I loved that about my father. But as a teenager, I was not interested in learning, in cooking with him. I’d much preferred reading, calling my friends or generally being a teenage bitch. Though my father was strict in many ways, he had spoiled me in that regard. I think it was him trying to make up for my mother’s absence, making sure he fed me wonderful food and didn’t pressure me to try to take her place in any way.
Then I’d moved here. Where takeout was a religion and dinner parties were commonplace. I’d gotten to the ripe age of twenty-eight with the knowledge of how to boil and egg and not much else. I made a mental note to call Zoe to see if she wanted to go to a cooking class with me. Not entirely because of Jay, but because a thirty-year-old woman should know how to cook. And I wanted to have children at some point. Although I was happy to marry a man who believed in equal division of household duties, I wanted to be able to cook for him and my kids. Something I had no memory of my mother ever doing.
During my mental vacation, Jay had gotten up off his bar stool, walked to a set of drawers and retrieved something, placing it on the kitchen island.
“This is for you,” he said, sliding the object forward.
“For me?” I repeated, taken by surprise.
Unsurprisingly, Jay didn’t answer, didn’t even nod. I was quickly learning that he did not repeat himself and did not answer questions that he deemed irrelevant.
Of all the things I’d expected from my first weekend with Jay, a gift of any kind was not something that I’d factored in. Especially not something that I already knew was crazy expensive by the box alone.
When I opened the velvet box he’d placed in front of me, the diamonds sparkled in the morning light. There were a lot of them. A lot. I wasn’t exactly an expert in precious stones—Wren would’ve known the cut, carat and clarity already—but I knew these were expensive. Very expensive. The tennis bracelet was white gold and would look amazing on my wrist. Despite me being very happy to be independent, self-sufficient and capable of buying all of my own accessories, there was a part of me that loved the sparkly diamonds and immediately wanted them on my body.
But I waited, looking up at Jay’s emerald gaze.
“What is this?” I whispered.
“It’s a gift,” he said.
I raised my brow. “A gift? For the woman you’ve been sleeping with for about twelve hours?”
“For my woman,” Jay corrected. I sucked in a deep breath, allowing his scent to invade my nostrils which reminded me how it felt to have him thrusting inside of me just hours ago. “I’m a man who likes to see my woman wearing what I bought her. It’s something you’re going to have to get used to, since I plan on buying you more. There are clothes in my closet right now, for you. They should be your size. Your taste. Appropriate for upcoming events I expect you to attend with me. Appropriate for the time that we spend here in the house together.”
I swallowed heavily as I absorbed his words. I was under the impression that when we were in the house together, we weren’t going to be wearing much at all. Did that mean lingerie? I was a sucker for lingerie. Especially the French kind.
“I’m aware that your job surrounds clothing and fashion, and you’ve already got a very distinct sense of style, so I’ve established accounts with various stores and designers. You can purchase whatever you want on my account,” he added.
I pursed my lips. Jay had a lot of money. I’d known that when I signed up for this. He was also all about control, another fact I’d known when I signed up. Zoe had even told me that Jay ‘took care’ of his women before all of this had started. But I’d taken that with just a speck of the salt surrounding the rim of my margarita glass. I really hadn’t thought that men—even very rich men—did things like that outside of Julia Roberts movies.
Jay was not Richard Gere. He didn’t resemble the hero in any kind of movie. Not by a long shot.
But here he was, giving me a velvet box and a brand-new wardrobe.
My own wardrobe was already extensive and expensive. Technically I didn’t need any new clothes. But I was a woman, a woman in the business of fashion, and I loved new clothes.
Did I love Jay buying them for me, though?
Pretty Woman was a classic for sure, but it was still about a wealthy man picking up a sex worker and paying for her time with lavish gifts and money.
Is that what this was?