Comfort Object (7 page)

“To start, this is your typical confidentiality agreement. These are, unfortunately, a necessary evil in my business.”

Yes, I thought, my old business too. I had signed many a confidentiality agreement in my old line of work.

“I understand,” I said soberly. “Of course you can count on absolute circumspection and discretion on my part.”

“I'm glad to hear that. So perhaps, before we go any further, you might just sign this document. Because the rest of these papers contain more personal details about the day-to-day demands of the job, and somewhat more personal details about me.” He looked at me expectantly.

“Of course,” I said. “If you like.”

I signed the paper after scanning it to be sure it read just like all the other ones I'd signed. By this time the food was getting cold, but I was too spellbound by his attention to eat another bite. We were going over
papers
. I was about to learn his
personal details
. Oh my God.

“Now, Nell,” he said with what almost sounded like a sigh. “Let's talk seriously about the job.”

Requirements

Jeremy slid the papers across the table.

“Why don't you just read them? And let me know if you have any questions.”

There were five or six pages of job description. I smiled, resting my head on my hand. Okay, the high salary made sense now. I began to scan the first page, also written in something akin to legalese.

“I guess you keep your lawyers busy with all these papers and contracts,” I said.

“Yes, I do. But I think it's important to have everything perfectly clear and written down in black-and-white. It's easier for everyone involved.”

“Yes, of course.”

The document began with more verbiage about privacy, discretion, the outward appearance of normalcy.
Outward appearance of normalcy
. Okay, that was a little weird.

Near the bottom, it got even weirder.
The applicant will tender public displays of affection as needed…

The applicant agrees to cooperate with photo opportunities and/or candid interviews regarding the love relationship of Jeremy Gray and the applicant with a positive, convincingly affectionate tone…

I stopped reading, my pulse suddenly beating in my ears. “I don't… I'm not… Okay. I'm a little confused.”

“About what?”

“So…this sounds like I'm supposed to pretend to be your girlfriend.”

“Yes, that is part of the job. A big part of the job actually. The public part.”

The public part. I wondered what the private part amounted to. I flipped over to page three, page four.

The applicant agrees to provide sexual relations on demand, to include vaginal, oral, and anal sex. The applicant agrees to comply with regular blood testing and remain monogamous while in the employ of Jeremy Gray, excepting group sexual encounters at the discretion of Jeremy Gray, to include but not limited to m/m/f, f/f/m, f/f/m/m, m/m/m/f encounters.

The applicant understands that she will act as submissive and/or sexual slave to give comfort and relaxation in private, and function as a loving and affectionate girlfriend in public, and under no circumstances will behave in any way that exhibits or suggests her submissive status in public.

The applicant understands the protocols and expectations of the dominant and submissive relationship and agrees to comply with all requested protocols in private, to include obedience, sexual subservience, and constant availability.

Sexual subservience and use may include but is not limited to sexual intercourse, the use of erotic toys and aids, the use of multiple partners and multiple penetration, the withholding and control of orgasms, sexual objectification, and diverse sexual practices, which the applicant may or may not find repugnant.

The papers fluttered from my fingertips. There was more, much more, but I had seen enough. The knot in my throat made it impossible to speak, and I couldn't look at him, so I simply stood and started to walk. Walk away, walk outside, walk home. I didn't care. I didn't care as long as I was walking away from him.

But of course he followed. He took my elbow, and we waited for his car. He helped me in like nothing in the world was wrong, tipped the valet, started driving. I fumed beside him on the seat. How dare he? Just because he was some big-time movie star, that gave him the right to try to hire me as his personal slave? To spring his contract on me, to humiliate me?

“Nell, listen…”

“Please, just take me home.”

“Talk to me, Nell.”

I turned on him. “What do you want me to say? You said you wanted an assistant. Someone to help you, keep you organized—”

“It does help! It does keep me organized!”

“You lied to me! Do you have any idea how humiliating this is? You wanted to hire me to be your sex slave! You might have mentioned that sometime before now—”

“And if I had, what would you have done? The same thing you're doing now. Pretending to be outraged and running away—”

“Pretending? No, I'm really outraged, Jeremy! This…this setup, those documents—it's all sick, reprehensible—”

“Reprehensible? A little perverse, yes. But this is what you do, isn't it?”

He looked over at me, but I refused to meet his eyes. I clamped my mouth shut and crossed my legs more tightly. So he was hot. So what? He didn't turn me on. If that's true, a voice inside me whispered, why are your panties so damp? I huffed again to myself and stared out the window.

“Look, let's cut the drama. Okay?” Jeremy said. “I know that you're for sale, and that you're available. I know you're a professional.”

“You know that how?”

“Because I already have a personal assistant who does things for me. Like find other types of assistants.”

“Let me guess.” I seethed. “His name is Kyle.”

“Yes.”

“You and your assistant are the reason I'm out of work!”

“Yes, but I never intended you to be out of work very long. I wanted you to work for me.”

“Why this song and dance? Why didn't you just come to me at the club?”

“Come to you at the club? I'm Jeremy Gray. I'm a little bit famous, in case you hadn't noticed! I don't think I or you or Mistress Amelia or any of the other clients there would have appreciated the paparazzi camped at the door.”

“It was your two thousand dollars! You sent him there to—what? Try me out?”

“I sent him to find someone for me. He knows what I like, what I'm into. Yes, he tried you out.”

I thought of our daring, exquisite night of pleasure, now reduced to Kyle's tawdry work assignment. “That's just…repugnant.”

“Repugnant. Another nice word. Kyle's good at what he does. I asked him to find someone intelligent this time. I know you're not stupid, Nell. I know your mind isn't closed. I know you understand the lifestyle, and I know you've lived it. Put yourself in my shoes. How do you get what you need when you're in the spotlight twenty-four-seven? When cameras and gossip rags and Web sites are recording your every move?”

I couldn't wrap my mind around it. It was just so depraved. I knew rich, superstar actors lived hedonistic lifestyles, but this was just plain sick. “Your last girlfriend—she was this too? A personal assistant?”

“Yes, she was. She signed those same papers you just read. We worked great together for a while.” He said it like it was perfectly reasonable. He was crazy. He pulled up to my apartment. I wanted to get out, to slam the door in his face and go upstairs and shower until I could feel clean again.

But I didn't. I sat still, still as he did, and for some reason I asked him, “What happened? Why did she quit?”

He sat a moment in silence, biting his lip. “They all leave eventually. You will too.”

I snorted. “No, I won't. Because I'm not going with you in the first place. I'm sorry that you're in this situation. I really am. But I'm not… I can't—”

“All right,” he said. “Before you make any final decisions, I want you to think about this. You're out of work. Your
real
work. Waitressing can't be paying the bills. You're good at what you do. I'm good at it too. And I think you and I would get along. I know I went about this the wrong way. I see that I've made you angry. It was never my intention to humiliate you or hurt you. Trap you, maybe. But only to make you consider things. So don't run away so quickly. Take a few days to consider—”

“The only thing I'm considering now is whether I'm going to take out a restraining order on you and your creepy bitch-boy Kyle. Good night.” I got out, slammed the door, and went into my apartment without looking back. I don't know how long he stayed there, parked out in front. I was afraid to look. I was afraid to admit I cared.

I was afraid, because under the blazing anger burned a small ember of desire.

Scared

If I were a nice person, a gentleman, I would have left her alone. I would have let her out at her apartment and never thought of her again. Her reaction to my proposal left no room for misinterpretation. She wasn't interested. Not in the least.

So perhaps I'd miscalculated. I might have perceived signals that weren't really there, although as an actor I was pretty good at reading people. But I wasn't perfect, no more perfect than anyone else.

No, if I were perfect, I would just let her go. I would just move on. I had a few days left, plenty of time to find an acceptable candidate. Unfortunately I was more selfish than perfect. I wanted
her.