The rate for his services was high. His quality was high. His acting skills were good enough that he could be a completely different person, and you'd never know.
However, the role he was least comfortable playing was Oliver.
Oliver Addams was a b...
The woman, whose name is Dessa, led me to a door on the opposite side of the balcony from mine about five minutes ago. I, however, have been too chicken-shit to open it. So instead of opening the door, I've just been standing, looking like a lost child.
Finally, having mustered up my courage, I reach up to knock on the door. I figured if I'm too scared to barge in, I'll knock on the door. Maybe Cal will just ignore me, and he'll go back to doing whatever rude billionaires do in their spare time.
The door swings open to reveal the billionaire himself wearing his button-down paired with Nike sweatpants.
"Did you get lost on your way to the door handle?" Cal's voice is dripping in sarcasm.
"N-no, I-I um, I just-" I stutter out.
"Isn't this your job?" Cal asks.
I have officially decided that this man is a piece of garbage. I'm not the asshole that is so goddamn lonely he has to pay for a boyfriend.
I do suppose I'm not much better than him as I am the boyfriend for hire. But at least I have fucking manners, and I treat others with basic human decency.
"What?" I ask, standing there with wide eyes.
"Your job is to talk to people, and you're essentially a glorified prostitute, correct?" There was something about his words, the curtness of how he said it, that broke my spirit.
"Um, well, I-"
"That's a yes. So you should be better at talking with your clients. I haven't even asked you to do anything yet, and you're a stuttering mess. The only explanation is that you must think of me differently," Cal says. Somewhere in his insults, there is a hint of an accent, English perhaps.
"Excuse me?" There's the pride. The words come out like knives aiming to stab him in his dark brown eyes.
"Maybe you think I'm better than all your others." Cal quirks an eyebrow out. The sentence comes at as more of an assessment than I brag, but that doesn't stop me from treating it as though it is one.
"Why you narcissistic asshole-" I start jabbing a finger into his chest.
As the words leave my mouth, Cal's hands are wrapped around my wrists. Then, I'm pinned up against the wall of his bedroom. Had this man not inspired a wave of deep anger in me, the action would have been hot.
He transfers both of my wrists into one of his hands. Cal's now free hand grabs my jaw. "Now, now, is that any way to talk to the man who owns you?" I scowl at him, trying to jerk my face out of his grasp.
"I was told this would be your last job, so who would there be to check up on you if you didn't make it to the end of your five years. I assume as long as the money kept coming in, the company wouldn't pay any attention." Cal's hand releases my chin and moves to my neck, squeezing softly.
"H-how," I gasp as he tightens his grip so that I can barely form sentences. "How do you know that?"
Cal softens his grip, eventually letting go to move a lock of hair out of my eyes. "I have my ways." He lets me go, and I swear I felt my knees give out and threaten to bring me to the ground. I brace my hand on the wall trying to anchor myself.
"What did you want?" I mumble.
"I don't do mumbling, hun."
Cal has decided he's too good to even face me. Before he had responded to my poorly said question, he had turned to walk away. Now Cal is sitting at a desk, shuffling some papers around. I can't tell if he's just trying to make it seem like I'm wasting his time or if he's actually doing something.
I can only assume that is Cal is trying to look busy, as he did call me in here, not the other way around.
"You called me in here, so I assume there is something you want?" I ask, adopting the same snippy tone that he uses with me.
"Yes, that." Cal stands, holding the papers in his hands. He sits on a couch with a glass coffee table in front of it.
I stand there, not sure what to do with my body. Does Cal want me to stand, sit, grovel at his feet? I hope the next five years don't go on like this. Me being awkward every second I'm near him.
"Come on." Cal waves me over as he scribbles something on the packet of papers in front of him.
I made a choice to kneel in front of the coffee table rather than sit next to Cal. While this may seem like the choice that may seem like it would damage my pride, I would prefer to kneel on the floor than sit next to that egotistical ass.
Cal raises his eyebrows at my decision but doesn't comment. He slides the document to me, and I glance down at it.
"A contract? Didn't you already sign one of these with the company?" The standard protocol was for the company to send over a document stating what I would and would not do.
"Turns out when you offer a company as much money as I did, they don't really care what happens to you. Even that manager of yours didn't press too hard to make them give me a contract." Cal shrugs. This man probably wipes his ass with hundred dollar bills. He's most likely the kind of person who throws money at the problem until it goes away.
"Well, even with all the money, you couldn't gain a relationship without buying it." I shrug, looking down at the contract.
I hear call mumble something that insulted my job, but I couldn't bring myself to care.
The contract looks like a lawyer drew it up. Checkboxes were outlining different types of kinks. Some were ones that I was comfortable with. Others were, well, they were not my thing.
"Are you into all of these things?" I ask, looking back up at Cal.
"No, I just want to know what your limits are. You may think I'm a total prick, but I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
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