Zara's POV
"T–ten million dollars?" I blurted out, then quickly covered my mouth. My eyes widened in disbelief as I stared at the numbers on the paper in my hands. I read them again, glancing at the man sitting calmly with a small smirk on the corner of his lips across me.
I blinked several times, checking the numbers again. I counted the zeros under my breath, one, two, three, my finger tracing over them.
"Yes, why? Is it not enough? It's just for three months, and you'll have ten million dollars in your account," he said coldly, his tone arrogant. His eyes remained just as cold, staring at me like I was his prey.
"This is ridiculous." I said, "Do you think that much money will tempt me to be your sex slave for three months?" My voice turned icy as well, even though my heart was still racing. I tried to control my emotions.
"Who said anything about that? You can clearly see in the clause, you'll be my private chef at my mansion and get paid as stated. Don't you think it's a good deal?" He spoke like a negotiator dealing drugs.
His charisma was strong and intimidating, the tension thick in the quiet VIP sky lounge. His cold, handsome face only added to the gripping atmosphere.
"A private chef with your kinky sexual desires? How is that not the same as a sex slave?" I shot back with sarcasm, my gaze sharp as I met his icy eyes. His composure was perfect, like a predator waiting to strike.
"Listen Ms. Shamari, it's not like I'll be fucking you the entire three months, right? I just need you to cook for me while I enjoy the sight of your… neck. Sex slave is too negative a term for that," he said, his voice chilling, as if discussing this matter was the most natural thing in the world.
"Do you realize how insane you sound right now, sir? And it says right here that you may or may not touch and kiss my neck and nape while I'm cooking. How does that not lead to something… sexual?" I argued, my anger rising, narrowing my eyes as I tossed the contract onto the table.
"It states that any sexual activity further must be consensual. I'm not interested in sex all the time. I just have an obsession with the side of your neck, especially… when you have your hair tied up while cooking," he said, calm as ever. I couldn't believe he was talking like this with such a straight face.
Right, I didn't mean to judge anyone's sexual preferences. I'd seen my fair share of strange habits working around these billionaires. As a Chef de Partie in this high-end Sky Lounge Restaurant, The Amethyst, I'd witnessed more than my share of unconventional acts.
But never had I been the center of it all, the main character in such a scenario—until now. And there he was, this breathtaking man, with a build that looked effortlessly powerful, sitting before me and demanding that I become the object of his sexual desires. Damn it! Why was I admiring his appearance in a moment like this?
"Why me? I'm just a worker at this restaurant, miles below your league. You could easily get a supermodel if you wanted." I was honestly curious. Not to underestimate myself, but this just didn't make sense.
"That's exactly the point! Hmm..." He paused. "Let's just say I'm bored with supermodels and want something new. I find your side profile, particularly the side of your neck just below the ear, enticing when you're cooking in the open kitchen," he said smoothly. How was I supposed to feel? It sounded rude, almost perverted, yet somehow felt like a compliment. I was uncomfortable yet strangely intrigued.
"So, let me get this straight. You want me to cook for you while you stare at me, and you might touch or kiss my neck because it's your fetish?" I sighed, adjusting my seat. "And if we, um, decide to have sex further, it would need both our consent?" I tried to stay calm, but I could feel my palms sweating.
He crossed his legs, folding his arms across his chest, and smiled mischievously. "I knew you were smart, Ms. Shamari." He looked like a predator, but there was something warm about his eyes. His cold demeanor contradicted the strange comfort I found in his smiling eyes. What was I thinking?
Was this some kind of joke? He wants me to do what? The thought alone made my stomach twist into painful knots like I had swallowed something sharp. My mind raced, and my fingers gripped the edge of my apron skirt as I bit my lower lip.
With a sharp smack, I slammed the table and stood up. "Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Auckland, but I'll pretend this conversation never happened." I clenched my fists, ready to leave the VIP Sky Lounge.
As I was about to step out, two bodyguards blocked my way. I turned my head, glaring at him, and my eyebrows furrowed. He casually stood and said, "You need to sign the NDA for tonight's discussion, Ms. Shamari." His voice was calm, but his expression changed as he clenched his perfect jaw.
One of the guards handed me a paper to sign. It was as if he'd predicted my reaction, and this was all part of his plan. I yanked the paper and signed it angrily. The guard then handed me a box. I frowned, opening it.
My eyes widened at the sight of a high-quality sterling silver necklace from Tiffany & Co. I turned to him. "What is this?" I snapped.
"For signing the NDA. It'll look good on your neck." He walked toward me, his hands in his pockets.
"Wait, but I don't–"
"You can throw it away if you don't like it. I don't take back what I give," he said coldly, walking past my shoulder. The warm scent of wood and spices filled the air as he walked out, leaving me speechless with the necklace box still in my hands. I swallowed hard, completely lost for words.