Billionaire Romance Boxed Set 2(94)

Syria held up her hand. “Wait. How did you know about my father? Are you doing a background check on me?”

“Oh no. You told me all about him, and the Santa doll, and the letters.”

Syria fell back against the seat. “When did I do that?”

“While I untied you. You practiced bondage on your doll, you said. It was what precipitated the conversation.”

Syria’s face burned. She wanted away, out of the car. Home, under her covers. “Are we on our way back to my house now?”

“Yes.” He hesitated. “I don’t have to continue the search, if you would like me to stop.”

“What else did I say? Why don’t I remember?”

“The drug can have a mild amnesia effect.”

“So I don’t know what all happened?”

“I think you do. The conversations are probably blurred, but you remember being tied, right?”

Syria nodded.

“And do you remember when I redressed you?”

Syria paused, thinking. Gradually, it came back into focus, stepping into the dress, stumbling, and laughing as Erik caught her. “Yes, I almost fell.”

He squeezed her arm. “There. The conversation was between those things. I think you will remember it all eventually. Do not worry, Syria. You were delightful and charming, a lovely picture.”

She recognized the neighborhood now. “This was quite an evening.”

“It was, Syria.” They pulled up in front of her house, but he closed his hand over her arm. “Before you go, please tell me you will consider my offer. I am prepared to accept as many concessions as you like, including a new perfect photo studio for you, everything you’ve ever wanted. You do not have to give up your passion for me.”

Her thoughts turned to Tyson. He was her passion. Or had been. “I have some unfinished business.”

“Understood. May I call you tomorrow, to see how you are feeling?”

“Yes. That’s fine. I still have your images to do anyway.”

“Take your time.” He passed her the leather case with the contract papers. “I hope you’ll look them over.”

He nodded at the window and Bill opened the door for her. “Good morning, Miss Syria,” he said.

The sun was just coming up over the horizon. “Good morning. Thank you.”

He closed the door and walked her to the front porch. “I hope to see you again.”

Syria smiled at him, and he turned and strode back to the car. She unlocked the door and closed it behind her, leaning against the cool metal, the leather portfolio hugged to her chest. Her life was increasingly complicated lately, opportunities rising and falling like tides.



*



Syria lay in bed another hour, but the sun was rising, and she no longer felt sleepy. She had mild burn marks on her wrists from the evening, and a bit of soreness from the knot, but otherwise, she seemed none the worse for her experience.

She’d avoided her phone, but figured it was time to see if Tyson was contacting her still. Yesterday he seemed to have had no idea some drunk bimbo had called her with video chat.

Her phone was in her purse in the other room. She padded down the hall, wrapping a ponytail holder around her wild hair. When she picked up her phone, she saw a missed call from Tyson, plus a handful of text messages.



Syria, I’ve missed you.



Did you go out tonight? I’ll call you after work.



Easy gig, just a Christmas present for this lady from her quilting group. She was hilarious and fun, at least seventy.



That made me smile, picturing a group of old ladies whooping it up for Tyson.



I’m guessing you’re having a great time somewhere. Miss you.



Heading to bed. I’ll call again tomorrow.



Syria held the phone to her chest. Whatever had happened at that party, he didn’t feel it was anything to worry about. There was no note of concern in any of his messages. Had he not checked his outgoing calls?

He couldn’t know. Even Mia must not have told him. Or any of the other women they called. I remembered the girl exclaiming, “He has SO MANY girls in his contact list!”

Syria returned to her bedroom and flung herself down. Why did he have to be so far away?

And if she talked to him, what should she say about the phone call?

Or for that matter, what to tell him about Erik?

Maybe a boyfriend wasn’t a good idea, especially a long-distance one.

It was too early to call, and she couldn’t sleep, some weird hangover-ish headache like a dull thud in her temples.

So she stood in her studio, looking over the secondhand lights, the inexpensive drops, other than the fancy one she’d just bought. Her camera was good, but not the best, and while she did well with what she had, Syria could only imagine what magnificent equipment Erik could provide. His offer didn’t have a lot of holes, other than maybe the title. He was courteous, generous, and considerate. She didn’t doubt he would treat her very well. And it wasn’t exactly the rest of her life.