Chapter 10 Ty

I focused on the Turnaround plan we were working on, and she seemed to be keeping pretty good pace with my words. I could ignore us for a little while, absorbed in the work until I noticed her keystrokes trailing off at the last thing I said. “No good?”

“No, it’s very good. But my fingers are weak, they need a break.”

“Sure.”

“Also, two more things. The first, you don't have to tell me, but it's killing me wondering what happened to your hands."

"I was careless and reckless." That's all I wanted to tell her, but goddamn if her eyes aren't the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

"Scuba diving off Norway. I grabbed a sea urchin by mistake and it defended itself.”

“How?”

“Sending poisonous shards of itself into the 28 joints of my hands."

"Poisonous?"

"Only slightly. Or is it venomous? Either way if I had died from a sea urchin I would have deserved it." That mother hen look on her face was painfully adorable. It woke something other than lust in me. "I'll be back to normal, answering cell phones and opening doors," and spanking your ass- "in a week. Your second question?"

"I was just thinking. We've been at this for hours. Do I get overtime for this?”

“I guess if you want overtime, go for it. It's a business expense for me. Happy?”

“But I’m helping you, personally.” She demurred, the hint of a blush creeping up her cheeks and down her neck.

"What's your point?"

"What I mean is, you have nothing at risk, this is my personal time. And it's not you paying, it's your company- possibly my company but I’m not sure how that works. Either way it seems like an abuse.”

Nothing at risk? I haven't came in a month and this is a three thousand dollar suit you might make me ruin if you bat those eyes at me one more time.

“You have a rather highly-developed sense of business ethics don’t you?” That hit her right across the chin, and I regretted it. She must have sat there typing, working up the courage to tease me, and I didn’t want her to stop.

“Tell you what Milly. When we’re done, a courier will pick up the hard drive and deliver it to the client. You’re free to leave then.” I stretched to my full height, staring down at her. A less expensive suit and my cock would have torn open the fabric by now.

"Or, you can take my AMEX black card and pay yourself what seems fair. What your time tonight is worth is entirely up to you. Take my wallet and my license and the room key, and I’ll walk down to the concierge to let them know you haven’t kidnapped me and I’ve authorized you to use it in case anyone wants to check. But only for tonight.”

“Black card has no limit right?”

“Only your imagination. My largest purchase was a Ferrari. Anything over that and they might need to confirm it with me more formally.”

“So there is a limit.”

“Under different circumstances, I don’t doubt for a second that an evening with you would be worth a late model Ferrari. It would probably turn out to be a bargain."

I let my eyes wander across her body. She breathed in sharply and I couldn't look away. "But if you're as smart as I think you are you'll realize you're being educated, mentored, and trained right now. The reason I have a Faraday cage and an air-gapped computer is because there are people who would kill to hear what I'm telling you right now. It affects thousands of jobs and almost ten billion dollars worth of assets. Which reminds me, don’t trade any stock in White & Williams if you have it because it would be insider trading.”

“So, yes, your typing skills for the evening should be limited by the cost of a Ferrari. I think that’s reasonable, all things considered.”

“So it's more of a guideline.” She turned away and resumed typing whatever the hell I said 10 minutes ago.

It felt like the world just shifted off its axis in those ten minutes, but I was the only one of us who felt. Maybe I vastly underestimated her. If she had the balls to spend $240,000, I would almost say it was worth it.

Almost.

She had me speechless and as turned on as I've ever been. “Remember I may need your services again over the next week. Until I’m 100%.”

She turned to smile mischievously over her shoulder, then returned to her typing. The clacking of the keys stopped, waiting for me. I couldn't remember what the fuck I was talking about for the last four hours.

None of it seemed to matter now.

We worked until it was done, I had kept her nearly 8 hours.

“Is it finished?” I ask.

She nods, and adds “Sincerely Ty Dalton?”

“No. Absolutely not. Try: ‘The offer is good until 4pm Monday.’”

“Our time or their time?”

“Let them worry about that.”

“You never do the worrying, do you?”

“There are always more companies. I’m saving their jobs too, and their stock options for running the place into the ground. If they refuse to see the gift I’m giving them, then I don’t want to be in business with them.”

“Speaking of business.” She raised her open palm above her head.

“And of gifts. Or pay for work very well done and appreciated.” I placed the card in her hand, and she looked at it the way I once looked at the idea of unlimited money.

Like it was a dream.

“Late model’ means last year’s, right?”

“Let’s define it as five years. I don’t want you to have another uncertain guideline, and worry.”

“I’m not worried.” She answers.

* * *

When I left her, after authorizing the concierge to confirm any purchases on my behalf, there was a slight ache- usually where my wallet goes in my suit, over the heart. But that was silly. I don’t give a shit about the money. American Express will cry mercy before I do.

It was the thought of letting her push me, letting her take what she wants, not merely what I’m willing to give her- the black card has no limits and that’s what she’ll start demanding in every area of my life as soon as she figures out she can make those demands.

That terrifies me almost as much as the fact I’m not putting up my customary fight. Another time, another girl, - any other time, any other girl- and I would not be sitting here waiting with my dick in my hand wondering what the hell she’s doing.

You can’t even hold your dick in your hand. That smartass voice in my head was even beginning to sound like her. Why is she different than all those before her? Her innocence? My weakness?

She’s a child. And I'm out of my mind. What the hell do I think I'm going to do with her? I couldn't marry her, she's far too young, and I’m far too disagreeable. That soft, inviting pink mouth of hers rose in my mind.

I know exactly what I’d like to do with her.

She might not be sexually awakened, but all my male instincts told me there was passion waiting inside her to be kindled. That full, soft mouth invited exploration.

She wasn’t the Louisiana Territory. And I wasn’t Louis and Clark. I reminded myself. She should discover herself with someone her own age, have lots of bad sex then maybe start to figure it out later on. She didn’t need a tutor before the first lesson, that was for sure.

The sensible thing would be to stop this right now, before someone gets hurt. I'd hate to hurt her, and I'd hate myself if I did. Sooner or later she will get hurt when it's all over.

My love affairs had never lasted long. There was no room for a full-time commitment in my life; I was too busy. I could make time for my sex life in my over-busy schedule, but women always wanted more than I could give them. They wanted stability, marriage, children. Sixteen-hour work-days of good work on a job that meant something, then six months of vacation, where I could scuba dive in Norway or hike the Himalayas, or whatever the hell else I felt like doing, doesn’t fit into that. One of them has to give, and so far, it had never been the life I chose to live.

And besides, mostly what I wanted from women was sex. There were other benefits, women had more charms than just that, but finding a submissive who would also travel the world and work brutal hours or at the very least not try to take that away from me was impossible. My life was simply not compatible with all of those benefits and charms.

Only a fool would call that a tragedy. I chose every step, knowing what sacrifice it meant.

But there was sympathy for Milly. Even if she chose, she would have no idea what that choice entailed. No, I couldn't do it; an innocent like that needed someone of her own generation, a boy whose experience matched her own.

Someone solid, steady.

No.

The idea of her with any one, especially one of those clean-cut, borderline psychopaths that the MBA programs like so much sent jealousy at me like an arrow in the dark.

No. Someone like that is too young; too much a slave to money and wealth. They wouldn't appreciate her nature of unaware sensuality and shining innocence the way I could. They would rush at her with the same greed they go after everything, and would bruise that sweetness.

A girl like her needed gentler handling. Patience, a slow introduction to the pleasure of sex. Who was I kidding? The truth was I couldn't bear the idea of anyone laying a hand on her. I wanted her for myself. All this sacrifice bullshit is exactly that. I’ll be damned if anyone else ruins her. Damned if anyone else defiles her. Takes that innocence and hurts her. If it has to happen, it’ll be me. Not anyone else. Let her hurt because of me; let her hate me when it’s over.

What will she demand from me in this? She wouldn’t take more than I offer? More than I’m willing to give?

She wouldn’t.

Would she?