The Mistress Contract

Table of Contents The Mistress Contract Chapter 1 The Interview Chapter 2 On Your Knees Chapter 3 Brilliant and Beautiful Chapter 4 Perk N' Grind Chapter 5 Hungry Like the Wolf Chapter 6 Basic and Primal Chapter 7 A God on Campus Chapter 8 A Mutually Convenient Relationship Chapter 9 Negotiations Chapter 10 Trapped Chapter 11 I Don't Bite... Chapter 12 Exter House Chapter 13 Firm Boundaries Chapter 14 Say Yes Chapter 15 Marked Chapter 16 Walk of Shame Chapter 17 Punishment Chapter 18 No Boundaries Chapter 19 Grace Period Chapter 20 Beautiful Agony Chapter 21 Defiance Chapter 22 Playing with Fire Chapter 23 Promises & Ultimatums Chapter 24 Cuffed & Collared Chapter 25 Master Chapter 26 Hot Desire Chapter 27 Complete Submission Chapter 28 Master's Orders Chapter 29 Something Dangerous Chapter 30 Champagne and Secrets Chapter 31 Termination Notice Chapter 32 Off Balance Chapter 33 A Confession Chapter 34 Brokenhearted Chapter 35 On His Knees Chapter 36 Forgiveness Chapter 37 New Year's Eve Chapter 38 Lexi Copyright The Mistress Contract A Filthy Billionaires Novel Evelyn Austin When college student Madeline Swanson stumbled into the wrong job interview, I immediately wanted her…on her knees. My offer is simple–I’ll cover her tuition, living expenses and a generous shopping budget. In return, she signs a contract, making herself available at my request–on my arm or in my bed, fulfilling all my darkest desires. She says no now, but I’ll pursue her relentlessly until she signs the contract. Then, not only will I make her mine, I’ll own her… Chapter 1 The Interview So today is the big interview. I just found out about it, and already my expectations are soaring. This could change everything, and though I’m fighting hard to keep from getting my hopes up, it’s hard. I’m already imagining a hundred different outcomes, each with me succeeding wildly at changing my stars. God knows, I need to change my stars. And quickly. So I try my best to ignore the fact that it’s raining during this not-so-lovely spring morning in Los Angeles as I push through the fancy chrome-bedecked entrance of the Montage Beverly Hills. Whoa, talk about snob central. I abruptly shorten my stride as the soles of my sensible—but very wet—heels slip across the perfectly polished marble. I pause, catching my breath and swallowing the lump in my throat. I need this. No one here needs it more than me. And I’m smart. You’ve got this, girl! My roommate Sam’s voice echoes in my head again with her usually cheery upbeat encouragement. I do have this. Or if I don’t have it yet, I’ll grab it with both hands and never let it go. I’m determined. But the only details I have are that this is for a personal assistant position and the pay is omigod fantastic. That was more than enough to pique my interest. Strangely, she’d only shrugged when I’d pressed her for more info. The lobby of the Montage, Beverly Hills is done all in dark teak wood and stylish colored glass. Luxurious and modern in a trendy, Craftsman-inspired way. As a tuition-poor student of a private university, I’d rarely seen inside a place like this unless working a night job cleaning rooms or manning the reservation desk. I check the notes Sam scribbled out for me—a secretary would meet me at the entrance to one of the hotel’s restaurants to handle my intake. Unusual, yes. Maybe this is for a high-speed start-up with low initial overhead? But…in Beverly Hills? I glance at the time on my phone. Shit. I’m late, really late. Damn rain. As I approach a table manned by two women in very fashionable business attire, I pull my application out of the folder in which I’d been carrying it. One of the women smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. “Your name?” “Madeline Swanson,” I answer. “I have a two o’clock interview.” Hopefully she won’t notice it’s almost two thirty. But her eyebrows rise as she glances at her gold wristwatch. “I, uh, I got a little lost,” I add. “No problem.” With a tight smile, she hands me a form on a clipboard with a pen attached. “Fill these out and wait right here.” She indicates the row of seated women to her right. “It’ll just be a few minutes.” I take the forms and walk to the only available seat. It doesn’t miss my attention that every woman here is beautiful, and I suddenly fear I’ve stepped into the wrong interview. They know this is for an assistant position, right? Not a modeling gig? This is Southern California, after all, but sheesh, someone should be plain-looking…. Maybe that was what I was here to do. To fulfill that quota. I suddenly feel self-conscious in my black cardigan and flowered pencil skirt, a hand-me-down from one of my roommates, Gwen, who wears a size smaller than me. It’s too tight and doesn’t exactly scream professional assistant, but it’s literally the only skirt I own. I glance down at the form the woman gave me. It’s all medical questions, which I answer pretty quickly, checking off no for nearly every question. The second form is a non-disclosure agreement. I fill in my name and sign without reading the details. Once done, I take a minute to size up my competition. If they’re hiring on looks alone, then my chances are pretty dismal. Every woman here looks like an out-of-work actress—tight, thin bodies, carefully manicured nails, perfect makeup and smooth, flawless hair, designer bags. They don’t even bother to return my curious glances. With my hair up in a ponytail and my discount clothing, I’m clearly no competition. After a few minutes, the woman calls me up and points toward an elevator. “Take that all the way up to the top floor, penthouse.” I blink at that little bit of information she’d so casually delivered. Why they’d secure the penthouse for something as trivial as assistant interviews, I could never guess. Maybe the company