As usual, once I steer clear of the client, I take out my phone and type his name for a G****e search to know more about who's I'm gonna be dealing with for the next three months.
Or one day. Depending on the top secret requiring-NDA-signed reason.
Though yeah, I'm very curious to know his dating history, what he owns or to be specific, how did he gain his wealth. Most importantly, what juicy gossips I can gather from the internet; the ones their PR team decided to be known to the world.
'Owen Harris is an English former professional footballer-'
I choke on my saliva reading that last word. Footballer? Professional footballer? Okay. Explains the muscles.
'Born, height, spouse, number, children', okay boring. Because the only part that's filled is the born, number, and height. But good, he's not cheating then. No wife, no kids. Nothing against my principles.
Because there's no way I'm gonna be with a cheating douchebag, not even for a million bucks. Girl got codes.
'What is Owen Harris net worth?' I click at that because damn, I really wanna know.
'420 million'. Uhuk uhuk!
Instead of choking, I'm coughing non stop looking at that number. Damn. That's a lot of millions. Really? From just kicking a ball around the field?
I just need to know, scratch the itch, so I g****e why Owen Harris is so fucking rich. There's no way he gains that much money just from playing a sport.
'Footballer. Model. Businessman. Chef.'
Okay. Did not expect that. Chef? Wow. Why the hell would he need Cupcake then? He has everything. He can even date her gorgeous colleagues; those models.
And that's where the gossip search begins. Who's the girlfriend, if he's dating any celebrity, or if he has a rumor about having a child with someone, anything. Just anything to back up the fact he needs Cupcake to get a girl to fuck.
But there's no scandal worthy pictures of him with any woman. None. Nada. It's just his modelling pictures, or him on the green field, heck there're a lot of photos of him as a chef too, posing with the pots and pans, and sets of knives. Along with the ladles and a bunch other kitchen utensils. Haha cute, like a little boy dressed in a little chef outfit playing with a plastic kitchen set.
***
"He's kidding." I gasp reading the part where the contract tells me I'll be living with O.H since the first day onwards. Which the contract duration is recorded to be from 17th of July to 17th of October, with the possibility of extension to 17th of January.
He sure is confident with himself because I never do more than 12 weeks.
But again, the reason I did that was because I need to focus on my finals that's why I end things few weeks prior my most important exam of the semester.
Though this time around, my internship is gonna start from 1st of August to 31st of December, according to my offer letter. So I can tolerate this contract until December, I guess.
Nevermind, just leave it be. Afterall this contract is only valid for three months. If I were to extend to January, I'm gonna have to sign the contract extension before 17th of October. We'll see how things go before I decide that.
Because again, it all depends on that annoyingly confidential reason.
"He's not." Miss Collins replies my rhetorical comment. This girl has no sense of humor whatsoever, a total 180 degrees different than Helen.
"Tomorrow is the 17th." And we just met yesterday. It's not even a full 24 hours.
"So I have to move today? Or tomorrow? Since the contract starts tomorrow."
Miss Collins looked like she's unsure herself, "Mr Harris didn't specify that in the contract."
But my eyes are already reading the next sentence while waiting for her reply. Which this certain words have definitely sway all my doubts away. I'll fucking move right now if he wants me to.
The basic allowance would be USD1500 a week, excluding other allowances.
Damn, I even get other allowances. When on average, I only get like five to seven hundreds pounds a week. That's a thousand bucks compared to this fifteen hundred bucks a week. Oh wow.
He really lives up to his name. Definitely OH wow.
***
Just like what I had with Helen, once the contract is signed, I'll need to wait for my sugar daddy to contact me either via a text, a call, or emails, if there is no specification in the contract regarding the place and time.
In my case, there's none.
So like an idiot, I come home and pack my stuffs, while wait for him to contact me.
I've cancelled my appointment with the real estate agent. At one point I'm relieved that I won't be spending that much money for accommodation because apartments in New York are freaking expensive, but I'm also worried if I cancel the arrangement, where do I live since I'm gonna need a place to stay while waiting to move to another place.
It's okay, let's dive into the ocean first. Afterall, from the first meeting yesterday, he seems like an amazing guy.
Heck with fifteen hundred bucks a week, I'll even call him a miracle if he wants to.
My phone rings with the word RESTRICTED pasted on the screen. Guess this is him?
"Good afternoon, Eee." I laugh at the nickname he calls me.
"Elle please," I correct him. There is no way I'm letting him call me that. Imagine I'm accompanying him at one of those prestigious ball and I'm meeting my future good-looking, millionaire husband, but he's calling me Eeee in front of him. Duh, definitely not classy.
"Why not Estelle?"
"Don't waste you saliva for another syllable. You're gonna need it to wet something else." He laughs heartily the moment I finish my sentence.
"I was about to ask if you're ready for me but okay, that sounds more than ready."
"When am I moving in?"
"Eager Estelle." I can feel he's smirking on the other line.
"It's just that, I booked this airBnB till tomorrow afternoon so if it's later, I'm gonna have to ask for an extended stay or perhaps we meet somewhere else."
"No you don't have to do that. Text me your address, I'll come and get you in two hours. Is that okay?"
I'm definitely relieved I don't have to ask for the extension, because money matters even for a mere hundred bucks.
"Yeah okay. I'll pack my stuffs then." For the fact I already packed everything since hours ago. But I'm not gonna show him how eager I am. I'm not Eager Estelle, I'm the Exclusive Estelle.
"Here's your room," he opens the door on our left as I can't help but to ask, "And whose door is this?" when I see another one on the opposite of my new bedroom door. "That would be mine, there's only two rooms on this floor so here, come in," and he pushes the door to reveal my new chamber for the next three months. My jaw totally drops seeing how huge the space is. It's like having a separate apartment. A mini living area with a cream colored couch, a super duper large bed at the end of the room, with a door that I believe is the ensuite bathroom. Don't tell me he also has a walk in closet for me? Cause that would be sick! I've always wanted one, and pretend that I indeed have it every time I stay at those luxurious suites with my sugar daddies, even for a short few-days vacation. But to have one here, on a long stay, dedicated specially for me, "Oh wow." "Do you like it?" He asks as he stands in front of the shelves in the walk-in c
Setting the temperature of the oven after sliding the tray with the giant chicken on it, I admire his back in awe. Mhmmm yummy. "Do you know how to cook?" He asks once he turns around, now standing in front of the kitchen counter, facing me. Only this giant marble thing is separating the two of us. "Not a pro but yeah, a bit." I'm from a middle class family, of course I know how to feed myself. It's not like we're blessed with a helper. But to answer with a confident yes doesn't seem like an option if we were to compare our skill level. The pots and pans picture? The pose in his chef outfit while holding a knife? Well turns out he sells them and is the ambassador of his own brand. That definitely killed my laugh yesterday when I read about that fact. That company alone must have worth millions. Besides having his own business producing all sorts of cookware, he also has five restaurants all over the world. But surprisingly, none in England. Weird, bec
"So we'll bond these two weeks at full speed," I summarise the lengthy discussion we've had while cooking and over dinner just now, "Then perhaps take a snail pace when I start my internship, and go at a comfortable speed once I've adjusted to my new life." He agrees as he tops up my Rose, "Sounds like a perfect plan." Treating me with good food and prepares my choice of champagne beforehand, he really is trying his best to keep me here for his mission of sexual exploration. Honestly, he's so easy going I don't think it will be a bumpy ride. We've spent hours talking and being in each other's space but I haven't even once find myself to have any negative feelings towards him. "So on the full speed part, besides getting to know each other, should we start having sex too?" I ask in the most nonchalant tone I can muster when deep down I'm wondering if I'm stepping on the boundary. I mean, this is only our first day. No, tomorrow is our first day.
It's crazy how we just met last Saturday, then become roomies the next day, and by Monday we're officially sugar baby and sugar daddy. Six days with him, and today is exactly one week since we first met, but I think I've known him for years already. Tonight, as agreed, I'm gonna go to his room for the first time ever; we agreed to share the bed once the weekend is here. Knocking on his door, I wait patiently in my champagne satin negligee, with my hair and make up done. But he doesn't respond to my knocks, making me confused if I should try again in a few minutes or just barge in uninvited. After all, we did agree, didn't we? So I've actually got an invitation. I walk back to my room because I can't bring myself to go against my own principle; I don't do stuffs without consent. So I play with my phone as I hang out at the balcony. Realising twenty minutes has passed, I force myself to go back to his room. I check my hair and make up, m
Every morning once I open my eyes I'd immediately go out to my balcony to watch him pick the vegetables and herbs for our first meal of the day. So sexy yet adorable, he'd squat in his sweatpants, shirtless of course, as he talks to his plants. "Awwww my baby has grown!" to the tomatoes. "Come to papa!" to his first victim when he visits the garden. "I'm sorry I have to eat you today," that apologetic voice towards the unlucky veggies that's gonna fill our tummy. Sometimes I fantasise it's me he's talking to. Hopeless, I know. Anyway, this morning when I open my eyes, instead of rushing to the balcony I realise I'm still lying on the bed at his terrace. The transparent roof is hidden again as I take a breath of the fresh air. It's amazing how he can get a place like this when twenty minutes away from here, it's already the busy city that's too polluted compared to this neighbourhood. I'm lying alone on the bed eventhough I thin
"Do you like it?""Mhmm." "Can I do more?""I don't think-" "But you said you liked it! Come on, one more. Just one more," I'm already grabbing his index finger with evil grin on my face. He sighs, "Fine. One more." I put his hand on my lap then reach for the small bottle in front of us. The moment I've finished uncap the bottle, he suddenly takes his hand back. "I change my mind." He brings his hand to his back, hiding the one thing I want the most right now. I narrow my eyes at him, "Give me." It's a stern order, along with my hand in the air, waiting for him to surrender his precious hand on my palm. "Either you give me your finger or I finger your asshole right.now." Instead of being intimidated by my threat, he chuckles and gets up, ready to leave the long couch we're sharing. "Getting another drink. Want one?" He asks with the empty glass in his hand. "Sit down, mister. We're not done yet."
"Did you imagine I was a guy just now?" I ask when we're already lying on the bed.Though instead of sleeping outside, we agreed it's better to be inside tonight, after the whole incident two hours ago. The floor is still covered with his cum that I coughed out. He decided to leave it for his housekeeper to clean it tomorrow. Sorry, Margo."Would you be mad if I say yes?""Figured," I shrug. And when I turn to him I realise he's already looking at me."Are you mad?""Do I look mad?" I flash him the sweetest smile, because honestly, I'm not. Not even the slightest. I totally understand it's not his fault. He's incapable of choosing who he's attracted to.
When I open my eyes in the morning, he was already up. Leaning on the headboard, with the duvet covering half of his body while another exposed for exhibition, he's totally absorbed with his phone for the fact I've been watching him for a few minutes now.I've seen his morning hair before and think he's fucking hot and sexy with the abs lining up at the front. But today, to see how chaotic his not-too-short-yet-not-too-long hair with that serious facial expression, oh my. He sure looked extra hot and sexy. Dreamy indeed.Without saying anything I curl my right arm around his middle as I hide my face between the pillow and the right side of his body, just inches to where his kidney is."Hey," the warm tone greets me, "Good morning to you too."I unhide my face and grin at