Crushed (erotic) (#3, 101 Nights)

Chapter Four: Elijah

There’s no doubt in my mind I’m everything Natalie has said. I just have no fucking clue where her meltdown came from.

I remain in the limo, angry and more concerned than I expect to be after someone calls me an asshole. I don’t think anyone has ever spoken to me like that, and I certainly never thought I’d hear it from her, my submissive, perfect princess.

I’d rather have your respect than your money any day of the week.

Respect. I’m thinking we have different definitions of what it means. I’m shutting down a one hundred million dollar deal out of respect for our arrangement. I paid out half a million for her father’s surgeries, eliminated her debt and didn’t take the easy way out and toss her pills to knock her up.

If this isn’t respect …

Then I don’t know what it is she’s asking me for. It’s nothing tangible. Tangible things I can buy with money I understand.

Rubbing my face, I hold my fingers to my nose and breathe in her scent deeply. It’s everywhere: in my skin, hair, fingernails. I love it, love fucking her and how new it feels every time.

I don’t love this stage we’ve gotten to, where there are emotions I can’t control and fear I don’t understand working its way through me. What the fuck do I have to be afraid of? She can’t leave before three months is up. So why do I feel like I’m about to lose her?

“No update on the idiot from the show,” George reports, ducking his head into the back of the limo. “Why you sitting here, mate?”

“Hop in. I need to go for a ride.”

He does and closes the door. I text the driver to take us out. I don’t care where we go; I just want to be away. It’s a rare day when I don’t know what to do, but today is one of those days. I need to look at this like a business deal. Someone has thrown a wrench in my plan, and I need to adjust.

Except I’ve never had a business deal make my heart feel like it’s stopping or drop a pound of lead into my belly.

We leave the basement, and the driver takes us into town. Within half an hour, I’ve calmed down enough to review the conversation mentally. In truth, I’m feeling taken aback by Natalie’s blow up. I let myself get too comfortable with her, to trust that she is the person I assumed she was.

I didn’t realize she was unhappy. If I’d been paying attention, I would. How did I miss it?

Why does it matter? When did our deal become more than a business arrangement?

The night of the gala.

Deep in thought, I lose track of time. I can’t get her words out of my head. They’re on a repetitive loop. We don’t see eye-to-eye on many things, and I’m not accustomed to feeling inadequate or out of control.

I shouldn’t feel anything. I shouldn’t care what she thinks of me. After all, she’s temporary, a tool to get me what I want.

Those thoughts don’t help.

“We gonna drive around all day?” George asks.

I’ve all but forgotten he’s in the limo with me. Glancing at him, I don’t speak.

“Your condo is ready,” he reminds me. “You sure you prefer a hotel to a seventy million dollar condo custom renovated for you?”

“Fuck.” I shake my head. “What’s seventy million?” I’m having an issue with the condo already, and it has nothing to do with the six months of renovations. It has to do with Natalie.