Bought By The Billionaire novel Chapter 8

There is a tap at the door; Francis silently enters with a tray bearing a coffee pot and two cups, sets it down on the coffee table and just as silently, departs.

I gulp, then ask, “How did you know my address to send the things?”

“I asked the driver I sent you home with last night to make a note of it, and aren’t you forgetting? You wrote your resignation letter on my laptop. Your address was on the letter too.” He hesitates. “That’s not a good address, Elizabeth. Not a safe place for a single girl to live.” He pauses. “I am assuming you are single? No jealous husband out there?”

I shake my head.

“Boyfriend?”

I shake my head again. “I’ve been working so hard. My job and my studies …”

He nods in satisfaction. “Of course. Good. That’s one potential problem dealt with then. Now … and I must ask you this …” He leans forward, closer to me. “Are you still happy with our arrangement? You need to tell me.”

I nod, my mouth a little dry. “Yes, you’ve done everything you promised so far. I’ll keep my end of the bargain.”

He nods his head in approval. “Perfect answer, Elizabeth. Yes, I always keep my promises, and I deliver my end of any agreement. It’s good to know that you see it that way too.”

“Won’t people think it a bit odd that I suddenly appear like this? Out of the blue? It’s not as though I had an interview or anything.”

He laughs. “I think you did rather well at your interview last night, Elizabeth. As for people thinking it odd, no, they won’t. I have a number of employees who I met outside of normal channels and have offered them a job.”

He sees my expression and laughs. “No, not quite like you and I met, and no, not with the same agreement. But, Francis out there, for example, my personal assistant, I met her on a train. She was reading the business pages of her newspaper, quite unusual in a woman, if you don’t mind me saying so. We started talking about her views on equities and a city merger that was coming up. She was working as a waitress—all that potential going to waste. I hired her on the spot. A good personal assistant needs to understand the business of her employer. So, no, don’t worry, the staff here know that I choose employees for my own reasons.”

I am feeling more reassured. “So, what happens now?”

“Francis will take you to HR. They’ll take you through the usual formalities, and then we’ll put you through the usual intern routine. You will spend time in every department of the company: finance, procurement, marketing, everything. You will see the whole machine, and we can find out how much you already know and see where you can fit in best.”

He leans back in his seat, holding me with his eyes. “Now, about your other duties—when you finish here for the day, you will go home and put on the clothes you will find waiting for you. Wear your hair up, as you have it now. I expect to see you in my suite at eight o’clock. Any questions?”

“Um, I’m not sure what to call you.”

He laughs. “Here, I am Mr Haswell. When I take you out to dinner, I am Richard. In my apartment, you will call me Master. Understood?”

“Yes, Mr Haswell.”

“Finish your coffee.” He buzzes the intercom again. “Francis, can you take Elizabeth to HR please?”

The rest of the day passes in a blur as I sign my contract of employment, am introduced to people, shown my office, and talked through rules and procedures. By five-thirty I am exhausted, my head is spinning, and I am ready to go home. I am eager too, to see what is waiting for me.

There are a number of parcels waiting for me in the tatty lobby. Dashing up to my room, I open them with trembling anticipation.

There is a pair of shoes, black satin with impossibly high heels; they are beautiful but not intended for actually walking in. Richard is tall, but standing whilst wearing them, I might be taller. Or perhaps not, as he is well over six feet tall. And, I reflect, we are all the same height lying down …