Page 33 of Under His Control

Another replay tries to enter my mind. I focus on towel-drying my hair, wishing for my hair dryer and all my products I left at home.

I smell like Jacob because I had to use his shampoo. Well, the bottle that bragged about its many uses in large, manly silver text. It has a distinct for men kind of musk, but I like it.

I hang the towel, my mood improved after my shower. My morning started off shitty at six-thirty when I called Madeline to tell her I won’t be able to come in.

Bailing on my job for two weeks with zero notice? I wasn’t surprised when she fired me. If Jacob doesn’t let me stay, I’m more screwed than before I came to see him.

“Positive thoughts, positive outcomes,” I mumble.

Actually… no. Telling myself to “think positive” is giving permission to negative results.

If the bad thing happens, it’s because I didn’t think positively enough.

No. If the bad thing happens it’s because I didn’t fight hard enough for what I want.

I’m not going to accept it if Jacob tries to back out now. I won’t return home empty-handed.

I point at myself in the mirror.

“Bitch, we’re going to see this thing through.”

I leave the bathroom, coming to an abrupt stop.

Jacob is sitting at the kitchen table, in the same chair he sat in last night. He’s even in the same sideways position, one arm propped on the back of the chair, the other arm on the table.

He’s wearing a blue, long-sleeved polo shirt from the water company and a pair of dark jeans. With his sleeves pushed up a little, I’m yet another straight woman gripped by the strange allure of a man’s forearms.

Another thing grabs my attention. My tablet and phone are stacked beside his arm.

I frown. They were in my bag when I left to take a shower.

“Why do you have my stuff?” I demand.

“Take a seat.”

I hesitate following his order.

Something isn’t right. Last night, he blindsided me when he imitated my mother by giving with one hand and taking with the other.

If you want even a penny from me, you have to earn it.

You’ll do whatever I like.

I would rather face what he has in store for me on my feet, but I reluctantly take a seat like he ordered. He turns and faces me, his expression and voice cold as usual.

“While you’re here, you’ll do all the chores. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, and so forth.”

“So I’ll be your maid.”

Aside from cooking, he literally described the hotel job I just lost. If that’s all he meant by “whatever I like,” then this won’t be so bad. Working for him is much better pay.

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Good question. We tend to take free will for granted. It seems like a given for most of us. That complacency is a blindfold, Penelope. Free will isn’t a given, it’s a precious gift we should treasure and a valuable resource we should protect. Because there’s always someone who wants to steal it and have it under their control.”

A slow smile curves his lips and my body tenses. His smile is the kind a handsome villain in a movie would wear as he reveals his dastardly plans.