Chapter 8 Agreement
1235 Words
Biting my lip, I look at him; if he's not going to distribute the video, then Elon won't know about it.
“I'm pretty sure I said you don't bite that lip anymore,” he says as his finger pulls my lip free of my teeth.
“You won't distribute it?” I ask.
“No. I have someone I can trust to edit it. Once he has edited it and given me the copy, he wipes everything. I will keep one single copy on my laptop, protected with a password, and give another copy to you. Two copies, no more,” he explains.
“Okay, then I will agree,” I reply.
“I will collect you, say, at seven tonight?” he asks.
“You want to do it tonight?” I have no problem with that, but I didn't think he would be in that much of a rush.
“No, I plan to take you out for food, and we will discuss the payment, where you want the video sent, and such. I will also bring proof that the person I have editing it has signed an NDA, so you can be sure Elon will not know,” he explains, and I nod.
“Seven is fine, thank you,” I reply. I'm glad he mentioned the NDA, as that helps. Leaning forward, he kisses my cheek and leaves. As soon as he walks away, Clara is next to me.
“Can I please shower?” I usually shower straight after a scene, but I didn't get to this time.
“Sure, you can talk while you shower.” She skips towards it, and I follow. Standing in the shower, I explain his proposal to her, and she stares at me.
“You have to! Elon won't know, so do it.”
“Clara, I already agreed. He is picking me up tonight, so we can go out and discuss it,” I explain.
“You have a date!” she squeals, and I laugh.
“More of a business meeting,” I reply.
“No, a business meeting he would do at his business; him picking you up and taking you out is a date,” she argues.
“It's not a date!” Laughing, I get dried and dressed.
“You didn't even f**k him yet. Your 'Pretty Woman' game is good,” she grins at me.
“It's not like that. It's business, that's all.”
“Of course it is. Anyway, if he's not publishing the video, Elon won't know. He doesn't control who you can f**k for fun, so if he happens to see you two together, say it's personal.”
I nod in agreement and say goodbye before leaving.
Standing in front of the mirror, I look down at myself. I don't feel ready for this. I don't feel like I am appropriately dressed. The dress I am wearing is not ideal. I was planning to wear a nice pair of suit trousers and a fancy top.
Half an hour ago, he messaged requesting I wear a dress. I glance at the bed, feeling annoyed by all of the dresses I have. He may not care, but I don't feel comfortable wearing a dress I use while filming.
That left only one dress, the one I wear out to clubs, and it's far from ideal. It's not sophisticated or elegant. Still, it's the only dress I am willing to wear.
It shows far too much skin and is provocative. I glance at the bed. There are other dresses that are less slutty, if I'm honest, but they were worn during filming. The thought of wearing a dress that a guy has gripped to hold me in place while f*****g me is playing on my mind.
My phone buzzes, and I see his message saying he's nearly here. I don't want him to come to my apartment, so I grab my bag and walk out. As I get outside and walk down the steps, his car stops.
I roll my eyes at the car. I expect the back door to open and him to be sitting in the rear. Instead, the driver's side door opens, and he steps out.
“You're driving?” I ask. I assumed he would have a driver.
“This is personal, so yes,” he replies.
“It's business,” I argue, and he chuckles. He opens the door for me, and I climb in, his eyes watching me as I do. I sit and watch as he gets in.
“Now, I have to know, why that dress?” His eyes fall to my body.
“Because I had nothing else appropriate. This is the only dress that hasn't been gripped by a guy as he f***s me,” I reply honestly. His smile widens.
“It was the only one. I think I want you to wear that when we film.” My eyes roll at his words, so now I will have no dress that I haven't been f****d in for work.
“So, we will eat, discuss things, then I shall drop you back at your place and we book a date, how does that sound?” he asks.
“Perfect to me,” I reply.
We drive for a while and I watch as the car stops. “No,” I turn to him.
“No?” He smirks slightly.
“Do I look like I belong in there? They won't even let me through the door, let alone have a seat.” I'm not going to some fancy-ass business restaurant.
“You will have no issues getting in. I promise you, now can we go in and talk?” he asks, but my head shakes.
“I'm not being that woman who everyone watches walk in and use as the topic for conversation because of my clothing,” I argue.
“The woman I met didn't seem to care what others thought. Where is she?” he asks.
“She's right here. One person looking at me like I'm a tramp is fine, but a whole restaurant full?” No, that isn't.
“I'm happy to drive us somewhere that's less exclusive. However,” he turns and smiles. The valet guy is still waiting for us to get out of the car. “You have a right to be wherever you want to be. How will people ever learn your worth if you run and hide from places like this?”
My eyes almost roll, but he's right. How can I be seen as worth more than the hour if I avoid places like this?
“Fine,” I go to open the door, and he stops me.
“Let me,” he says, and I watch him get out. He hands the valet the keys and opens the door for me. The valet guy stares at my body.
And this is what I hate. In a club, that's fine, but this feels wrong.
“I need to ask, do I call you Mr Pierce going forward or Eros?” I ask.
“Whichever you feel most comfortable calling me,” he replies and wraps my arm around his. I guess Eros, Mr Pierce seems too formal when he calls me Alexis. It's weird; he has hardly called me Bunny Wild, but why?
The Dress
- Writer
