My Human Tranquilizer

Chapter 2 The Sugar Daddy's Rules

They put me in the back of an armored SUV. David rode in front beside a driver built like one of his security doors.

No one asked where I wanted to go. Arthur had paid for my time and apparently mistaken that for custody.

I woke in a bedroom larger than my apartment. The sheets were silk, the furniture smelled of lemon polish, and a pristine white dress waited on a velvet chaise.

The locked estate had given me five-star bedding and no explanation.

I ignored the dress and stayed in my wrinkled intern scrubs.

An hour later, Arthur walked in wearing a tailored gray suit. He could have stepped off the cover of Forbes if the purple mark of my hand had not still been on his cheek.

He dropped a leather folder onto the bed. The twenty-page contract made me his 24/7 crisis attendant, complete with nondisclosure agreements, exclusivity clauses, and rules for handling his episodes.

Even my sleeping hours belonged to him.

The salary was obscene. But the terms were s*****y.

I picked up the gold-plated pen from the nightstand. He thought I was going to sign. Instead, I started making edits.

I crossed out 24/7 and wrote, *On-call basis, four-hour minimum.* Under the ban on seeing other people, I added, *Personal life is non-negotiable.*

Then, on the blank last page, I wrote a new addendum.

**Fee Schedule:**

* Hand-holding (non-crisis): $500/hour

* Platonic Cuddling/Hugging (non-crisis): $1,000/hour

* Active Crisis Intervention (physical contact required): $20,000 flat rate

I slid the folder back to him. “These are my terms. Take them or leave them.”

His eyes moved down the page. I kept the pen in my hand, ready for him to throw the folder back.

“Fine.” He tapped his phone. Mine buzzed on the nightstand a second later.

It was a notification from my bank.

WIRE TRANSFER RECEIVED: $500,000.00

I read the amount twice, then checked the account number to make sure it was mine. The balance still showed five hundred thousand dollars.

“A retainer,” Arthur said. “I don’t want petty invoices. You play by my rules now, Hazel. Even the ones you write.”

The door opened before I could decide what half a million dollars did to a person's boundaries. Victoria swept in wearing another expensive dress, her scratched cheek hidden under fresh makeup.

“Arthur, what is the meaning of this?” Her eyes landed on my scrubs. “Why is this trash still in your house? You’re a lowly nurse. You have no right to be in this room.”

I held up my phone so she could see the five-hundred-thousand-dollar transfer.

“I’m a specialized professional, and your fiancé values my services. I’m here for his wallet, honey. You can keep his heart.”

Victoria's mouth fell open.

Arthur came to stand beside me without looking at his fiancée.

“Come here, Hazel. It’s time to earn that thousand dollars.”