You arch your brow at his apparent lack of concern at the implications of what he’s proposing. “Because you asked her to?” you repeat incredulously. “You’re just going to comfortably sit there and tell me in that douchey ass tone of yours that you pretty much sent Mindy to tell me that you want to have sex with me?”
He nods. “Correct. And you have thirty calendar days to agree to or decline my offer,” he explains. “Make no mistake, this is a business offer. I have every intention of paying you well for your services…if they satisfy me, of course.”
You put your palm out in a stopping motion. “Wait, wait, wait…is this what you meant when you said I’d find out soon enough?” you ask as a deep scowl takes over your face. “Is this your condition?”
“It is,” he simply says, the calm in his voice almost eerie. “I also want to make a point in telling you that I’m actually being quite generous with the amount of time I’m giving you to make your decision.”
Holy mother of God, you can’t even fucking blink right now. You can’t suppress the loud, incredulous scoff that leaves you, raising your hands high in a show of pure and utter disbelief.
You don’t even know if it’s worth asking at this point, but you do, anyway. “Have you gone completely insane?”
“No,” he says with the same simple, aloof tone. It obviously wasn’t really a question, but he’s deciding to be smart with you all the same.
“You have a wife!” you yell. You don’t want to raise your voice in a professional place of work, but his nonchalance about such a serious suggestion is beyond mind-boggling!
The frown returns to his lips. “One, that’s not a question, either. And, two, what does that have to with anything?”
Your eyes go wide as hell. “What does that have to do with anything? Are you fucking kidding me?!”
This man is clearly insane for even so much as suggesting something like this, and you’re clearly twice as insane for sitting here and actually listening to him blatantly entertain the idea for even a second.
You just can’t believe that you’re really having this conversation with him. It doesn’t even make any sense! No sense whatsoever!
Why on Earth would a guy as gorgeous and successful as he is, with a wife who could very possibly be a frickin’ Victoria’s Secret model, even want to pay for sex? And with you of all people?!
You can’t even wrap your head around the fact that you’re actually in this situation at all. This is beyond crazy!
You need a moment—several, in fact—to just take all of this in, or at least do your best to not completely freak the hell out on him.
Your eyes dart toward the picture frame on his desk and land on the images it contains. You feel bile immediately rising in your throat. It’s as if his wife is staring right at you from this angle.
You can’t take another second of this.
This man is even more bonkers than you thought if he actually thinks that this is something you’d actually consider doing with him—or any other married man, for that matter.
You rise from your seat on slightly wobbly legs, although you’re not sure if it’s the immense sexual tension between you that’s making them like that, or the immense guilt that’s quickly creeping its way into the pit of your stomach.
“Well, Doctor Frost, I don’t need thirty days to tell you that I’m not a whore, so I’ll have to respectfully decline your oh-so generous offer,” you say with a clearly fake smile, your tone drenched in a large bucket of sarcasm.
He eyes you intently, almost as if he’s suspicious of something, and then his frown is quickly replaced by a sly grin.
“What?” you say in annoyance, trying with all your might not to sound or look like his eyes don’t feel like a million candles burning all over you at once.
He rises from his seat again, his body towering over you once more. Even though his large desk separates us, you can clearly feel the immense sexual energy between your bodies.
He comes around his desk, moving closer and closer to you. Oh God, this can’t be good. You really can’t be around him right now. Heck, after today, you can’t be around him ever again!
Your body is wound so tightly and your pussy is throbbing so hard that if you don’t leave right now, you swear you’re going to explode into a billion pieces.
He stops just a few inches away from you, and you immediately feel the tips of your fingers twitching uncontrollably. They’re shaking so badly that you’re almost tempted to ask him if you might have a neurological disorder or something.
Your legs instinctively move on their own, taking a few steps backward to put some distance between their owner and the icy eyes that are casually roaming over her and scorching her skin to the point of blistering in the process.
“Well then,” he says, his voice smug as he easily closes the distance you just put between you again, “I suppose we have nothing further to discuss on the matter. However, in case you change your mind,” he traces a finger down the side of your face, “consider this day one, and your countdown begins…now.”