Obsessed with Me - When she rejected him, he set out to destroy her - book 1 (4 page)

“Says your boyfriend, who is a medium-shirt for sure, would be more understanding than you think.”

His words stir my curiosity. “What …does he mean?”

“Mr Jakobus would like to get back to the issue in question, as he would like to have breakfast soon.”

I look at Tarago Jakobus with eyes like slits. “I’m curious, why is it that nobody must know that he and I are married? Is it because he’s already married? Is promised to someone? Will lose his fortune if he married
beneath
him…? What is the reason?”

More whispering.

“Mr Jakobus says it’s none of the above – he just doesn’t want anyone to know that he married a black girl because it’s bad for his business, his family and friends. Certain people will stop doing business with him if they found out about his marriage to you.”

My jaw has been dropping a lot today and right now, it’s on the floor. “He’s such a racist! Oh my God! And he’s so blatant about it. Has he no shame?”

“The duration for the marriage will be for two years or before, if he tires of you. After two years you keep the house, two million rand and all gifts given to you. You will sign a prenup of course. And no, he says that he has no shame and apologizes for his lack of shame, thereof.”

“Wait …if he
tires
of me?”

“If
you
leave before two years is over, or if anyone finds out about the marriage, your family will have twenty-eight days to vacate the property they live in, and you will immediately leave Mr Jakobus’s house. Also, you will pay back fifty per cent of all the monthly allowances that has been paid to you – breach of contract.”

“Contract …”

“If
he
tires of you before that, he will send you home with all of the above, since it will be him who’s breaching the contract.”

I look at the floor as I think about his indecent proposal. How do I walk away from all of this? He’s like the devil offering me gold and silver for my soul.

“What about my studies?”

I sip on my coffee as they put their heads together and whisper some more.

“
Unisa
or by correspondence. When you become a wife, things change and he is not happy with you leaving the house every day.”

That is totally out of the question. “A wife? Me?”

As his words, the situation and the craziness of it all deluge over me, I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall. “A prostitute,” I murmur, “he wants me to become a prostitute.”

“Mr Jakobus says a prostitute doesn’t get two million rand after two years. Unless you’re Pretty Woman. He says he saw the movie and kept wishing it was in Afrikaans. Says that he was certain that Julia Roberts had Afrikaans blood in her. But overall …”

“You serious?”

“Says that’s seven characters. Says he missing out on his bacon and eggs for breakfast so he would like an answer asap.”

I stare at the table as I think about his proposal. If I say no, I’m in jail. There is no way my family could come up with one hundred thousand rand.

“Why is bail so high for vandalism?”

Whispering.

“Mr Jakobus says he bribed a judge ten thousand rands to find a reason to set bail at that price.”

“You WHAT?” I jump out of my chair and lunge at him.

Hettie Stransky, as big as she is, leaps out of her chair, grabs me around the waist and keeps me from hitting Tarago.

“You arsehole! How could you do that?! You maniac! You bloody …bloody…bearded …you …you …”

He sits with arms folded, an amused look on his face.

“Man, what a loathsome creature you are! I’d like to kill you.”

Chapter Four

I wear jeans, an unflattering blue and white striped top, heels and a snarl at my quickie wedding.

He wears an off-white striped shirt, black pants and a Rolex. His hair is neat and secured into a ponytail and he’s clean-shaven. For the first time since I met him, I can see his face.

Yet, I don’t look at him, don’t smile, mumble my vows, and when the judge declares that we are now husband and wife and that he can kiss the bride, I offer my cheek. He gives me a peck that lands somewhere between my jawline and lips.

To my surprise he drives. As far as I know, he has a driver all the time. Must really want to keep our marriage a secret.

We drive to his home in Clifton in silence. After a while he turns on the radio and Janet Jackson’s
That’s the Way Love Goes
, plays.

I quickly change the radio station.

I’m All Out of Love
by Air Supply plays.

Quickly, I reach to hit the tune button.

“
Wat maakeer
(what’s going on?)?”

“No need for romantic music,” I mutter.

He chuckles.

I fling him a dirty look, then continue seeking a song devoid of any reference to love.

I welcome all advertisements, especially ones about funerals and servicing of motor vehicle.

When the adverts finish, Ace of Base’s
All That She Wants
plays.

I listen carefully to the lyrics, ready to pounce should one word about love is mentioned. Don’t hear any. Okay, better. No mention of the word love – I exhale and sit back.

The knot in my stomach that I’ve had for the last seven days since I was released from jail tightens. I have no idea where I am going. All I have is his word that he is wealthy and a contract that could turn out to be bogus. Fair enough were are driving in a silver Jag with a white interior, but still…

My mind drifts to my family. They were so thrilled to know that I landed a job as a Personal Assistant to some wealthy guy and that my salary would cover all monthly expenses.

Sure they were sore about me having to live in and having to study part-time, but I tried to get them to look on the bright side of things and they did.

Two years.

I feel like I’m driving to prison to do a stint. But I nurse a tiny flicker of hope – he’ll tire of me before the two year period, and then I will be on my way. The thought of that brings a smile to my face.

We drive up a high winding road in Clifton to get to his house. A scary road – hate to think of myself driving down this when I’m drunk. When
anybody’s
drunk.

He brings the car to a standstill outside a property.

A plaque on the wall says
Clifton
Manor.
Next to that plaque is another plaque which says,
Party Manor.

High wrought-iron gates and a security guard named Sipho, keeps out strangers.

Tarago drives in and parks outside the entrance to a huge house. He gets out. An old colored man he calls Chester, hurries to open the door for me.

“We have the room ready,
Meneer
Jakobus,” the man says.

“
Goed
,” Tarago says and gestures for me to walk ahead.

Chester takes my suitcases from the trunk of the car. I just brought two – banking on him to tire of me and send me home soon. I plan to be uninteresting and downright boring.

I walk into the house and gasp. It is a house you seen in
Amazing
Homes
or
Lifestyle of the Rich and Famous.
Large marbled entrance hall the size of the downstairs of my house, pillars all around, a huge water feature with a Zen garden that you walk through, low subdued lighting all around and classical music plays softly in the background. Classical! This can’t be the oaf’s house if classical music lives here.

A few maids cleaning the pillars and dusting the huge paintings pause to greet Tarago.

He nods at them and keeps walking while I try to keep up.

They eye me curiously, before resuming their duties.

Tarago stops to answer the phone, ignoring me. I take a moment to check out the views – the house has uninterrupted views of Clifton Beach.

“Please follow me,
Mejuffrou
(Miss),” Chester says.

As I follow Chester up some stairs, Tarago takes his phone and walks in the opposite direction.

The room Chester takes to me to is massive – three times the size of my bedroom at home with a 180 degree view of Clifton beach, as well as views of a spectacular entertainment area on the property. Its carpet is white, fluffy and I immediate remove my shoes.

It has a spacious and bright walk-in closet, which leads to a marbled white and cream ensuite. The ensuite is half the size of the bedroom. 

A large semi-enclosed balcony with mounted heaters allow for day and night, summer and winter use.

If I wasn’t feeling so nauseous with trepidation, I might actually enjoy this amazing dwelling the jerk calls home.

The room is decorated in white and varying hues of browns, minimalistic and modern, but cold and almost hotel-like. There is no warmth of a home.

I open another door and gasp when I see a shirtless Tarago in it. We have inter-leading rooms! Even though I should have expected it, the thought scares the crap out of me. He can so easily stroll into my room.

“Sorry,” I mutter and quickly shut the door. I stand in front of the closed door and fight to keep my breath even.

A knock at my room door – it’s Hettie Stransky. “Welcome to Clifton Manor, Tanin,” she says.

“Thank you.”

“A quick meeting?”

“Sure.”

As she talks I’m thinking she really would look better in men’s clothing. But she’s married to Avraham. Today, she wears a grey suit and very sensible shoes. She moves to the table and chair in my room, sits down and pulls out a sheaf of papers.

“Ground rules etc …” she says as she hands me a credit card.

“Oh.” As if the credit card is a stick of dynamite, I stare at it.

“Unlimited.”

I look at her. “Un…limited?”

She nods.

“Really?”

Like …what’s the catch? Who gives someone an
unlimited
credit card? Unless he’s kinky or perverted or plain crazy. Okay, so far, we know that he is plain crazy.

“No catch, Tanin,” she says as she ticks off stuff on a page. “He wants you to be comfortable.

’Sides it’s a way of tracking your spending, your whereabouts…if you know what I mean. Don’t do anything stupid with it like book into a hotel or something, understand?”

“Yeah, sure.” Booking into a hotel? The thought never crossed my mind.

I stare at the gold card in my hand. Unlimited. Wow! I thrill at the thought of the damage I could do with this.

“Okay, some rules – no seeing your ex-boyfriend or any man whatsoever, or …”

I nod.

“You see him or any man, and you have breached the contract.”

“Okay.”

“You will have no car, but a driver is at your disposal. Plenty cars around too.”

“Oh.”

“You are at Tarago disposal twenty-four-seven, when he travels, wherever he goes. At the drop of a hat. Twenty-four-seven. Clear?”

I nod.

“Your wifely duties …you can’t say no. Not ever.”

I nod slowly. This is the part that makes me want to run to the beautiful marbled bathroom and throw up.

“At all. That sexual maintenance part is a vital part of your contract.”

“Sexual main…?”

“Tarago is heavy into monogamy. Both ways. He’s old-fashioned about that. Got it?”

Again, I nod, feeling ashamed that I could stoop so low as to negotiate sexual maintenance and accept a credit card from a stranger in exchange for being his sex slave, basically.

“Now, I’m not going to overload you with stuff, but you are a clever girl so can read your contract. Any questions …” she hands me her card, “call me anytime.” She gathers her papers and gets up.

“Wait!” I cry. “Are you leaving?”

“Yes. Have to get back to my office.”

“Oh.” I look at the floor as I play with my fingers.

“You’ll be okay,” she says in a reassuring voice.

I nod slowly and chew on my bottom lip as I follow her to the door, my mouth dry.

She stops at the door and turns around to look at me. “Tanin, don’t blow it. Tarago Jakobus is offering you an opportunity of a lifetime. Many women have wanted him, many women have chased him, but …” she waves her hand in front of her face, a baffled look in her eyes, “he wants

you
.”

“That baffles me too. Like, I don’t know what to think.”

She looks at the ground and nods slowly. Then she looks up at me. “Jakobus is bored of all that he’s got. He got it too quickly and now he’s totally bored. Nothing excites him anymore. When Tarago gets a bee in his bonnet, the only thing we can do, is kill the bee. Or kill Jakobus. As you can see, Jakobus is six-four, which makes it difficult to kill the bastard.”

Neither of us smile.

“I’ve looked at your file, Tanin – you’re too young to shoulder so much responsibility – your mother, your brother’s your sisters – way too young. Now all that is being taken care of by Tarago. Just sit back and relax for once.”

Sit back and relax?

“I know your history, your father’s history about his political struggles with law – how he died in prison and I understand your feelings towards
Wit mense
(white people) but, that is the past. You have to look ahead. At least for two years.”

My eyes drop to the floor at the mention of my father.

“Okay? This is home for a while until … Tarago grows tired of you.”

I look at her, an earnest expression on my face. “How long does he usually take to grow tired of a woman?”

For the first time since I’ve met her, she smiles. “Seven days is usually a record.”

Hope sparks inside of me and I smile. “Wow!”

“Take care!” she says and leaves.

I look at my suitcases and smile. No need to unpack. Seven days will fly.

Seven days – sure I can do that.

I lie on my king-size bed and stare at the ceiling. So much has happened in the last month. It’s almost surreal. Maybe it’s all just a dream?

With a sigh, I turn and look out the window. From my bed I have a clear view of the sea and I hear the lull of it. Wow! What a house. Didn’t know real people lived in places like this.

Wonder how wealthy Tarago Jakobus really is?