I stay hidden in the bathtub, long after the water is cold just to avoid the maid who is cleaning the bedroom. I don’t want to come face-to-face with her, ever. I know what the sheets must look like, and my ripped up outfit from last night. I can’t face her. Not now, not ever. I’ll just hide the rest of my life.

When the bedroom door closes, I assume she’s left. Shivering, I step out of the tub and dry off. Gathering the breakfast dishes from the tray, I walk them over to the table and set them down. I’ll take them down to the kitchen, eventually.

Walking into the closet, I look around at the items hanging up. There isn’t much, but what is there is beautiful. I don’t know who they belonged to, or if they were always meant to be mine, or rather whoever Whitaker decided to purchase from my father.

I find a t-shirt that is a size small and pull it on over my head, sans bra. I don’t wear a bra often, I’m so flat chested that it’s pointless.

I search through the drawers in the dresser and look for a pair of panties, but it’s fruitless. There are none.

Tugging the shirt down, I look for a pair of pants, but there aren’t any of those either. I find a pair of short satin shorts and tug them on. They feel cool, sexy and smooth against my aching center, so I’m glad they’re here. I just find it odd there are no panties and no pants anywhere in this closet.

The door opens just as I step out of the closet and I find myself face-to-face with a woman. “You are just the tiniest thing. I don’t even know where I’ll find anything that will fit you,” she sighs.

I blink, unsure of what to say back to this woman. She’s standing in front of me, her eyes roaming over my body but she’s not seeing me, not really.

“He says a dress, but honestly I don’t know any designer that makes anything so small. He won’t allow you to be swimming in it either,” she groans and takes a step toward me. “Do you talk?” she asks.

I watch as she brings a tape measure out of her pocket. “I do, I’m not sure you needed me to,” I admit.

She lifts her gaze to mine and smirks. “Okay. I’m going to take your measurements then I can go to a couple boutiques that may have something. You need a dress for dinner tonight first off, then next week you’ll meet the parents before the premiere. Then we’ll need a dress for the red carpet. Shit. I’m glad Whitty pays me well,” she winks.

Reaching for her hand, I wrap my fingers around her wrist halting her movements. “I didn’t understand half of that. Premiere? Red Carpet? Parents?”

She nods, shaking her wrist from my grip. “Yeah. Mrs. Sullivan’s new movie premiere’s next week. You’ll be heading to Hollywood to attend.” She explains.

I don’t understand her, still. I feel stupid, because she obviously thinks I should know exactly what she’s talking about. I don’t. Then something hits me, rams into me light a freight train.

“Do you mean Margot Sullivan? The movie star?” I breathe.

The woman freezes, lifting her gaze to me as she measures my inseam. “Yes, Whitaker’s mother. Who did you think I meant?” she asks.

The breath leaves my body. Whitaker Sullivan. I never put two and two together. I should have. He told me his name last night. I should have realized. He’s famous. Not just a little famous, he’s tabloid, he’s on TMZ, famous.

“Okay I have everything down. You okay, honey you look a little sick,” she mutters as she stands straight.

Shaking my head, I mumble that I’m fine and she leaves me alone, but not before she gives me a curious glance. Once she’s gone, I sink down on the edge of the bed. A bed where Whitaker took my virginity, without telling me who he really was.

Granted, I knew that I didn’t know much about him, but something that big he should have told me. I should know those things, especially when the paparazzi were at his gates last night. Oh God, what if they got pictures of me in that lace nightie. I’ll die.

My phone rings just as I’m pulling into the driveway. I have some things to think about, my mind is occupied with what my agent just told me. What he brought to the table as an offer, anyway. I’m not sure it’s something I want, yet I’m not sure I can really turn it down either.

I’m going to need to talk to my friends tonight, see what they think about the whole thing. “Hello,” I say when my phone continues to ring.

“I dropped by three dresses, but Whitaker, she’s so small I don’t know that any of them will fit. Also, I’m going to have to have that premiere gown, custom made, for her body. What color do you want?”

Suzette is my assistant, she’s fabulous, straight to the point and a lesbian so there’s no worries about her ever wanting more from me, the main reason my three assistants before her were let go.

“I prefer dark blue, but emerald will probably look better with her hair and eyes,” I state.

She grunts. “She’s gorgeous, I’ll talk to the designer about blue. The next issue is something larger though. I’m just not sure we’ll be able to overcome it, and I’m afraid there could be backlash.”

I’m sure, I already know what she’s going to say, but I want to hear it from her. “She looks like a child, Whitaker. You know I don’t judge, especially not when the person is writing my paycheck, but Whitty,” I can practically see her brow arching to prove that she is indeed judging me.

“Stassia was a professional ballerina until she moved in with me. She’s also nineteen,” I explain.

Suzette snorts. “So she is a child. Well that’s good to know that I wasn’t wrong on that front. She looks twelve, Whitty. How am I going to make her look older? If I cake on makeup she’ll just look worse,” she sighs.

Shifting my car into park, in front of my home, I look up and my eye catches the turret of Stassia’s room. She’s standing at the window, I can see her shadow even from this distance. She doesn’t look like a child to me, to me she looks fucking perfect.

“I don’t want her to look older. She’s perfect the way she is, Suzie. I chose her because I like her, for her,” I semi-lie. “I’m attracted to the woman she is, inside and out. Dress her age appropriately.”

I end the call, then power down my phone before climbing out of the car and shoving it into my pocket. Ignoring everyone around me, I climb the stairs toward Stassia’s space.

I honestly don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep her up here alone. I already want to integrate her into every part of my life. I just need to know that I can trust her one-hundred percent before I bring on full-intimacy with her.

Walking into her room, I don’t bother knocking. Maybe I should have, but I have seen and tasted every square inch of her, there’s nothing to hide. Her back is to me, she’s completely naked and all I can think about is bending her over the bed and fucking the absolute shit out of her.