Taken By The Beast (The Forbidden Fun)

Suddenly, I realize there are tears in my eyes because I’m the one who’s misread everything. Todd Sales isn’t my boyfriend, nor does he love me. Instead, the CEO pays me for my body, and of course, he must think that what he did is totally normal not to mention legit. After all, money was exchanged and this is exactly what Sanctum represents. My body in return for his pleasure. With that, I begin to walk home, my feet heavy and my heart breaking every step of the way.

7

Todd

* * *

I check my phone for the billionth time, but there’s nothing. The last text I received from Bridget was over a week ago, and I probably replied within three seconds. But there was no answer to my text, and since then, she’s gone totally quiet. I stare at my phone, still disbelieving. Is this really happening to me? Am I being fucking ghosted?

I snort because this doesn’t happen to billionaire CEOs, and it’s definitely never happened to me before. Ghosting is something that you read about in women’s magazines, but now, it seems like the world has turned upside down and I haven’t been able to focus on anything since Bridget walked out. What the hell?

I didn’t even know she was walking out, to be honest. She left my suite one morning, glowing and beautiful after a bout of morning sex. I swear, my come was still dripping down her thigh when she rushed out to get a massage, but the sweet blonde never came back afterwards. I’ve called and texted relentlessly since then, but it’s total silence. Fuck, I feel like a complete loser.

But why? Why is this even happening? We never had a falling-out, and if anything, our relationship was easygoing and relaxed. So WTF?

Irate, I pull up Melissa’s number and give her a call. I haven’t spoken to the middle manager in a while, and she answers on the first ring.

“Mr. Sales,” she says in a professional voice. “How can I help you today?”

I get straight to the point.

“Have you heard from Bridget?”

She sounds confused.

“No, I’m sorry I haven’t Mr. Sales. I thought you were handling your own dates with her?”

I curse.

“Fuck. Yes, but I was hoping maybe she’d reached out. Listen, just give me her home address, will you? I want to look her up.”

Immediately, the woman’s voice is cautious.

“Sir, why don’t I go and find her? I’ll send someone to her apartment shortly. There’s no need to lift a finger.”

“No,” say in a curt voice. “Her home address now.”

But Melissa’s still hesitant.

“You know it’s my job to look out for these girls, so I’m happy to send someone,” she continues. “It’s no trouble.”

That’s it. I respect this woman for sticking to the rules, but it’s time to pull out the big guns.

“Listen, I appreciate your concern, but I promise I’m going over just to talk. I don’t own a firearm. Hell, I don’t even know how to get a firearm in NYC. It’s important. Now give me Bridget’s address, please.”

Melissa sighs and something shuffles around on her side. Then her voice comes on in my ear again. “I’ll text it to you,” she says. “But if something happens to Bridget…”

“Nothing will,” I say, cutting her off. “Thanks much.”

Then, I click off, waiting. Sure enough, the text comes through in a few moments, and then I’m off to Bridget’s apartment.

The trip in the company car is quick, and within seconds, I’m tapping at her door. It wasn’t hard to get into this grimy apartment building because the front lock was broken, and there was no doorman. Around me, I can see that the hallways are littered with dust and cobwebs, not to mention trash. Clearly, this isn’t exactly a luxury building.

But I don’t care because I just want to see my girl. Suddenly, a thought strikes: maybe she’s not home? But then there’s a shuffling noise, and Bridget finally answers, looking worse for the wear. Her eyes are puffy and her hair looks like it hasn’t been brushed in a week, but she still looks beautiful to me.

“Todd?” she asks in a wary voice. “What are you doing here? How did you get my address? I think it’s better if you leave.”

Then, she tries to shut the door in my face but I block the movement with my hand. “What the hell is going on?” I growl.

She looks at my huge palm on the door.

“Please leave,” she says through gritted teeth. But I’m not going anywhere, and I use the opportunity to push right into her apartment. It’s minuscule and looks like a studio. There’s a big bed in one corner that hasn’t been made and a couch with empty fast-food boxes littered all around it. But I don’t care about the mess and spin around.

“Talk to me, Bridge. Why have you been ignoring me? Did something happen?”