"And what exactly would be expected of me during this... arrangement?" I force myself to ask the question directly, though my cheeks burn with shame.
Roman's gaze doesn't waver. "Everything."
One word, but it contains worlds of implication. I swallow hard. "I'm not a prostitute, Mr. Wolfe."
"Roman," he corrects automatically. "And I'm not looking for a prostitute. I'm looking for a companion who belongs to me completely—mind, body, and time. For one month."
"Why only a month?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
Something flickers in his eyes—amusement, perhaps. "Let's call it a trial period. For both of us."
I stand abruptly, needing to move, to think. "This is absurd. You don't even know me."
"I know more than you think, Delilah." His tone makes me freeze. "Delilah Marie Monroe. Twenty-six years old. Graduate student in English Literature, specializing in Victorian women writers. Parents deceased—father from a heart attack when you were sixteen, mother from ovarian cancer three years later." He recites these facts with clinical precision. "Currently employed at Dawn's Edge Café, the university tutoring center, and the psychology department's data entry pool. Residence at 1824 Westbrook Avenue, Apartment 3B. Currently two months behind on rent, with an eviction notice served yesterday."
Cold fear washes over me. "How do you know all that?"
He ignores my question. "Your tuition balance is $3,842.15, due by the end of this week or you face administrative withdrawal. Your checking account is currently overdrawn by $87.23. Your only credit card is maxed out at its limit of $2,500."
My legs feel weak, and I sink back onto the sofa. "Have you been investigating me?"
"Yes." No apology, no justification, just that one affirmative word.
"Why?" I whisper.
"Because from the moment I saw you, I knew you were mine." He says it as if it's the most natural explanation in the world. "I needed to know what it would take to secure you."
A shiver runs through me—fear, indignation, and something darker I don't want to name. "That's invasive. And disturbing."
"It's efficient," he counters. "Now I know exactly what you need, and I can provide it. All of it."
My thoughts race. How long has he been watching me? Was this meeting at the club really a coincidence? The implications are terrifying, but the greater terror is how tempted I am by his offer despite everything.
"So you've been... what? Stalking me?" I try to sound outraged, but my voice comes out small and uncertain.
"Researching an investment," he corrects smoothly. "And I'm very thorough with my investments."
"I'm not a stock portfolio," I snap, finding my anger.
"No," he agrees, his eyes darkening. "You're infinitely more valuable."
The compliment—if that's what it is—lands strangely, making my pulse jump. I struggle to focus on the reality of what he's proposing.
"Let me be absolutely clear about what you're asking," I say, steadying my voice. "You want me to move in with you, be at your beck and call, and... sleep with you. For a month. In exchange for paying off my debts and giving me twenty thousand dollars."
"Yes." His directness is almost refreshing in its lack of pretense. "Though to clarify—you wouldn't just sleep with me. You would be mine to do with as I please. There would be no boundaries between us during that month."
The phrasing makes my stomach clench. "Everyone has boundaries, Mr. Wolfe."
"Roman," he reminds me again, a hint of impatience in his tone. "And yes, technically speaking, everyone has boundaries. But for one month, yours would align with mine. What pleases me would please you. What I want, you would want to provide."
His presumption is breathtaking. "You can't just decide what I want."
"I can decide what you need," he counters, leaning forward slightly. "And right now, you need a solution to your financial problems more than you need your pride or your reservations."
He's right, and we both know it. My hair falls forward, a curtain between us as I stare at my hands in my lap. My nails are bitten to the quick—a nervous habit I've never been able to break. Evidence of the stress that's been eating at me for months.
"Why me?" I ask quietly, not looking up. "There are dozens of beautiful women out there who would jump at this offer without hesitation. Women who are already comfortable with this kind of arrangement. Why choose someone who clearly isn't?"
