over to the leather section after reading the inventory Non-Nina sent to her.
“Yes, I see you belong to Mr. Westbrook. Well, he’s requested a couple of new play outfits for you.”
Do I have to pay for them? Shit, do I have to pay for any of this stuff? “Do these clothes come out of my paycheck?” I ask, my tone shaky as my mind tries to catch up with my reality.
“Oh, the uniforms don’t. All play clothes are at the discretion of your Dom and on their dime.” I internally breathe a sigh of relief when I wonder why the hot asshole has requested play clothes when I’m not going to be in the dungeon with him. The cocky bastard. He’s convinced I’ll fold.
“Alright, Eve, let’s try these items on.” With more clothes in the dressing room than I own, I don’t have time to ask any questions. “You’re given four basic uniforms, a formal staff dress for parties, a formal dress you are able to choose, and three dungeon outfits as well as a pair of beautiful black patent Louboutin heels and one in red.” She has underwear and bras in the room, too. “You must wear club-designated underwear to avoid panty lines. All clothes must stay here, and you hang them up after each shift for dry cleaning. Even the underwear.”
The fucker is demanding. “And well, with most dungeon wear, you go pretty much commando.” Why doesn’t this surprise me.
After an hour of trying on clothes and Taya adjusting all the uniforms along with the outrageous outfits my “Sir” has required me to own, she escorts me to my final destination for the day, my private dressing room. It’s really no bigger than a small walk-in closet with a little bathroom attached to it. “This is where you’ll change, shower, and get ready. At shift start, the manager will come inspect you to make sure you are appropriate.” She hands me a slip of paper. “This is your training schedule. Be sure to be ready thirty minutes before your start time.” Her phone rings, and she answers it immediately. “Yes, Sir?” She pauses, smiling at me. “Ah, yes, Sir. I’ll send her up. Oh, really? I understand. Yes, Sir.”
She pulls back the training schedule. “Um, Eve, there’s been a change to your schedule. Please wait here in your dressing room. Someone will be with you shortly to talk to you.” She slips out of my little closet without much more than a good-bye, and I fear the hot asshole has decided to cut his losses, leaving me jobless and homeless all in a matter of minutes.
It's not lost on me why I’m in this mess to begin with, and with my phone in my hands, I turn to my texts to send off one nasty e-mail to the man I have to thank for this predicament I’m in, but I find he’s already texted me.
Sperm Donor: I know you’re mad at me, Evie, but I really needed that money. You didn’t want me to end up on the streets.
Him end up on the streets? But it’s okay for me to end up on the streets?
Me: Don’t fucking talk to me. I lost my job, and you stole my money. I had nowhere to go, and you what? Think a fucking sorry will cut it.
He returns the text right away.
Sperm Donor: You can come stay with me. Darryl has the other room, but you can sleep on the couch.
Like I’ll be anywhere within a block of Darryl. My dad never believed he tried to rape me. Just telling me Darryl is over friendly. I should have left then and never tried to help my father out, but at the end of the day, he’s my dad. I always hoped he’d snap out of it, putting me first like parents are supposed to. But he never has, and this proved that. I choose not to reply to the man, but it doesn’t stop him.
Sperm Donor: I’m sorry, Evie. I’d never purposely hurt you.
Yet he does, time and time again. It’s why I need to be in control of my own life, and I will be, as soon as I can make enough money to leave Chicago. I am, after all, the only one in my life I can depend on.
Chapter Six
Chadwick
My mind—no, more like my dick—can’t stop thinking about her. Fuck, I want to train her. I have to show her a life of submission is not about losing yourself,