The tempting smells of breakfast led me down the hall, past a few closed doors. On the right, an open door beckoned, and I gingerly walked through. My brief dash of confidence had been quashed by the cold opulence of the mansion, unlike anything I had ever seen before. I felt awkward and gauche, totally out of my element. The dining room that met my eyes only increased this feeling of alienation.
A long table crossed the room, the rich wood gleaming under a crystalline chandelier. Intimidatingly ornate flower arrangements graced the table, and complex table settings baffled my eyes, even as the delicious scents drew me further into the room. Miles sat at one end, frowning down at a newspaper. Unsure what to do, I cleared my throat. He looked up, still frowning, and my unspoken question died on my lips at his forbidding expression. My shoulders tightened and I nervously smoothed my skirt, looking down.
"Don't just stand there, sit down!" I jumped, then hurried forward, drawing out a heavy chair a few places down from the moody man. He jerked his chin at the dishes set along the table. I served myself, and started to eat. A heavy silence descended over the table, as I ate and he read, studiously ignoring me. My appetite dwindled into nothing as my stomach twisted in growing anxiety, and after a few bites I started picking at the rich food.
As I stared at my plate, glumly wondering what was going to happen next, a loud clatter caught my attention. I glanced up, then stared as Miles slammed the newspaper down, angrily shoving back the remnants of his breakfast. He saw me watching and scowled, and my gaze shot back down to the table as my nerves tightened painfully. The air nearly seemed to simmer with his repressed anger, but even as the tension rose, depraved arousal twisted through me. I fought it down, aghast at this perverse response to his temper.
Lost in this wicked internal battle, I jerked when he finally spoke, painfully slamming my elbow against the edge of the table. He rolled his eyes at this display of clumsiness but went on, cuttingly sharp. "Aren't you done yet? We're on a tight schedule today."
I gaped at him. "What? Why? What are we doing?"
"For starters, I'd prefer not to see you wearing my ex-wife's old clothes." His tone was icy and I winced, mumbling an apologetic agreement. My pleasure in wearing the pretty dress vanished. "I also have an appointment at two, so we'll have to hurry." Standing, he tossed his napkin onto the dirty dishes. He'd changed clothes, and now seemed stiffly reserved in a tailored grey suit, the very image of a successful businessman. I stumbled to my feet, painfully self-conscious once again. His eyes narrowed as they swept down my body, and I crossed my arms, my shoulders hunching inwards. Raising his eyes to my face, he continued. "And I believe you have a phone call to make very soon."
I nodded hesitantly. Part of the contract I'd signed had stipulated regular contact between the purchased virgin and the auction house, as a safety precaution. I was supposed to call in every twelve hours, around ten o'clock, until the contract was fulfilled and the final payment deposited. The auction manager had made me memorize the phone number, and when Miles passed me his cell-phone, I entered the digits with trembling fingers.
A brusque woman answered the phone. She demanded the pseudonym I'd taken for the contract, and then asked me a series of increasingly intimate questions. The level of detail she insisted on left me feeling dirty, and her barely-hidden contempt drove home the intense shame I still felt over the whole sordid situation. Her probing questions and sneering tone went on and on, until she was finally satisfied that I was safe and, clearly more importantly, still technically a virgin and bound by the contract. After a curt reminder to call back in twelve hours, she hung up without farewell. Nearly in tears, I gave Miles back his glossy phone.
With his current black mood, I had been almost tempted to ask the rude woman for a rescue, but I hadn't quite dared to in front of him. It hadn't seemed terribly likely that the judgmental bitch would have sent help even if I had asked for it! I reassured myself that at least he didn't know about the agreement I'd made with my best friend. If I didn't call her the next evening, she was going straight to the cops. I tried to convince myself that I wasn't as horribly trapped as I felt.
Clutching that pathetic comfort, I wrapped my arms tightly around myself and turned my back on Miles, glumly staring at my toes. My left big toe had chipped nail polish, a soothingly normal detail in this bizarre situation I'd so willingly thrown myself into. To my surprise, a warm hand dropped onto my shoulder. Without thinking, I nuzzled my cheek against it, wiping away the tears I'd failed to hold back.
Quietly, Miles spoke, the words halting and strained. "Sophia, darling. I... I'm sorry. I can see that you're upset, and I know I'm at least partly responsible." He sighed, a weary sound. "I just read some disturbing news in the paper, and then seeing you in her clothes... well, it just reminded me of some bad times. But I'm not mad at you, and I'm sorry that that horrid woman gave you such a hard time. Please give me a chance to make this up to you."
My heart melted at this sincere apology. I turned to him, and his tight lips eased into a smile as I wrapped my arms around his lean waist. I relaxed against him and he laid his cheek on my hair, rocking us slightly. My voice was muffled against his chest.
"It's alright, Miles, I understand. Let's just try to enjoy today, alright?" I felt him nod against my head.
He held me close for a peaceful moment, before easing me back and clearing his throat. "Yes, of course. Today." He seemed a bit adrift, and then some thought struck him. "Ah, here, I almost forgot! I have a gift for you, darling." Reaching into a jacket pocket, he thrust a cream-colored envelope into my hands. Curiously, I turned it over in my hands, then slid a nail under the flap. A hard plastic card was all it contained, and I held it up.
"A... credit card?" The pleasant greed of receiving an unexpected gift dissolved into dismay, as my searing shame about selling my body roared back into my mind. He's already bought my virginity, what else does he want from me? I shook off his hands and stepped back, holding the card between two fingertips, shocked and hurt at this thoughtless cruelty. He frowned at my lack of gratitude, crossing his arms.
"Really, darling. As though I'd just hand over a credit card! No, it's a gift card for a clothing store." I stared at him, not appreciating the fine distinction he seemed to think he'd drawn. He raised his eyebrows arrogantly. "So you can buy clothes?" He prompted, as though I simply didn't understand the concept.
I held the card back out to him. "I don't want any of your money." My voice hissed out between my teeth, nearly strangled by outrage and guilt. Prostituting myself once was quite enough! His frown deepened, but he took it back without protest.
"Fine. You can buy your own clothes, then." He smirked when I flinched at the jab. Like I could afford the kind of clothes he'd want to buy! Ruthlessly, he pressed his advantage. "As I thought. Perhaps you would like to re-think accepting my gift?"
I scowled and shook my head. "I'd rather wear your ex-wife's clothes than let you buy me anything! Fuck that, I'd rather go naked!" Shaking with anger, I bit off the words viciously. His head reared back at my foul language, and then his jaw set ominously.
"Sadly, darling, that is not an option. Although keeping you naked is a tempting thought, I am not willing to tolerate further defiance on this subject." My chin lifted, and I held his eyes stubbornly. After a tense moment, he looked away, thoughtfully tilting his head. "Well. Since we seem to have reached an impasse, perhaps we should open negotiations." A wicked light suddenly bloomed in his dark eyes, and I stepped back warily.
"What do you mean?" I was sullen, but realized that I didn't want argue any further and risk some warped punishment for 'defiance'. Perhaps we could reach an agreement that would satisfy him and let me keep a few shreds of self-respect intact.
"It seems that you won't accept a perfectly normal gift from me, for whatever foolish reason, but perhaps you'd be willing to spend your own money, instead." He leaned forward, eyes hot and intent. "Let's make a bet. If you win, I'll arrange to forward you some of the money from the auction, and you can buy the clothes yourself, with your own money. Hell, you could even return them when we're done, if you absolutely must."
I rolled my eyes at this one-sided prize. It seemed that buying new clothes was not going to be negotiable, after all! He ignored my expression. "If I win the bet, I buy your clothes, and you'll have to thank me for the gift." His voice lowered to a suggestive murmur. "An extremely gracious thanks will be expected from you for this act of generosity."