One day over. A humiliating day that involved me stripping in front of the man I had a crush on. He seemed indifferent to the sight of my body, his face revealing no emotion at all. I tried not to feel disappointed.

One day closer to a million pounds. I’d worked for it though. No one could deny that. When he told me to undress fear rose up inside me. What scared me wasn’t doing it, it was that I wanted to do it.

From the minute he’d burst into the office, I wanted him. It was a purely animal instinct that I had no control over. I had taken one look at the hulk of man storming into his office and all I wanted to do was please him.

It didn’t help that he was smoking hot. So much hotter than from a distance in the museum, snatched glances didn't do him justice. That chiseled jaw, the stubble, the mess of dark hair that said he didn’t have time to care about brushing it. The suit that was molded to him like it was part of his skin.

He talked and I melted. I tried to fight my desire as he spoke but when he told me to undress, I almost ripped off all my clothes and threw myself at him. I managed to keep control of myself somehow.

I had to change quickly because I had felt his eyes burning into my skin. Could he tell my nipples were hard? Did he notice how wet I’d suddenly become out of nowhere? He said nothing about my body though. I guessed he didn't care, it was just his way of humiliating me, making me earn my money.

I was glad when he left me upstairs, afraid that if I spent any longer with him, I might just melt into a puddle on the floor. He locked me in though and my day went from the heights of excitement and tension to sheer tedium. Locked in like his prisoner, not his guest.

The bedroom contained a four poster bed with silk sheets and pillows so soft I found my fingers running over them as I continued to examine the space around me. A bookcase stuffed full, a window overlooking the drive far below. An armchair that looked hundreds of years old, too fragile for me to risk sitting in. There was also a dressing table and a door that led through to a beautiful bathroom.

I read for hours then ran a bath but it was still only three in the afternoon. No food appeared and no one came to let me out. By the time I climbed into bed that evening I decided I had definitely earned my money for the day. I was hungry, bored, and unable to stop thinking about what might be inside that suit of his.

Six days to go and then I’d be away from here. I’d be able to think straight again. Something about this house and its opulence had turned my head. Something about him had bypassed my brain and gone straight to my core, made me want his babies, lots of his babies.

It didn’t help that I’d never had sex before. The last couple of years I’d started to think about it more and more but I always told myself my first would be with the right person, not just anyone. Was he the right person? He only wanted me for a week.

It was academic anyway because I was just here to make him look good. It was obvious from what he’d said. I didn’t know the details but I could put enough pieces of the puzzle together to work the rest out. He had some business deal that needed a woman involved in some way.

He’d probably lied and told some rival firm that he had a daughter or a niece or something similar and my job was to fill the role until the deal went through. Once it was over, so was I. I’d be on my way with my million and I wasn’t to contact him again. There was no point even trying to get attached to him, not with only six days to go.

I went to sleep hungry and woke to the sound of my bedroom door unlocking. For the first few seconds I panicked, thinking it was Ryan coming to evict me. Then I sat up and blinked, frowning as I tried to remember where I was. It came back to me as the door opened.

I expected to see Mr Stempel out there but instead it was one of the people I’d been introduced to yesterday. The maid. What was her name again?

“Good morning,” she said, passing me almost identical clothes to those I’d been given the previous day. “Would you like to come down for breakfast?”

“God, yes,” I said, suddenly realising just how starving I was. It had been almost twenty-four hours since I’d eaten anything.

“I’ll wait out here while you dress.”

I shouted out to her, “Will Mr Stempel be joining me for breakfast?”

“He’s already eaten.”

I tried not to feel disappointed. I wasn’t here to keep him company. I was here to help this business deal go through. He had no reason to spend any more time with me than was strictly necessary. Didn’t stop me wanting him though.

The dining room was enormous and I took up one tiny corner of the huge table that stretched so far I could do cartwheels on it if I wanted. The maid brought me a plate of bacon and eggs and I dug into them whilst she headed back to the kitchen. “What am I supposed to do with myself?” I asked her as she went.

She stopped and looked back at me. “Excuse me, Miss?”

“Am I just supposed to sit in my room until he wants me?”

“I will fetch Gwyneth. She’ll be able to answer.”

A minute later Gwyneth walked in, looking harassed, notepad in her hand. “What is it?” she asked. “I’m busy.”

“What am I supposed to do while I’m here?”

“Anything you want. Just don’t leave the house. Mr Stempel was very specific about that.” She turned and was gone before I could ask anything else.

“Whatever I want,” I said out loud before picking up my mug of coffee and sipping at it. I knew exactly what to do. I was going to explore.

Once I’d finished breakfast, I tried every door I could find. Most of them were locked but some opened in rooms straight out of period dramas. There was a billiard room, an orangery, a drawing room with fainting couch. I found the staff quarters, the kitchen, then a bedroom in the far corner that smelt as if no one had been inside it for years, the shutters closed, the room itself in darkness.

I found a set of stairs leading down and took them, wondering if I’d travel back in time and find Victorian servants down there having a Downton Abbey style meeting.

Instead, I walked through a door into a corridor and found myself stepping out into a huge open space. The space was filled with a swimming pool and at the far end, Mr Stempel was cutting through the water, his head emerging with a twist to take a breath before vanishing again.

I stood watching him for a moment as he swam towards me. He reached the side and was about to turn when his eye caught me and he stopped himself, catching the edge of the pool and coming to a stop. He didn’t look as if he’d exerted himself at all, barely out of breath as he lifted himself up onto the tiles. I tried not to look at his taut arm muscles but I failed.

“Good morning,” I said as he continued to look at me. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“What are you doing down here?”

“Don’t you ever get lonely? Great big pool like this and only you to enjoy it.”

“I’ve got everything anyone could ever want. Why would I want to share it?”

“Because it’s hard to play Marco Polo on your own?”

“I’m not a team game kind of person. Get a bit too competitive.”

“But that dining room. You eat alone in that every day? This huge pool just for you?”

He nodded. “Do you want permission to swim? Is this your roundabout way of asking me?”

“No.”

“You can swim if you want to.”

“I’ve just had breakfast.”

“That waiting an hour thing is a myth. Jump in.”

“I don’t have a costume.”

“So? Why not skinny dip?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

He looked at me coldly. “You agreed to obey my every command. Strip and get in this pool.” He only paused for a second before roaring with laughter. “Go on, go away you shy little flower.”

Before I could reply he was back in the pool, his head underwater, gliding away from me.

I turned and headed back up the stairs and into the hallway I’d come from. I felt angry but not with him, with myself. What was wrong with me? I had to fight his command when he told me to strip.

I wanted to do it at once but at least I had enough control left to know it was a bad idea. Being naked in the pool with that God of a man would leave me nowhere but in trouble. Nope, better to walk away.

I marched around the house until I calmed down, exploring the first floor and then the second, losing count of the amount of bedrooms the place contained.

I ended up back in the kitchen around half ten, wondering if there was some way I could make myself a coffee. I found the cook emptying a paper bag on the counter top. “What’s that?” I asked as he pulled out a baguette filled with chicken and salad. “Is that from Pepe’s?”

“Your favourite lunch,” he replied. “I was told to collect it. Me with a Michelin star and I’m told to collect your lunch from a bakery. Why not just call me an errand boy and be done with it?”

“Who told you to collect that for me?”

“Mr Stempel of course, who do you think?”

“How did he know that was my favourite?”

“He’s worth billions. Do you not think he has people who can do things for him. He probably knows your blood type, your worst fear, and your favourite childhood shampoo.”

“Really?”

I didn’t know how to feel about that. On one hand it was invasive of my privacy but on the other hand, that was my favourite lunch and it did look good.

“I’ll take that now,” I said, taking the baguette from the cook and heading through to the dining room. “Any chance of a coffee?”

“Sure, it’s not like I worked in Paris for four years in the best restaurant kitchens you’ve ever seen. I’m just a glorified barista, that’s all I am. Anything else? Want me to post a letter for you? Buff your shoes?”

“I can make my own coffee if you like.”

“No,” he said with a sigh. “It’ll give me something to do. I’ll bring it through, go on.”

As I walked into the dining room, I could hear Mr Stempel yelling at someone in his study. Glancing out into the hallway, I could just see through the door to where he was standing dripping in a towel, phone clamped to his ear.

“Don’t you even think about it,” he screamed, his face turning red. “You get that sorted by the end of today or I cut you loose. How do you think your board will take it if they know I took forty percent and sold it back for pennies? Don’t you talk to me like that. You do as you’re bloody told, you little piece of shit. I don’t care if I’m shouting, that’s what happens when I deal with incompetent…”

I left the baguette on the table and walked through to him as he continued shouting. He looked on the verge of a heart attack. I took one look at him and then his phone and then I pressed the disconnect button.

“You shouldn’t talk to people like that,” I said as he looked from the phone to me and back again, trying to process what had just happened. “Try being nice to people from time to time. You might get used to it.”

“What?” he roared at the top of his voice, his face turning from red to purple. He looked like he was about to explode as he stormed over to me. “You hung up my phone?” He took a breath and I braced for the explosion. He grabbed my arm and twisted me onto his lap.

His hand was already flying down towards my squirming ass when Gwyneth appeared in the doorway, hissing, “Tomlinson is here.”