Billionaire Romance Boxed Set 2(95)

She remembered the contract that Erik had passed her in the car. No harm in looking it over. It sat on the corner of her desk. She slid in to her chair and pushed aside the keyboard and drawing tablet. The small desk lamp illuminated the rich leather, hand tooled along the spine with an intricate design.

The cover fell open to reveal a stark white summary page.



Part 1: Nondisclosure Agreement

Part 2: Term and Compensation

Part 3: Assets

Part 4: Behavior

Part 5: Expectations

Part 6: Medical and Legal

Part 7: Termination of this Agreement

Addendums: Power of Attorney, Fingerprinting, Physician Forms, Financial Documents, Risk Assessment



Whoa.

Syria rested her chin in her hand, elbow braced on the desk over the document. She flipped through. It ran for dozens of pages.

She flipped back to the beginning, turned past the nondisclosure agreement, and paused on Part 2, blinking at the numbers in front of her.



Term, five years, sixty months, from sign date.

See Part 7 for early termination circumstances and procedures.

Compensation, $125,000 per year, with a resigning bonus of $300,000 at contract end.



She jumped out of the chair, walked in a circle, then looked at the page again.

Over half a million dollars in five years.

“How did this happen?” she asked the ceiling. What did someone like Erik see in her that was worth this much money?

She sat back down and looked more seriously at the other pages. All her assets would remain hers, but would be jointly managed by The Executive. All expenses incurred by The Exhibitionist—

She halted. The what?

The Exhibitionist.

A bit of dialogue filtered in from her memory. They were walking out, Syria laughing and relaxed. A woman in a flamboyant red dress had passed her and bumped into her shoulder.

When Syria had stopped, the woman had paused and looked her over with disdain. “Is she your new exhibitionist?” she asked Erik.

“Good to see you, Sylvia. You are looking lovely,” he said. “Please excuse us.”

Syria hadn’t realized at the time what the woman had meant, but thinking back over the evening, she began to understand. Erik wanted her to be the girl he first saw at the bondage exhibition, and he’d led her back to it last night.

She wasn’t sure if she could do that, although the memory of the rope, the knot, the onlookers, the attention…

Maybe.

Syria looked back at the page.

All expenses incurred by The Exhibitionist would be paid for by The Executive. Compensation would be placed in the accounts of The Exhibitionist. Any expenditures by The Exhibitionist from the account requires approval by The Executive, other than a nominal $5,000 annually for personal gifts to members of The Household or family.

So he would control her money.

She flipped to Part 5: Expectations.



The Exhibitionist will accompany The Executive at functions.



She knew all that. She flipped the page.#p#分页标题#e#



Sexual and criminal acts. The Exhibitionist will not accuse, threaten, blackmail, or report The Executive for alleged acts that are covered in this contract, including forced intercourse, corporal punishment, sexual play, or role playing that could be construed by outsiders as a criminal act.



Now she was getting somewhere.



The Exhibitionist will fill out the addendum entitled, “Risk Assessment” to establish the parameters for disallowed, occasionally allowed, and frequently allowed activities that may put The Exhibitionist at risk for injury, pain, or mental anguish.



This was the craziest document Syria had ever seen. She wasn’t sure if it was even legal, although she assumed someone like Erik would make sure it was binding.

She got up and paced the room again. She couldn’t do something like this, could she? She should run it by Mia.

And Tyson.

The ache for him became fierce. She glanced at the clock. Still only 8 a.m. and even earlier in Seattle. She went to her bedroom for a coat and tennis shoes. Time for a walk, so she could think.





12: Grief


When Syria returned from her walk, her exposed hands red and chapped from the cold, a courier waited outside her door.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

The man handed her an envelope and headed back to the street.

“Wait!” she called out. “Did you just get here?”

“I was told to deliver it personally,” he said.

“I hope you didn’t have to wait long,” she said.

“It’s my job.” He saluted her and headed back to a white van.

Syria unlocked her door, puzzling over the package. From Erik, no doubt. Maybe he’d forgotten part of the contract. This one probably said she couldn’t pee without his permission.

She kicked the door closed, wishing her walk had helped her come to some conclusions. She sat on the bench in the hall and tore open the envelope. The page inside was a handwritten letter in a crisp clear style.