can accompany you. She has a card that she can use and is authorized to spend whatever you like on clothes and fashionable items of course." He was drawing the line at small type purchases. She didn't need a new car, not that he couldn't afford one, but because this was NYC and there was no point in owning a vehicle that would sit in a garage forever. He was practical, not wasteful in spending.
"I don't need your money, Martin. I'm not…" she stopped herself from finishing her sentence.
"What was that?"
"I don't need your money, Daddy. I have my own bank account and while it may be pennies compared to your millions or billions, whatever your net worth is, I am perfectly happy to spend my own money."
He wanted to take care of her, tend to her every need and protect her. She would learn what being little was all about, but it would take time. He considered insisting she bring his assistant or bodyguard with her, but opted to leave her alone, for now. He didn't want her to second guess her decision or grow hesitant when it was time to sign the papers.
"Very well," Martin said. "I'll see you back this afternoon at three o'clock. I'll text you my address so you can find your way back here without issue."
He watched her quietly leave, heading out the front door and he hoped that she wouldn't try and run away from him. He wasn't one to chase a girl, but Samantha was a whole different league. Though he certainly made his desires known, he hoped he hadn't pushed her further away with his kinks.
After his lawyer finished with the documents, Martin glanced them over and left them on the dining room table. He opened the glass bottle of whiskey, pouring himself a taste. Why was he nervous?
He still had another hour until Samantha was due home. Would she return to him or did she rebook her ticket for the next flight out to Montana?
Biding time was the worst. He felt antsy, like he was actually waiting for her to come home to propose. She had already agreed, unless she changed her mind.
He dug into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone, dialing his sister.
"Hey, Marty did you get the book signed for me?" she asked.
She was the only person he let call him by his nickname. Anyone else and he'd have threatened to disown them, but not Rosie. He laughed, his sister always had a knack for skipping pleasantries and getting straight to the point. Maybe it was a Taylor thing.
"I did, it's personalized and everything. You'd never guess who I ran into at the bookshop." He wasn't sure whether it was wise to announce to his sister that Samantha was in fact Riley, her favorite author.
"Samantha Bellamy."
"How'd you know?"
"It's all over the news, even outside of New York City you're the talk of the town. I never would have guessed Samantha wrote my favorite books." Rosie laughed softly. "Maybe I should have figured it out. I mean, I did read some of her earlier stories that she wrote in high school. Damn though, she knows how to write a sex scene."
Smiling, he glanced at the book on his table. He'd have to read it. "You used to read her stories when you were teens?" That was the first he'd heard about it.
"Yes. She was pretty secretive about her work. Didn't like anyone seeing it, which I gave her crap for. I mean how can she become an author without anyone ever reading her writing? She always was mildly amusing. So, tell me how she is. Is she as beautiful in person as on television? I'm super jealous how amazing she looks. Oh, and I saw you two had dinner together. It was all over the television this morning. I want details!"
Martin could barely get a word in, listening to his sister ramble on with excitement. She finally took a beat, waiting for him to answer.
"Well?" she asked, pressing on for more information.
"Are you done?" Martin asked, making sure she didn't have thirty more questions to grill him with. Not that he didn't have time, it would be awhile until Samantha returned, if she came back.
"I am now. So? Spill it, Marty. I want to know everything. Did you two sleep together?"
He laughed. "Since when do you ever care about who I sleep with?" Martin asked. It wasn't like her to expect him to kiss and tell. Maybe because