“Don’t pout,” he scolds. “Not necessarily. They have listings online, you know. Why don’t you spend an hour looking at rental listings after breakfast, and then the rest of the day will be all yours for fun things.”
I nod. “That is a good idea.”
He hears the note of doubt in my voice. “But?”
“Ugh, I just have so many other questions.”
“Well?” He shakes me a little. “Like what?”
“Like, how much can I even afford to pay on rent and still be able to live?”
“The rule of thumb is thirty percent of your income.” He tells me how much I make after my promotion, and what thirty percent of that is.
“Oh. That’s actually really useful. Wow, how did you know that?”
He tucks my hair behind my ears. “That doesn’t matter. Now you do, too. It should be enough for a room around Clapham or Willesden or Shepherd’s Bush, depending on where you want to live. Why don’t you ask some of the other girls where they live?”
I nod. “I will do that, thank you.” My face is close to his and I look into his eyes. I want him to kiss me. Shouldn’t he kiss me? He’s done so much more to me that kissing shouldn’t be a big deal. But I want it so badly that it must be.
He strokes his thumb over my lower lip, which makes me shiver, but he doesn’t kiss me. “You’re not to worry about anything, all right? If you have any more questions on Tuesday, come to me and we will figur
e them out.” He grabs my hand, glaring at my fingers. “And you’re not to bite your damn nails.”
I’m even more at peace than I was the first time he disciplined me in his office. The world seems simpler now—easier to face—and I am calm. I smile. “Yes, Mr. Kingsolver.”
Chapter Four
I stand with my back to the big mirror on my wardrobe door and pull my nightie up. Looking over my shoulder I can see the pink marks of Mr. Kingsolver’s belt. I trace my fingers over them, and they are sore but not painful. When I pinch the marks I’m reminded of him.
At eight I take my laptop down into the kitchen and Google “rental listings” while I drink my strawberry milk. All the flats and houses in the places that Mr. Kingsolver mentioned are two to three times what he’s told me I can afford, but I’m not disheartened. I only need a room, after all, not a whole place. I still don’t like the idea of sharing with strangers, but I don’t have to choose anywhere right now. I can take my time and find the right people. I search again and click through to a website of flatmate listings and I’m pleased to find dozens of rooms that are in my price range.
When my dad comes into the kitchen, he ruffles my hair and says, “What are you smiling about?”
I tell him what I’ve discovered, what I can afford and where I think I should start looking for a room when the time comes. My mum comes into the kitchen when I’m halfway through, and when I finish they’re both staring at me. “What?” I ask.
“That’s excellent,” my mother says. “You’ve got it all figured out and we only just told you the news. We’re so proud of you, sweetheart.”
I grin at them, wondering what they’d say if they knew just how I’d figured this all out. Then I start to blush so I quickly squash that thought. Taking a deep breath, I say, “I thought I’d go and see a movie this afternoon and do some shopping.”
“Of course, darling.”
“Sounds like a lovely idea. What will you see?”
They don’t even bat an eyelid when I tell them I’m going to see a kid’s film.
Because it’s Monday and the middle of the day I practically have the cinema to myself. I take a cupful of pick ‘n’ mix in with me and chomp my way through it as I watch the film, taking up a whole double seat to myself. I have to shift about a little because my behind is sore, but it makes me smile every time I feel it. When the film is over I am buzzing from all the sugar, but I still get myself a cup of soft-serve and eat that while I wander and window shop. In a stationery store I buy some pretty notepads and glitter pens with feathers on one end, just because they’re pretty, and in another I choose some pastel-colored hair clips and a pink velvet ribbon choker.
Later, on the train ride home, I’m still smiling. I haven’t been able to enjoy the silly things I do on a day off in a long time. It’s such a relief that I haven’t had to lie about any of it. Everywhere I go I can smell Mr. Kingsolver’s scent, and feel his strong arms around me.
* * *
My office after the show.
The note, exactly the same as the last one, makes my heart pound. Have I broken any rules? I think back over the past few days. I haven’t been late. I haven’t bitten my nails. I haven’t been worried about anything. In fact, I’ve been relaxed and happy, as well as horny in a way that I’ve never been before. Every night I’ve gone straight to bed, rubbing between my legs until I come, thinking about Mr. Kingsolver’s tongue or the feel of his hand on my behind.
The smallest things are enough to set off dirty thoughts. Seeing Mr. Kingsolver with his shirtsleeves rolled back. Watching him fix a stage light with a smut of dust on his cheek. Feeling his hand briefly caress my ass in the wings.
Even his note is enough to make me pulse with heat. I tuck it into my bra, liking the papery rasp against my nipple.