Me: I know you’re being a pain in my butt right now.
Sir: I’ll be more than happy to show you what a pain in the ass really is.
What does that mean? It better not mean…
Me: I hope you mean a spanking, because you will not be sticking that giant thing in my ass!
Sir: Mouth, kitten.
Grr. Whatever. Silencing the phone, I retreat from the room in search of Cupid.
When I reach the living room, I see Cupid standing in the middle of about six racks of clothes, each one around a foot taller than he is. I wouldn't have been able to see him if not for my heels. Cupid is a short, chubby, bald guy, and today he’s dressed in a white three-piece suit. It’s almost funny how our outfits contrast with the reds and blacks that cover everything in here.
“Hi.” I give an awkward wave, a little bit of embarrassment hitting my cheeks. I’d met Cupid a few times; he would pop in and talk to Charles when I was working here, and a few times he had to ask me questions about something at the Cortez when we traded places.
His face lights up with a bubbly smile, which makes me smile too.
“About time you woke up!” He pushes one of the clothes racks out of the way and runs over to hug me as if we're long-lost friends. I hug him back and giggle. His excitement always seems contagious. I wonder how such a happy giddy person could work for Charles. They’re almost like night and day.
“Sorry if I kept you waiting. I must have been exhausted to sleep so late. That’s not like me.”
“I'm sure he exhausted you.”
Cupid wiggles his eyebrows at me, and I blush at his words. He busies himself with the racks of clothes, and it hits me that everyone is going to know I'm hooking up with Mr. Townsend. Everyone I've been working with, the few friends I made in the month I was here, everyone.
Shit. Gossip in casinos spreads like wildfire.
“Most of these should fit you. If something doesn't, leave it on the rack and I'll take it back. If you don't like something, leave that too, but my taste is impeccable so I don't foresee that.” He says it with so much certainly I believe him.
“Hmm. Do you want me to try them on now?” I’m exhausted at the very idea.
“No, we have spa appointments downstairs. I’ll leave them here for you to go through whenever you like.” Making his way over to a big white box on the sofa, he adds, “This is also yours. I have no idea what’s in it, and I was told I wasn't allowed to open it.” He points at it and stares at me, the silent message clear. He wants me to open it so he can see inside.
Walking over to the box, I lift the lid, exposing lingerie. It looks like there’s something in every color. “The good stuff,” Cupid says beside me, and I drop the lid, my face turning crimson.
I’m not sure why he bought it. One, I’m not allowed to wear panties and two, the tops of my dresses are normally tight enough that I don’t have to wear a bra. Most of them have a built-in bra, and I’m not rocking a ton of boobage as it is.
“Turn your phone back on before you give Mr. Townsend a coronary.”
I look over at Cupid to see him typing away on his phone. I guess I see where his loyalties lie.
“It is on,” I say smugly, because it is.
“Turn the ringer on,” he says without looking up at me.
Sliding my finger along the side of the phone, I put it back on ring, but don’t bother to look at it.
“Come on. You’ll have him storming up here in two minutes flat if you don’t respond to him.” He pauses for a moment, and judging by his reaction, he must see something flare in my eyes. “Or is that what you want?”
Is this how it's going to be with everyone around here after they find out about me and Charles? I groan inwardly at the thought.
“I don’t know what you mean.” I try to fake it, looking at phone and seeing four texts and two missed calls, all from ‘Sir’. I should change his name to ‘Pain in the Ass’, but he’ll likely give me a pain in the ass if I do, so I opt not to.
Sir: I didn't mean for you to stop texting me, I meant watch the cursing, kitten.
Sir: If you don’t respond to me, I’m coming up there.
Sir: You won’t like it when I get there.
It should piss me off how tight a leash he has on me, but for some reason all I find myself doing is smiling down at the phone like a loon.
“Strange. When I get yelled at by Mr. Townsend, I don’t find myself smiling.”
I drop the smile from my face as fast as I can, biting the inside of my mouth. When I look at Cupid he’s rocking his own giant smile, which only makes me burst into giggles. Oh. My. God. I’m like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush on the boy who always picks on her at recess.
Me: Don’t you have meetings you should be at?
Sir: I’m in one right now.
Me: Well, shouldn't you be paying attention and not worrying about my every move?
Sir: I’ll always worry about your every move.
Wow. I wonder if he knows how long ‘always’ is. It’s endearing to think of someone always thinking about me, that I’m always at the forefront of his mind.
Me: Always is a long time, Mr. Townsend
Sir: That’s the plan, kitten. You have appointments. Relax and think of all the dirty things I’m going to do to you when I have you back in my hands.
I had no idea he could be this sweet; that underneath all that broodiness was a marshmallow. Okay, maybe a hard marshmallow, but at the center there’s goo. I wish I knew more about relationships. Women always say men will say anything to get into your pants, but I’m already bought and paid for. This shouldn't have to be some game to him.