Bought By The Billionaire

Chapter 8: Bought By The Billionaire - Chapter Eight

There is a tap at the door; Francis silently enters with a tray bearing a coffee pot and two cups, sets it down on the coffee table and just as silently, departs.

I gulp, then ask, “How did you know my address to send the things?”

“I asked the driver I sent you home with last night to make a note of it, and aren’t you forgetting? You wrote your resignation letter on my laptop. Your address was on the letter too.” He hesitates. “That’s not a good address, Elizabeth. Not a safe place for a single girl to live.” He pauses. “I am assuming you are single? No jealous husband out there?”

I shake my head.

“Boyfriend?”

I shake my head again. “I’ve been working so hard. My job and my studies …”

He nods in satisfaction. “Of course. Good. That’s one potential problem dealt with then. Now … and I must ask you this …” He leans forward, closer to me. “Are you still happy with our arrangement? You need to tell me.”

I nod, my mouth a little dry. “Yes, you’ve done everything you promised so far. I’ll keep my end of the bargain.”

He nods his head in approval. “Perfect answer, Elizabeth. Yes, I always keep my promises, and I deliver my end of any agreement. It’s good to know that you see it that way too.”

“Won’t people think it a bit odd that I suddenly appear like this? Out of the blue? It’s not as though I had an interview or anything.”

He laughs. “I think you did rather well at your interview last night, Elizabeth. As for people thinking it odd, no, they won’t. I have a number of employees who I met outside of normal channels and have offered them a job.”

He sees my expression and laughs. “No, not quite like you and I met, and no, not with the same agreement. But, Francis out there, for example, my personal assistant, I met her on a train. She was reading the business pages of her newspaper, quite unusual in a woman, if you don’t mind me saying so. We started talking about her views on equities and a city merger that was coming up. She was working as a waitress—all that potential going to waste. I hired her on the spot. A good personal assistant needs to understand the business of her employer. So, no, don’t worry, the staff here know that I choose employees for my own reasons.”

I am feeling more reassured. “So, what happens now?”

“Francis will take you to HR. They’ll take you through the usual formalities, and then we’ll put you through the usual intern routine. You will spend time in every department of the company: finance, procurement, marketing, everything. You will see the whole machine, and we can find out how much you already know and see where you can fit in best.”

He leans back in his seat, holding me with his eyes. “Now, about your other duties—when you finish here for the day, you will go home and put on the clothes you will find waiting for you. Wear your hair up, as you have it now. I expect to see you in my suite at eight o’clock. Any questions?”

“Um, I’m not sure what to call you.” This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

He laughs. “Here, I am Mr Haswell. When I take you out to dinner, I am Richard. In my apartment, you will call me Master. Understood?”

“Yes, Mr Haswell.”

“Finish your coffee.” He buzzes the intercom again. “Francis, can you take Elizabeth to HR please?”

The rest of the day passes in a blur as I sign my contract of employment, am introduced to people, shown my office, and talked through rules and procedures. By five-thirty I am exhausted, my head is spinning, and I am ready to go home. I am eager too, to see what is waiting for me.

There are a number of parcels waiting for me in the tatty lobby. Dashing up to my room, I open them with trembling anticipation.

There is a pair of shoes, black satin with impossibly high heels; they are beautiful but not intended for actually walking in. Richard is tall, but standing whilst wearing them, I might be taller. Or perhaps not, as he is well over six feet tall. And, I reflect, we are all the same height lying down …

There are also stockings and underwear, mainly in black, but some in red and others in white. A bodice, with long silk laces dangling invitingly. A skirt, with a long slit up the side, in a far more daring cut than I would normally wear. Another skirt, this one a wraparound style, and I notice it’s cut for easy access. The list goes on, and I am dazzled at suddenly having so many beautiful things.

I cannot wear them all, and so I take my time, trying them on, in turn, twisting this way and that, trying to see myself from all angles in the stained mirror. Eventually, I make my choice, adding only a small necklace from my own things—a glass dewdrop on a silver chain. I take a long dark coat to cover my outfit.

I do not want to walk through the dark streets, and with my new and gloriously high salary, I can afford a taxi. At the hotel, I spot Ricardo at the reception desk. Damn. This could be embarrassing.

I decide to be brazen and simply walk to take the lift, behaving as though I have every right to do so. Then it dawns on me. I do have every right to do so. I have been invited. I cross the lobby, only to hear Ricardo’s voice behind me.

“Excuse me, madam. That’s a private lift. The main lift for the hotel is over there.” I turn to see him pointing, then recognition dawns across his face and his polite talk to the guests face turns into a scowl. “Beth! What the fuck do you think you’re doing? First, you don’t turn up to work, and then you march in hours late as though you owned the place?”

Words stick in my throat. I wrote my resignation letter. Surely Richard would have given it to the hotel manager?

“Mr Chambers is fucking furious with you. He told me to send you down to the office if you turned up.”

What do I say? I have no idea, so I settle for the truth. “I’m sorry, Ricardo, and please tell Mr Chambers so, but I’ll have to talk to him later. I have an appointment upstairs now.”

“The fuck you do! Get your ass into the office. I’ll tell Mr Chambers that you’re here.”

I don’t know what to do. “Ricardo, I’ll come back to explain, but right now I have to go.” And I walk back to the lift, pressing the up button.

Ricardo is talking on the phone. I overhear some of it. “…don’t know what the fuck she thinks she’s doing …” and as he finishes speaking, Mr Chambers, my old boss, stomps into the lobby.

“What is all this about? Beth, you didn’t turn up to work today. Where were you? And what do you think you’re doing trying to take the penthouse lift?”

His face changes as he registers my appearance and how I am dressed. “What’s this then? Get your lazy butt …”

The reception phone rings and Ricardo picks it up. “Good evening, Hotel Haswell. How can I help you? Oh, yes, Mr Haswell … Yes?” His eyes cross over to me. “Yes, sir, she’s here. We were just having a little chat. Yes, I’ll send her right up.”

He puts the phone down and looks me up and down. “Got our feet right under the table, haven’t we?” he says, his voice dripping venom. “Go on then. Off you go. Mr Haswell wants to see you.” His lip curls. Unnerved, but determined not to show it, I lift my head high and take the lift to the penthouse.

*****

I knock on the door and Richard Haswell, billionaire owner of one of the largest corporations in the world, my Master, opens the suite door, inviting me in with an outstretched arm. Inside, he takes my coat, slipping it from my shoulders, and hanging it carefully in a closet. Dressed casually again, he wears a loose white linen shirt and tight black jeans.

He leans in to kiss me, looking closely at my face. “Are you all right, Elizabeth? You seem upset.”

I nod, not wanting to discuss what has just happened. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

He holds my gaze, clearly not believing me, but then changes the subject. “Have you eaten? Are you hungry?”

“Err, yes, I’m hungry. Actually, I didn’t eat,” I say. Then flushing, I add, “I was excited by all the lovely things you sent. Thank you.”

Richard smiles, nodding in acknowledgement. “You’re welcome, Elizabeth, and I see you have used them well. Come over here into the light. I want to see you.”