The Doctor's Fake Nanny(55)

"I can't believe you're doing this, Cassidy." Tristan finally found his voice.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me," she replied coldly.  "So …  are we doing it or not?" she added, tying the drawstring back up,  preparing to leave in case he said no. "You can always ask for another  girl," she lambasted him further, "just like the girl that didn't work  out for you this morning."

"You mean Macy?"

"Macy, Kim, Amber …  what the fuck. We're all the same, aren't we?"

"Alright, Cassidy. If this is what you really want. Please …  this way,"  Tristan answered, standing up from the sofa and leading the way for her  to follow.

That was easy, she thought. A sex addict will never say no if you dangle your tits in his face. She grimaced at the idea.

Cassidy was glad her plan was working again. She was about to get laid,  but somehow the idea wasn't as pleasant as it first seemed. Getting laid  was not the same as those passionate hours she'd spent with Tristan  before she discovered his …  addiction.

Tristan opened a door and allowed her to pass through. Cassidy fully  expected to see a bedroom, and more importantly, a bed. The room,  however, was far from what she expected. It was mostly bare with white  walls, except for a square mattress that was covered with a red sheet.  Adjustable light stands surrounded the bed. Silver and white umbrellas  were hanging above the stands, as well as a square umbrella that looked  like a smaller version of a tent. Small round honeycomb objects were  strewn everywhere.                       
       
           



       

Cassidy gasped in surprise. She wasn't familiar with most of the objects  inside the room, but even to her untrained eye this looked like a photo  studio.

"Take your clothes off …  there's a robe hanging by the door …  put it on.  I'll come back when you're ready." Tristan's voice was monotone, his  face a blank wall as he closed the door behind him.

"What the fuck?" Cassidy muttered.

She was confused, but if he wanted to fuck her here, she didn't have a  say over that. She did hear him tell her to remove all of her clothes,  though, and she was having difficulty accepting that. It sounded so …   clinical. She at least expected some kind of foreplay like Tristan  taking off her clothes for her. And that mattress in the middle of the  room? A doctor's office had a more inviting examination bed than that  one.

Cassidy shrugged her shoulders. If this is how he wanted it, then she  just had to play along. More and more, she realized how sick Tristan  really was. She slithered out of her dress hesitantly, wondering if she  should remove her panties, too. She decided against it. Give him  something to work for, she thought …  even if it was as trivial as  removing her panties to get to her.

A soft knock sent her scurrying for the robe. Tristan entered the room once more with a bottle of wine.

"Here … " he said, offering her a glass. "Wine relaxes you, and I need you to follow my instructions."

Cassidy gulped the drink down, forgetting her resolve to stay  clear-headed. Everything seemed surreal. His instructions? Was this the  part he kept hidden from her all those weeks together? Those weeks had  seemed heavenly when she hadn't known about his weird other self.  Admittedly, some part of her wanted to know what strange sexual desires  he had sought elsewhere because she hadn't fulfilled him.

"Are you ready?" Tristan asked softly.

She nodded her head, wondering what kind of kinky stuff he would do to  her. The thought was both intimidating and thrilling at the same time.  He took her elbow and walked with her to the middle of the room where  the mattress lay.

"Please remove the robe," he said, helping her as she shrugged out of  it. "You can close your eyes if that makes you more comfortable," he  suggested.

"Oh, fuck it, Tristan. Let's just get this over with."

He seemed startled by her sudden ferocity as he pressed her down onto the mattress.

"Sit with your legs tucked under you. Place both your hands on your  thighs. Bow your head so you don't see me. And keep still, please."

What the hell? Cassidy thought.

"Keep still, Cassidy."

She submitted meekly, hearing the authority in his voice. She closed her  eyes. She heard what sounded like buttons being pushed and the clink of  metal legs stretching. She heard his footsteps as he moved about, and  wondered what he was doing and where he was going with this. She was too  intimidated to take a peek.

Soon she heard a soft click, followed by a whirring sound, and then a  series of clicks from a camera shutter. Unable to help herself, she  raised her head curiously. She was bathing in halogen light that made it  difficult for her to see him.

"I said keep still, Cassidy."

Cassidy immediately lowered her head after seeing a fleeting image of  Tristan bending low and down on one knee, holding a camera in front of  his face.

He's taking pictures of me? What the …

She dared not move a muscle. She sensed Tristan moving about, and heard  the incessant clicking of the camera shutter. After what seemed an  eternity, he finally stopped. He came near and guided her into a  different pose. She found his nearness disconcerting.

"I'll be taking mostly pictures of your backside, so feel free to talk," Tristan said.

"What are all these for?" was the first question that popped out of her mouth.

"It's for my photo exhibit. The first one did so well that the gallery asked that I do another," he answered from behind.

Photo exhibit?

"You take pictures of naked women?"

Tristan laughed, but reprimanded her when she stirred slightly.

"You make it sound dirty and degrading. Most art patrons call my work  artistic and intriguing. The New York Times even went so far as to call  me the new Richard Avedon of the twenty-first Century."

Cassidy was stunned. Of course he took fascinating photographs. She knew  that. She saw some of his work back at the apartment on the Upper East  Side.

"Tristan, I-I … "

"Glance back towards me," he cut in. "Your face needs to be partly hidden."

"You don't show the model's face?" she asked, noting that he sounded  aloof and detached. Clinical even; like her naked body had no effect on  him at all.                       
       
           



       

"No, and the reason is simple. It creates a mysterious effect for the  viewer and makes one ask who the face behind the body is. Leaves more to  the imagination, and also provides the model with anonymity …  one of the  reasons I can go to any escort agency in New York."

Cassidy gasped inwardly. Suddenly, things were falling into place. He  hired those women to pose for him just like what she was doing. Despite  the sudden relief, she was confused. She didn't know how to go back to  that place in time when she believed everything about him  wholeheartedly.

"I-I used to work in one of the agencies where you hired women …  to pose for you."

A sudden stillness filled the room. Tristan moved around and faced her  quietly. His expression was unreadable. He set the camera down, but  changed his mind and peered through the viewfinder again. Cassidy didn't  dare lose her pose. He was so near.

"And?" he prompted, as he worked with his camera again.

She couldn't see his face hidden behind the aperture.

"I saw all those videos of you coming in to pick up the women. I thought …  I thought … " Cassidy trailed helplessly.

The silence that followed seemed to last forever. Tristan lowered the camera as a gamut of emotions moved across his face.

"You thought I was cheating on you." It was a statement, not a question.

"Ye-Yes," she answered meekly.

Cassidy was stricken with guilt. How could she have thought that he was  an addict, when all he ever did was pay these women to pose for him? He  was innocent of everything she'd accused him of. She was the stupid one,  ready to believe the worst about him.

"That was the reason you left. Why you disappeared so suddenly." Yet again, it was another statement.

"Yes," Cassidy admitted, "and …  I'm sorry … "

"Why didn't you just confront me?" His voice was dangerously low.

The veins on his neck stood out like cords. His eyes flashed with anger and his nose flared.

"I don't know. Maybe because I'm stupid?" Cassidy replied. Her body was  telling her that she was indeed very stupid to not challenge this  beautiful man.

Tristan set down his camera and barked, "You selfish woman! I hired an  entire fucking private detective agency just to look for you! They  combed every corner of this goddamn city! When they couldn't find you  here, they even traveled to Alabama. Do you know how many counties there  are in Alabama? Fucking sixty-seven. Do you know how many ‘Cassidy  Johnsons' there are? Not to mention you never told me your mom or dad‘s  name so we couldn‘t track you down that way. You didn‘t even reply to my  texts or phone calls."