And it's working.
Fuck, it's working so well I can barely think straight.
I sink into my leather chair and try to analyze what just happened with the cold logic that's served me for years in this business. She's intelligent, strategic, using the only weapons available to her. The seduction, the challenge to my control, the way she made me want to prove that her responses were real. It's all part of her survival plan.
But knowing it’s manipulation doesn't make it any less effective.
My phone buzzes. Matteo.
"Boss? Everything alright?"
"Fine. Just checking on some business arrangements." I lean back in my chair, trying to sound like I haven't just spent the last hour completely losing my shit over a woman I'm pretending to prepare for sale. My God, this is so fucked up. "Any word from the buyers?"
"Kozlov's people called again. He's getting impatient about the timeline. Wants to know when he can expect a viewing."
Viktor Kozlov. The man who destroys beautiful things for sport. The man who's offering fifteen million euros for the privilege of breaking Camilla into pieces.
The man who won't touch her. Can't touch her. Because the families will pay before it gets that far.
"Tell him these things take time. Premium merchandise requires premium preparation."
"How much time are we talking about, boss? He's not the only one asking. Al-Rashid's people have been calling too. And that new contact in Dubai—Al-Mansouri—he's very interested in the details too but we don’t have a confirmation on him yet."
Another man throws his hat into the ring. More different types of hell waiting for her if this goes wrong.
But it won't go wrong.
"A few more days or a week. Maybe longer."
"Longer?" Matteo's voice carries surprise. "Boss, that's a long time to keep premium merchandise on ice. The longer we wait, the more chance there is for complications."
Complications.
Like losing my mind every time I touch her. Like running out of time before someone expects me to actually follow through.
"The training requires extensive preparation. Different buyers have different expectations. I need to make this convincing enough that the families break."
"What kind of training are we talking about?"
I close my eyes, remembering the way she felt under my hands. The taste of her skin. The sound she made when I bit her earlobe.
"She needs to believe she's being prepared for sale. That's the only way the families will believe it too. Soon, I’ll let her make phone calls to her families to plead her case."
"And you're handling this training personally?"
"Yes."
"Sir, with respect, is that wise? Getting this involved?"
That's one word for it.
The smart play would be to keep distance. Maintain the professional facade. But I'm in too deep now, and we both know it.
"Someone has to make this look real." I open my laptop, not wanting to examine my motives too closely. "The buyers need to believe I'm serious, the families need to panic, and she needs to think her survival depends on learning what I teach her."
"What do you need from me?"
"Research. I want detailed profiles on all three primary buyers. Sexual preferences, psychological profiles, specific requirements they've had for previous acquisitions." I force the words out. "Everything you can find."
