I watch as she starts to fidget in her chair. A life of luxury wasn't something she had in that tiny, shit-hole apartment. The rat-infested den she had before could fit in any room of the house I’ve given her free rein in.
"Life hasn't changed all that much except for the house. I'm not used to being in an actual house. The apartment you saw was the same one I’d lived in for most of my life."
"What do you mean life hasn't changed?" I ask, intrigued. Everything should be different, more elegant—easier for her.
"I still work and come home—rinse and repeat," she throws out, shrugging.
"No. You don’t need to work anymore, Belle. I will take care of you now," I lean forward, staring Belle down. This isn't something I assumed that she would argue with me. She has full access to all the money she could ever need—along with everything in the house. Why would she still go to work? This woman surprises me.
"I don't want you to take care of me, and I'm not going to let you. Besides, I enjoy working."
She squares her shoulders, looking at me incredulously. I assumed someone that used to barely scrape by would jump into being rich like a fish to water. Apparently, I was wrong.
"You're my wife now, and as such, you have to uphold certain appearances."
I sound like my father for a second, and it surprises me. I never thought I would hear his words fall out of my mouth and yet, they just did. Not that my statement isn’t true, but it catches me off guard for sure.
"I'm not going to give up my job just because of appearances, Killian. I don’t live my life to satisfy what people think of me. I worked hard to go through school, to build up my client base, and I happen to love what I do."
"I won't tolerate disobedience, Belle," I warn.
The look on her face wars between incredulous to angry. I'm not warning her because I plan to keep her under lock and key. No, this is more about me wanting to put her in a bubble of protection from my world. People will try and use her to get to me. I don't want her innocence tainted, and I sure don't want people to target her at her work.
"First of all, Killian, I'm not a dog. Second, if you don't like that, you can go get an annulment and find another woman for this strange social experiment you have going on."
Did I think she was intimidated around me? There’s no sign of that now. Strangely enough, this Belle turns me on even more.
"I want you, and you know you owe me," I growl out—not willing to back down. Belle's testing what little patience I have. I'm not the type that is used to people telling me no. This redheaded siren wants to go against my wishes at every turn, and I truly didn’t expect it. It’s very seldom that people surprise me.
"I don't think this is going very well," she says, sliding her chair back as she gets up to leave. Before she can walk out the door, I call out to her.
"You need to have that pretty ass in front of me Saturday," I sit back, feigning control. I'm trying to look relaxed. Around her, though, I'm anything but relaxed. She gets my heart pumping. The way she nibbles her lip when she's unsure of me. That edge of defiance she keeps showing me to prove that she will stand up for what she wants attracts me more than I want to admit. I find myself wanting more of it all—more of her. I'm torn between wanting my freedom so badly I can taste it to enjoying how all of this is playing out.
She stumbles a bit as I talk about her ass. She turns to look at me with bright red cheeks and a face filled with embarrassment. I’m bastard enough to admit I like that, too. She stands up a little straighter as if refusing to look weak in front of me.
Constantly surprising me….
"I'll be here," she announces before walking out the door without so much as a glance back at me.
I'm going to have to figure out how to lock down her spirit without smothering her fire, at least not too much.
That might be the biggest challenge I’ve ever faced.
CHAPTER 23
BELLE
My limo pulls up in front of work, lets me out and then circles around the block to find parking. E-Z is behind me in his own car. He said he had some private calls to make. He also warned me that if I came to work, he wouldn't be leaving the area. He, apparently, is my newly appointed bodyguard.
Walking up to the door, I can already tell something is off. There's a sign hung on the door that says the place is under new management. I frown like the note will suddenly give me more information—of course, it doesn’t.