Page 4 of Bound To Me

“Yes, please,” I answered immediately.

He waved the server over. “We’ll take a bottle of your finest champagne.”

I looked back down at the table, unable to maintain eye contact.

“No need to be nervous, Sweet Jackie. I will take good care of you.”

I glanced back up at him, hanging on his every word.

“Can we have, like, a trial period? To make sure this is what I want?” I asked hesitantly.

He chuckled lightly. “Of course. And you won’t be bound to me in any way. You’ll always have the opportunity to leave, whenever you want.”

I nodded, feeling a bit relieved.

The server brought a bottle of champagne and two flutes. He quickly poured our glasses and walked away.

Michael eyed me intently. “Whenever you’re ready, we can go upstairs and start your trial period.”

I almost choked on my champagne. I caught my breath and set my flute down.

“I think I’m ready now.”

Now

We pulled into LAX under a dark and cloudy night sky. Of course, I had to arrive during the only period of rain forecasted for five days straight in sunny Southern California. Nice Hot Older Man respected my wish not to be bothered. He nodded to me when I returned from the bathroom, but that was it. I began to regret my decision to dismiss him; I knew absolutely no one in California anymore. Well, except for my dad out in the desert, who was rotting away in prison.Maybe Nice Hot Older Man could be my emergency contact or something.

“Um, sorry for… being so rude,” I said, turning to him as we waited our turn to exit the plane.

He smiled and shook his head. “You weren’t rude. I understand needing privacy.”

I quickly smiled back. “Okay. Thanks.” I felt my cheeks burning again. I hadn’t had this much conversation with a man this gorgeous in years.

He cleared his throat as I turned my eyes back to the front of the plane.

“If you ever feel like… maybe you don’t want so much privacy, could I give you my card?”

I turned back to him, feeling like my eyes were popping out of my head.

“Uh—”

“No, I’m sorry. That’s too forward, isn’t it? Now I feel like a creep,” he responded immediately, clearly embarrassed.

“No, it’s fine,” I laughed. His modesty was endearing. “Sure, I’ll take your card.”

He smiled again. I couldn’t let this man into my life—I would ruin him. Or vice versa. But I could be kind and flatter myself.

He reached for his wallet in his back pocket and pulled out his card. He handed it to me, and I immediately read it: “Elliott Walker. Behavioral Therapist.”

I knew I looked up at him with a scowl on my face. He began to laugh.

“Sorry, I’m not giving you my card as a potential client. I was, um… if you ever want to get a drink or dinner or something.” He seemed nervous, but he surely must’ve done that all the time. I’m sure he had many “potential clients.”

“Thanks.” I waved his card in my hand and stood up, making my way out to the aisle.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I had forgotten all about my overhead bag. I turned around and Elliott was taking it down for me effortlessly.

“Fuck,” I said under my breath.He must think I’m a real fucking mess. “Thanks. Again.” I smiled as I took my bag from him.

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