Chapter 13: Chapter 13

CHRISTIAN

I’m not sure if I can keep my promise, but at least she’s in the car.

Knowing Francesca will be waiting in my apartment when I get home gives me a strange sense of peace. It’s a new feeling, and it makes me happy.

I walk through the apartment with Martin and James. Bridget did a good job when I asked her to check out the club and the building. She’s always thorough when it comes to my side investments.

Martin keeps talking about profit margins and other business stuff, while James seems determined to keep me out of Francesca’s room in his apartment.

“What are you hiding?”

“I don’t get your relationship with Frankie.”

“You don’t need to. It’s none of your business.”

“I’m her roommate.”

“Not for long,” I mumble, making a mental note to call the movers for her stuff.

I see her duffle bag on the floor, already packed with her clothes and her favorite ~Harry Potter~ books. I sling it over my shoulder. The fact that she’s packed tells me she doesn’t think this is a permanent situation.

“Good evening, Gentlemen. My assistant will be in touch.”

I leave without waiting for a response, and Toby is already waiting for me outside.

“Home, sir?” he asks as I get in the car. I swear he’s smirking.

“Where else?” I can’t help but smile back.

I remember how Francesca looked on stage, wearing almost nothing. She had every man in the club eating out of her hand.

I wonder if she realizes the power she has over them, the power she has over me.

One thing that puzzles me is her financial situation.

From what I know about the club, Marty pays his dancers really well, and she was obviously getting good tips. So why doesn’t she have any money?

I dial a number on my phone and put it to my ear. Brayden Samuels picks up after one ring.

“I need financial information on Francesca Barton, from Jackson, Mississippi.”

“Anything else?” he asks. Normally, I’d want to know everything. But with Francesca, I want to learn about her from her.

“No. Just financial.”

“Got it.”

Brayden hangs up, and I know it won’t be long before I get a text with the information.

Toby drives me towards my apartment, and I lean back, thinking about Francesca.

“How was she when you left her?” I ask. Toby looks at me in the rearview mirror.

“Confused, sir.”

“About what?”

“She was on the phone, probably with a friend.”

“And?”

“It’s not my place, sir.”

“Who pays your salary?”

“She was confused about what ‘one night’ meant,” Toby says, smirking a little.

“What?”

“Her friend seemed to think ‘one night’ was just about...carnal desires. Her words.”

~Carnal?~

~Well, fuck.~

“You’re right, it’s not your place,” I snap, and I swear he chuckles.

“Of course, sir.”

I barely say goodbye when I get out of the car at my apartment building. This building was one of my first side investments.

My grandmother used to live in the penthouse next door before she died. Since then, I’ve left the apartment empty, unable to move her things.

~Carnal?~

I think about what Toby said about Francesca’s phone call. I lean against the cool metal of the elevator as it takes me to the penthouse.

~Does she really think that lowly of me?~

Sure, I’d love nothing more than to show Francesca exactly what she’s in for and fuck her on every surface of my apartment.

But I’m a gentleman, and I want to show her what it feels like to be cared for.

My phone buzzes, and I glance at the message from Brayden.

B.SAMUELS

She has debt—a lot of it. Medical Bills under the name Jillian Barton. A mortgage and car loan under the name Brad and Jillian Barton as well as student loans for her time at NYU.

~Debt~.

The elevator doors open, and I walk down the hallway to my door. I turn the handle and push the door open.

“Kitten?” I call out as I drop my jacket, keys, and wallet by the door. I walk further in and see Francesca sitting awkwardly on the couch, still in her trench coat, with her purse on her lap.

I drop her duffle bag at her feet, and she looks up at me, her eyes narrowed. “You need a pet.”

“What?”

“And color. There’s no color in here. Or pictures.”

“Are you offering to redecorate for me, gattina?”

“I’m offering advice. I’ve been sitting here as your prisoner for the last hour. I’ve noticed things.”

“Did Mrs. Godfrey offer to make you something?”

“Yes!” My housekeeper appears out of nowhere. “Of course I did, but Miss Barton kept saying she was fine.”

“She also insisted you call her Francesca.” Francesca rolls her eyes as she talks about herself in the third person.

“I like this one,” Mrs. Godfrey says with a smile. “She’s different from the others. She actually has a brain.” She winks, and I see Francesca tense up at the mention of “others.”

“Are you leaving?” I ask through gritted teeth, and Mrs. Godfrey raises her hands in surrender.

“Yes. I’ll go now. I’ll be back tomorrow. Goodnight, Mr. De Luca. Go easy on him, Miss Barton.” She’s laughing as she leaves, and I can’t help but shake my head, amused.

“She’s nice,” Francesca says, watching her leave.

“She is.” I nod in agreement.

“So, you mentioned something about proving yourself,” Francesca says, her hands twisting together in her lap.

“Am I making you nervous, kitten?”

“I don’t know what to expect from you, Christian. I can’t figure out why you won’t leave me alone. Is it because you’re a CEO? Do you feel the need to prove that you can have me?

“And what happens when you’re done with me? What happened to the other women Mrs. Godfrey mentioned?”

“I thought I’d made it clear, Francesca. I want you. I want ~only~ you.”

“A relationship?”

“Whatever you’re willing to give me.”

Francesca looks at me for a moment before standing up from the couch. I stay silent as she starts pacing the floor.

“I can’t be the person you want me to be, Christian. I’m a stripper, I—”

“Why did you start working at the club?”

“I needed a job.”

“But you want to be a writer, right?”

“I still write. I get asked to write reviews—”

“For the online magazine, I remember you telling me. Have you ever really tried to find a writing job? Taken a risk?”

“Not everyone has that luxury, Christian. Some of us just have debt.”

“Like your mother’s medical bills,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. Francesca stops pacing, her head jerks up, and her eyes meet mine.

“What did you say?” she asks, and I stay silent, unsure of how to respond.

“You did a background check on me? What else did you find, Christian? What dirty little secrets did you uncover?” Anger twists her face, and she starts walking toward the door.

“Francesca.” I follow her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back against my chest. She struggles against me.

“Let me go. Is this how you always operate? Do you see me as a charity case?”

“Francesca, please listen. I only looked at your financials. I couldn’t understand why you’d put yourself in that situation at the club. I couldn’t believe you’d choose to—”

“So, it’s okay for the other girls, but it’s beneath me? You’re an asshole, Christian. Congratulations, you got one night, and you’ve only made me hate you more.”

This time when she pulls away, I let her go.

“I wanted to help, Francesca. I want to take care of you. To ease some of your burden.”

“I hate owing people!” Francesca yells at me. She takes a deep breath before she starts laughing. She keeps laughing, and I watch her, worried she’s having some kind of breakdown.

Growing frustrated at not understanding the joke, I run my hand over my face.

“What’s so funny?”

“I can’t believe someone is actually like this,” Francesca manages to say between laughs.

“It’s like something out of a cheesy teen movie. The possessive male lead inserting himself into every aspect of the female lead’s life.”

“And you find that funny?”

“Isn’t it? Just leave me alone, Christian. I’m sure the ~others~ will keep your bed warm.”

“You promised me one night, Francesca.”

“You think I’m going to sleep with you after all this?” She scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“Despite what you might think, I’m not that desperate.”

Her eyes narrow at my words. I become wary when Francesca’s lips curl into a smirk.

“You want me to stay?”

“Yes—”

“I have a condition.”

“What is it?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“I keep working at the club. Dancing and serving.”

She watches me, trying to figure out what I’m thinking, but I keep my face neutral. The last thing I want is my kitten on display for those drunk idiots.

“Counter offer.”

“You’re not really in a position to make a counter offer, Mr. De Luca.” I can tell she’s trying not to laugh at herself as she bites her bottom lip.

~Damn, that’s sexy.~

“Hear me out, Miss Barton. I’ll agree to you continuing your job at the club, but only if you stay with me tonight and write for me.”

“Write for you?”

“In my marketing department.”

“I’ve never done anything like that before, Christian. I write reviews and fan fiction. I don’t write ads.”

“That’s my offer.”

“And yet I could walk out of here tonight, keep dancing, and never see you again.”

“Is that what you want, kitten?”

Francesca’s expression wavers just a bit, so I press on. “You’ll be paid for your work at QB, of course. Six-month contract. If you like it, you stay. If not, I’ll give you a glowing recommendation.”

“You’ve never even read my work, how can you—”

“Take it or leave it?”

“How much are we talking about?”