Free Losing Control by Jen Frederick Page B

is wafting in the wind, he leans forward to wave a carrot at me.
    I creep out and grab the carrot with my paws. I’m nibbling when the net falls around me. I wake up, my little bunny heart pounding five thousand beats-per-minute. Taking a deep breath, I orient myself. Ian scares and attracts me at the same time and by the accelerated rate of my heartbeat, it seems the best thing I can do is to stay away—or as away as I can now that I’m his indentured servant.
    Despite the expert fit of the panties, I feel constricted, as if he’s tightening his hold on me through my dreams. I can’t escape him—and worse, I don’t even want to.
     

Chapter 9
    T HE NEXT MORNING , I WAKE to the default ring tone on my phone and I know even before I answer it is Ian. “Bunny.” He sounds pleased.
    “I don’t really like the name Bunny. I had bad dreams about being a bunny last night.”
    “What was I doing?"
    “Why do you think you were in my dream? I said I had a nightmare about being a bunny.”
    “I’m imprinted in your brain now. It’s why you knew it was me before you even heard my voice.”
    “Huh.” I don’t know how he knows this, so I remain silent.
    “So what was I doing?”
    “You were wearing your Batman costume, holding a carrot.” I’m not good at subterfuge.
    “Did you come out and get your carrot?” The last word comes out slowly. There’s some high-level player skill at work here. He’s making the name of a vegetable sound like a sexy caress. I press my palm to my forehead like I’m a Victorian maiden. I’m not swooning, though, I’m trying to keep my emotions in check.
    “I think you were going to kill me, but I woke up before that gruesome event occurred.”
    “If you suffered death at my hands, bunny, it would be in my bed and you’d still be breathing after you rode it out.”
    I cough at his explicit suggestion that he’d be giving me an orgasm. “So is the gift part of the extras that come with the job you want me to do?" It had bugged me last night.
    “No,” he says curtly. “What we do together is between us and completely separate from the job.”
    I’m not sure what to think of that. How do you keep those things separate? Maybe that’s another rich people thing. "I think you play in areas above my pay grade.”
    “We’re all equals when it comes to the personal, Victoria.”
    I guess he means that we all get the same hurt if someone breaks our heart, no matter how fat the wallet is.
    “So if I break your heart, you’ll eat a carton of Ben and Jerry’s to recover?”
    “Maybe. What flavor?”
    A reluctant laugh tumbles out. “I’m a fan of cookie dough, you?” My hand drops away and I slide back under the covers.
    “I like vanilla bean. The original. There’s a place over on Second and Twenty-Third that serves up homemade ice cream. I’ll take you there.” Everything he says is like a declarative. There’s no asking. He only orders and directs. I suppose that’s how you get into a position of earning $27 million a frigging day.
    “Do you really earn $27 million a day? How is that even possible?”
    “Stock valuation of a holding company increases exponentially, thus rendering you wealthier at the end of the year than you started in the beginning. Averaging out the increase results in a per-day amount. It makes the financial page journalists wet between their legs. Overall, it’s meaningless unless you are cashing out a position.”
    “I understood only every other word of that sentence.” I’m snuggled under my covers and the phone is pressed to my ear. Too bad I wasn’t wearing my headphones. There’s something awfully intimate about being in bed while talking on the phone. It’s not exactly like he’s right there whispering in my ear but it almost feels like he is. “If you have so much money, then why me?”
    “Why you for what? The job or the ice cream date?”
    “Both.”
    “The job I can explain to you later. The other should be patently