
will
be charging extra for."

I groaned. "Fine. You'd better fucking bring that
shit, because I have no idea what's going on here."

She sniffed and took another sip of coffee. "I
think
I
do," she
said.

My attention was suddenly riveted on her. "You do?" I
asked eagerly. "Tell me!"

She put her coffee cup down. "You are totally into
this guy," she said.

I sat back in my chair. I stared at her. Then I
started to laugh.

Sadie looked offended. "What?" she said. "I'm
right."

"No way," I told her, still laughing. "He's just
interesting."

"And hot. You like fucking him, don't you?"

That quieted me down. "Well, yeah." Frightening
glimpses into the bottomless abyss of the psyche aside, the
sex
was
pretty hot.
But that was all it was. Anton Waters wanted a wife for a reason,
and he'd hung me over a barrel to get me to sign on. I hadn't
really had a choice, all his protestations that I could say
no
notwithstanding, and it stuck
in my throat. "But he basically bought me. That's totally not what
a good relationship is built on." A sudden pang of doubt struck me.
Since when had I ever seen anyone in my life have a good
relationship? "Right?"

Sadie shook her head at me. "Waters isn't the only
person around here with control issues," she told me. "You want to
figure out some way to get back at him for forcing you into
marriage."

"Duh," I said.

"But
why?"
she wanted to know.

I didn't really have an answer for her. "I
guess..." I trailed off. "Maybe because my mom spent so much of her
life getting shafted in a bad marriage to a rich asshole who didn't
really love her. I didn't want to end up like her, but now
I'm
just
like
her."

Heaving a sigh, Sadie shotgunned the last of her
coffee. “You really need to get over your parents, Lis. Your mom
could leave any time she wanted to. She's a big girl. She makes her
own choices. And so do you.” She shook her head again. “After your
mom is all better, you can cut ties with Waters and never have to
see him again if you don't want to.”

“
I
don't
want to,”
I said.
Of
course I don't.

Do I?

I bit my lip and thought of the incredible sex we'd
had in the limo, mere minutes after tying the knot. I thought of
Anton's face in the dressing room after I'd surprised him and
turned the tables, sucking his cock and leaving him with that lost,
abandoned look. There was more to him. And I wanted to know what it
was, because...

...Oh my god. Did I really want to get to know him
better? Not just to have something to hold over his head?
Why
did
I want to
have something to hold over his head, anyway? Were we in some kind
of competition? To blackmail him when I was done with him? To get
money? To... what?

I resented him for making me marry him, didn't I? I
hated that rich shithead, that arrogant jerk who was in cahoots
with my jackass father, the guy who thought he could buy me, the
kind of guy who thought everything in the world was for sale and
his for the asking... right?

The guy who said he'd listen to you. The guy who
makes you come so hard you have an out-of-body experience. The
vulnerable guy under all that calm Buddha bullshit. That's the guy
you hate, right?

I pressed my hands to my face and tried to think, but
my thoughts were suddenly a jumble, confused and tangled—

The front door burst open and I jumped halfway out of
my skin. “Shit!” I leaped out of my chair and raced to the foyer
just in time to see two burly, handsome men dragging my personal
effects—far too shabby for this beautiful house—up the front
steps.

“What's this?” Sadie said from behind me.

“My stuff,” I told her. “I'm moving in.”

She snorted. “You got it
bad.”

“Shut up,” I told her. “And once they're done you
have to help me find something to wear for dinner tonight. I don't
want to end up on Perez Hilton looking like something the cat
dragged in.”

“I'm only human,” Sadie said.

“
Shut
up.”

*

I had the movers install my stuff in an extra bedroom
for now. Together, Sadie and I picked out a dress for me, a little
black affair that Sadie said was classic, and then we went hunting
for baby pictures of Anton. Or old school yearbooks, or high school
love letters... anything really.

What we got was exactly dick-all. Anton's house
was clean of anything that might implicate a past. The only thing I
found of interest was the grand piano in the fourth-floor parlor,
covered in dust and complicated sheet music, and the bookshelves in
the master bedroom, lined with an eclectic mix of volumes so
diverse that I first suspected he had simply ordered the most
visually pleasing arrangement arrayed against the white shelves.
Most of the volumes were well-worn, however, and I found his hand
writing in several of them: the
Illiad,
a copy of Kurt Vonnegut's
Breakfast of Champions,
and a book called
Waiting for the
Barbarians
all had his
distinct, spiky print scrawled over the pages, though the notes
made little sense to me. A well-thumbed copy of
The Thornbirds
rested atop the Illiad, as
though recently read.

Other than that, it was a beautiful house that seemed
to be perfectly set up for a real estate showing, except for the
fact that the basement was locked. Probably for the best. If Anton
did have a sex dungeon, I was certain he wouldn't want Sadie to
know about it.

Sadie did not share this opinion. “Ugh,” she said,
tugging on the handle to the basement door. “This guy is
weird.
And
creepy.
Who doesn't have personal touches in their house?
And why is this door locked? This is like that fucked up fairytale
where the girl marries this dude and he's got all the mangled
bodies of his other wives locked behind a door and he's all, 'don't
check out this door!' like a douche.”

“Bluebeard,” I said. “Or maybe the Robber
Bridegroom.”

“Whatever.” She gave the door a kick of disgust.
“It's getting close to seven. You should probably get ready.”

“Right,” I said. I'd been avoiding thinking about it.
Was I going to be the target of hidden cameras tonight? And what
was I going to talk to Anton about? And was I actually interested
in him? The thought was too uncomfortable to even examine, so I'd
shoved it down after Sadie had suggested it, but like a dead body
it kept bobbing to the surface. Dinner was suddenly seeming like a
really bad idea.

To my surprise, Sadie put an awkward hand on my
shoulder. “Come on, it's not going to be
that
bad,” she said. “What's the worst that could
happen?”

“He chops me up and puts me in the basement with his
other wives?”

She smiled. “Relax. You're probably more fun alive
than dead.”

“Not helpful!” I told her as, behind us, the
vestibule door opened and Anton Waters stepped inside.

Silence fell over us as we all stared at each
other, and I realized, after a moment, that Anton and Sadie had
never met and that
I
was the one
who should be introducing them. “Oh!” I said. “Uh. Anton, this is
my friend—and personal assistant—Sadie MacElroy. Sadie, this is
Anton Waters, my... husband.”

God, that still felt awkward to say.

Anton stepped forward, extending a hand and a smile.
“I'm glad to meet you, Miss MacElroy. Let me give you my personal
assistant's number and you two can talk compensation.”

“Nuh-uh,” Sadie said. “I'm talking to you. Tomorrow.
At your office.”

Anton paused, but recovered quickly. “Very well.” He
reached into his impeccable suit jacket, extracted a business card,
and handed it to her. “Call first thing in the morning and we'll
work you in.”

“Good.” She plucked the card from his fingers and
extended her hand. They shook, and then she turned back to me and
gave me a hug.

“See you tomorrow, Lis,” she said.

“
Hurgle,” I said, too mortified to respond
properly. She ignored me and swept through the gallery, turning
once to give Anton the
I've-got-my-eye-on-you
gesture, which, thankfully, his back was turned
for. Then she bolted out the front door and was gone, and we were
alone again.

Anton stared at the hand she had shaken. “I think she
sprained one of my fingers,” he said. “I may regret hiring
her.”

“
I won't,” I said, “and since she's
my
assistant, I'm the one that
matters.” It came out far more vitriolic than I meant for it
to.

He turned to me in surprise. “Have I done something
to offend you, Felicia?” he asked.

I pressed a hand to my forehead and forced myself to
relax. “No,” I said after a moment. “No, I'm sorry, I'm just on
edge. Sadie said I'm all over the internet, and we're going out
tonight, and... I don't know. I don't know what to talk about with
you. We haven't even been on a date and we're... married.”

He tilted his head. “Yes,” he said, “we are. Is that
what is bothering you?”

Lots of things were bothering me. “Where are your
baby pictures?” I blurted.

He stared at me.

Good,
I thought.
Very smooth, Felicia. That won't tip him off that you know
about his basement full of severed limbs
at all.

“I'm sorry?” he said.

Well, I might as well go whole hog. I waved my
arms, indicating his house. “What's with this place?” I said.
“Where are all the pictures? Where are the... I don't know, the
overdue library books and the stray receipts from the grocery store
and the junk drawer with little bits of lint and a pair of broken
scissors in it? Do you even
live
here?”

To my relief, Anton didn't look angry that I'd
been snooping around—although I suppose, technically, he had
invited me to do so by telling me to make myself at home. Instead
he looked amused. “Well,” he said. “I suppose I live at the office
more than I do here.” He glanced around himself as though taking in
his own house for the first time. “Perhaps it
is
a bit spare on the personal touches.”