Alyssa
I scanned Fifth Avenue, trying to decide on just where to start. Glancing down at my very plain clothes, I figured that basics would be as good a place to begin as any. Deciding on one of the local boutiques that I’d always wanted to check out, I started off down the wide sidewalk, the throngs of pedestrians spreading out around me like water around a stone in the middle of a running river.
It sounds strange to say, but at that moment I felt … free. This was silly, of course—I was essentially Russell’s property at this point, but walking down Fifth Avenue, a day of shopping ahead of me, well, it made me feel a little more normal. Logan allowed me to head out for shopping trips every now and then, but he hated the idea of me spending his “goddamn hard-earned money,” his words, on something he believed to be totally frivolous. This didn’t stop him from buying expensive, tailored suits whenever the mood struck him, of course. And when I’d come home with my bags, he’d always shove his hand towards me for the receipt, which he’d go over in agonizing detail, scoffing and sighing as he totaled up what I’d bought.
So to have the opportunity to buy what I wanted was a nice little change from that, despite it being in the context of being Russell’s “indentured servant.” But I supposed I’d have to make the best of a bad situation as well as I could.
A small smile crossed my face as I walked down Fifth Avenue. The sun was out, the air was mild, and the din of the city felt strangely inviting. Men in suits walked purposefully alongside young girls out on shopping trips, who themselves wove around tourists in tacky clothes who gawked up at the gleaming towers that reached up into the azure sky above. It was, in many ways, a perfect New York day.
I reached the boutique and stepped inside, feeling insecure right away as my eyes moved from one hip, stylish shop girl to another. They took one look at my clothes and dismissed me right out of hand, probably figuring that I was some tasteless Midwestern tourist here to window shop and waste as much of their time as I could get away with. I wasn’t going to let that deter me—I had a job to do, after all.
I flitted from rack to rack, grabbing handfuls of day-to-day basics. Once I’d scooped up enough to cover my needs, I approached one of the shop girls.
“Hey,” I said, my voice soft and quiet.
The girl, slim and gorgeous in her stylish clothes, her hair a deep blonde and her green eyes outlined with wingtip makeup, looked at me just as dismissively as I was expecting.
“Yes?” she said, hardly able to hide her disdain as she flipped through the rack in front of her.
“I’ve got some stuff I want to try on.”
“You sure do,” she said, taking a quick glance at my clothes.
“Um, also, I wanted to know if you took this card.”
With my free hand, I pulled the top of the black card out of my jeans pocket. The shop girl glanced down at it and did a double-take the likes of which I’d never seen.
“Um,” she said straightening her posture and now giving me her full attention, “we sure do. Right this way, miss.”
That’s right, I thought, a victorious little smile forming on my face as she led me to the dressing room.
Most of the clothes were just what I was looking for, and after I tried them on, the shop girl—who was now chatting with me like an old girlfriend and commenting on the great taste I was demonstrating with what I’d picked out—brought me to the register.
“Can I wear some of these out?” I asked.
“Why yes, you can,” the shop girl said.
My eyes went wide when the total came up, and I tried to remember what Russell had said about not worrying about the cost. The shop girl swiped the card and I was good to go. Minutes later, I was dressed in some of my new clothes—a dark pair of slim jeans that made my ass look great, and a simple, white blouse—and ready to move on to the next store.
The bags of clothes that I purchased were already weighing heavy on my arms, and I made a mental note not to get too carried away, otherwise I’d need a wheelbarrow to cart my things down Fifth Avenue. As I walked, a lingerie store caught my eye and a naughty smile appeared on my lips. I’d always felt that sexy underwear was a totally unnecessary indulgence, especially since during the last year with Logan my desire to go out of my way to be an enticing partner had dwindled by the day. But looking good for Russell was now, evidently, part of my job. Not to mention that I wouldn’t exactly feel my sexiest for these little parties if I was wearing cheap Hanes undies under my dresses.
I stepped in and went from rack to rack, just as before. Anything that was lacy or silky, I grabbed, and now that I was dressed a little more nicely, the shop girls were more than willing to help me find what I needed. I grabbed some thongs, some boy shorts, and all manner of bras. I felt so silly for feeling this way, but in the back of my mind hung the idea of what would appeal the most to Russell. I should’ve been putting up more resistance or something, but if I was being honest with myself, the sex last night was probably the best I’d had in years.
Underwear—check, I thought to myself as I walked out with my new bags in hand.
Next was the actual formalwear.
I made my way to the fancier stores in the area, letting my eyes linger on the gorgeous gowns and dresses that hung on the pearl-white, faceless mannequins in the windows. Once ready, I flitted from store to store, scooping up dress after dress, trying on whatever struck my fancy. Striking that balance between “classy” and “easy” was going to be tricky, but I did my best. Eventually, I settled on a skintight black cocktail dress and a pair of high-heeled shoes. The dress was tight enough to show off my body, but not short or low-cut enough to make it look like I was desperate for attention. I bought the dress and was on my way out when I realized that I’d almost forgotten about shoes.
An hour or so later, a bag full of a few pairs of shoes now weighing down my arms with the rest of the clothes, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I did a little juggling of the bags and eventually got my hand free to pull out the phone.
It was a text from Russell.
Hey. Two-hour warning. If you haven’t done hair and makeup, then do it now.
I checked the time, my eyes going wide when I realized how the afternoon had gotten away from me. After making a quick stop for a bite to eat, I headed into one of the nearby salons. I wasn’t sure if they’d have time to squeeze me in, but once they saw my black card, they were more than happy to accommodate.
I went with a nice up-do and some tasteful makeup. I figured that if I was going to be wearing something skintight then having blood-red lips and popping eyes might send the message home a little too explicitly. Sexy, not easy, I reminded myself.
Before too long, I was good to go. My hair and makeup were done, and all I needed to do was let Russell know I was ready to head back. I fired him a text and he got back to me within seconds.
Be there in ten. Same spot I dropped you.
I made my way back to where he’d dropped me off, and right on time, his sleek black Mercedes pulled up to me. I knew it was silly to think so, but I felt like a celebrity or something. Russell stepped out of the car, and I saw that he was wearing a sharp, perfectly tailored gray suit with a crisp white dress shirt with a couple of top buttons undone, giving me a little glimpse of that amazing chest of his. His shoes were a sleek, shiny pair of black double-monks. He peered over a pair of Wayfarers at my outfit.
“You did good,” he said. “As long as what you’ve got in the bag is as primo as what you’ve done so far, I think we’ll be set for tonight.”
“Why, thank you,” I said.
I felt my face go flush as Russell opened the passenger side door to let me in. Soon, he was back at the wheel, the engine roaring to life.
“Um, thanks again,” I said.
“What’d I tell you about thank yous?” he said, his eyes on the road.
“I know, I know,” I said. “I’m just not used to this kind of treatment.”
“If it makes you feel any better, you’re still basically my property.”
He had me there.
“Still,” I said. “A shopping spree’s a shopping spree.”
A little smirk formed on his lips.
“How about this,” he said. “You can give me one last, big, extravagant thank you, and that’ll cover you for everything. Go.”
“Wow, now I’m on the spot,” I said with a smile.
“Big thank you,” he said. “Make it count; it’s the last one you’re gonna say.”
I took a deep breath, rocked my head back and forth, and stretched out my limbs. I wanted to give the best damn thank you I could.
“Here we go,” I said, a little bit of a smart-alecky tone to my voice. “Thank you. Thank-you-thank-you-thaaank-you. You’re the best, Russell. Just swell. Tops.”
“You happy now?” he asked, the corner of his mouth pulling up just a bit.
“Yes,” I said. “I feel a lot better now.”
As we drove, I noticed that Russell wasn’t taking the route back that we’d used to arrive in Midtown. Instead of heading south towards the Brooklyn Bridge, we were going north, towards Central Park.
“We taking another stop before we go back or something?” I asked, my eyes on the towers that loomed ahead in front of Central Park.
“Figured we could drop off your haul somewhere a little more convenient.”
Now I was confused. Did Russell have a storage unit uptown or something? I sat quietly as we drove through Times Square, then towards the Upper East Side. The park on our left, we drove down the quiet streets of the wealthier parts of the neighborhood, stately townhomes on both sides of us. Eventually, we arrived in front of a townhome of red brick with French-style roofing and a tall stone set of stairs that led up to a set of ornate double doors. It was an incredible home, and I didn’t even want to think about how many millions of dollars it was worth.
“We’re here,” said Russell.
My eyes nearly popped out of my head.
“What?” I asked, totally taken by surprise. “Is this where the party’s happening?”
“Nope,” said Russell, his voice cool. “This is my place uptown.”
“Wait, what about the place in Brooklyn?” I asked, incredulous.
“That’s just where I keep the goods and crash when I’m in the neighborhood. This place is where I actually live.”
I was shocked. I’d definitely gotten the impression that Russell was making good money, but I’d had no idea it was “townhome-uptown” kind of money. But I wasn’t going to question things.
Russell pressed a button on his visor and a squat silver door at the end of a short driveway next to the townhome opened up. We drove into the small one-car garage. In a city like New York, where space was at a premium, something like a garage door was an unthinkable luxury. Hell, most people here dreamed of one day, maybe, having an eight-by-ten backyard.
The garage door shut behind us and Russell killed the engine. Stepping out, he opened the backdoor and grabbed my bags, slipping the handles onto his arms with ease.
“Tha—“” I started, but caught myself.
Russell looked at me knowingly, his blue eyes narrowed over a tight grin.
“Good save,” he said.
He opened the door leading from the garage and held it for me. When I stepped in, I had to do all I could not to gasp. We walked into a beautiful, well-appointed living room with tall, vaulted ceilings. Modern furniture filled the space, the sleek angles and solid colors forming an interesting contrast to the Renaissance-style art on the walls. A gorgeous fireplace was the centerpiece of the living room. I couldn’t believe how stunning the home was.
“This is … a really nice place you have here,” I said, my eyes wide as I looked around.
“Thanks,” he said. “I wish I could take credit for the décor; I had someone do that for me.”
Russell led me up a flight of stairs leading to the second floor, then down a long hallway. We stopped at an ornate door at the end of the hallway.
“This can be your room,” said Russell, placing his hand on the knob and giving it a turn. “I think you’ll like it a little better than the futon.”
He wasn’t kidding. He opened the door to reveal a spacious but cozy bedroom. A four-point bed was against the north wall, and an elegant dresser set lined the space. There was even a small fireplace.
“And here’s where you can put your clothes,” he said, starting towards a door in the room.
I saw that the door opened into a walk-in closet, and my jaw nearly hit the floor. My place with Logan had been nice, but not even close to being walk-in-closet-nice. I stepped inside the empty closet, already fantasizing about filling the racks with even more goodies from Fifth Avenue.
Calm down, Alyssa, I told myself. Remember that you’re more or less trapped here.
It took all the restraint I had to keep my giddiness 1ohnson1 down, however.
Russell set my bags down on the bed and headed towards the door.
“Go on and get ready,” he said. “We’re leaving in forty minutes, and I want to go over some ground rules before we leave.”
“Sure,” I said.
With that, he left and shut the door behind him. I walked backward to the bed and fell down on top of it, letting myself stretch out and enjoy the cushiness of the mattress and the softness of the sheets. After spending nearly a week in my car and last night on a futon, this bed was like heaven. Part of me wanted to curl up and drift off into a deep, half-day sleep.
But I had business to attend to. After another minute of comfort, I went through my bags and removed the dress that I’d picked out for tonight, along with a black lace underwear set. The goods in hand, I headed to the walk-in and stripped down. Stepping into my panties, I looked at my body in the five-panel mirror, a soft, flattering light glowing from above. Was I really good enough to be a temptress to these men who I was going to meet tonight? I’d never thought of myself as anything special, but according to Russell, I was primo arm candy. I hoped he was right.
I put on my bra and stepped into the dress, taking care not to disturb my hair. Once I was dressed, I slipped on my heels and took one last look at myself. It was strange to see the woman staring back at me in the mirror; I usually wasn’t much for dressing up to show off the goods, both because I was typically the modest type, and because Logan had had a tendency to show his jealous side whenever I’d put too much time into my appearance.
When I stepped out of the dressing room, the room was slightly darker than it had been. I walked over to the window and saw that the sun was sinking low into the sky, the night beginning to show. Taking my new clutch out of one of the bags, I took a deep breath and headed downstairs.
Russell was sitting at the long, dark brown dining room table, a cocktail in front of him and a cigar in his hand, the smoke curling in the air above his head. His eye snapped to me as I walked into the room, and though I might have been imagining it, I was pretty sure his eyebrows rose a little.
“Very nice,” he said, looking me up and down. “Everything’s on display, but you’re not being too obvious about it.”
“Glad it works,” I said, giving him a little turn.
“So am I,” he said, his voice low.
When I finished turning I saw that his eyes were still locked onto my body. I wondered what was going on behind those icy eyes of his. But before I could think about it for too long, Russell gestured to one of the open chairs.
“Take a seat,” he said. “We’ve got some business to discuss.”