Chapter 2
The next day, I arrived at the address on the card, sharp at nine.
It was a luxury high-rise in the city center. The elevator needed a key card for certain floors. Security stopped me at the entrance, so I called Glen.
Soon, a suited man, Jacob, who looked like an assistant, came to get me. "Hi, Ms. Jones. Mr. Griffin is waiting upstairs."
I followed him into an elevator that looked extremely fancy.
Glen's place was a penthouse duplex, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows offering a full panoramic view of the city. The decor was that cold minimalist style, strikingly similar to Cal's taste.
Yeah, rich people were always astonishingly alike.
Glen was sprawled out on the couch in a silk dressing gown, coffee in hand, giving me a lazy once-over.
"Right on time," he said, gesturing toward the couch across from him. "Sit."
I sat down properly, back straight, hands placed neatly on my knees.
One of the rules Cal hammered into me was to always keep it professional in front of my boss.
Glen looked annoyed by how uptight I was, frowning. "I didn't bring you here for boot camp."
I adjusted right away, relaxing and leaning back enough to look comfortable without seeming sloppy.
His expression got even weirder.
"Have you really done this before?" he asked.
"Yes, Mr. Griffin," I answered calmly. "I've got three years in this line of work. I worked for a very picky client, and when the contract ended, I received an excellent evaluation and a pretty generous payout."
Glen paused, holding the coffee cup midair.
It was probably the first time he'd heard someone talk about being kept like it was a corporate job with actual pride.
He stayed quiet for so long that I thought he was about to kick me out. Then he finally said, "So, what do you want?"
"A contract," I said, pulling out a stack of paper and a pen from my bag, setting them on the coffee table in front of him. "I've drafted this Cooperation Agreement based on market rates and my qualifications. You can take a look."
Glen finally put down his coffee and picked up the contract, his expression shifting through a whole range of reactions.
He probably thought I'd ask for a designer bag, a car, or even a house. He didn't expect me to hand him a ten-page contract.
As he flipped through the pages, I explained, "The agreement outlines the rights and obligations of both parties.
"You, as Party A, will provide me with housing, a vehicle, a monthly allowance of over one hundred thousand, and wardrobe expenses for necessary social occasions.
"As Party B, I'll play the part of your 'girlfriend,' attend any legal events you need me at, deal with your family and friends, and promise not to develop any unwanted emotional attachments during the contract."
"Section Four, Article Twelve," I said, pointing at the page. "To prevent unnecessary disputes, I suggest keeping our relationship strictly professional, with no physical contact."
"Of course," I added, "if you require that kind of service, it will be treated as an extra paid item. You can check Appendix Three, the Special Services Pricing Table."
Glen almost spat his coffee out.
He coughed so hard that his face turned bright red. Then he pointed at me, stammering, "That's quite impressive."
He picked up the contract like it was burning his hands.
"Nicole, you're the first person I've met who handles this like a business deal," Glen said.
"I'm only being professional," I said.
He leaned back on the couch, holding the contract, and suddenly burst into laughter until his body trembled.
"Very well then," he said, wiping away tears from laughing so hard. He snatched up the pen. "I'm in."
He swiftly signed his name across the bottom of both copies with bold, sweeping strokes. "Alright, your turn."
I took the pen and, with deliberate care, wrote my name: [Nicole Jones.]
There were two copies of the contract. I carefully put mine away, feeling more secure than I ever had in my life.
"All done, Mr. Griffin." I stood up, flashing a smile. "From now on, I'm your kept woman. So, any plans for today?"
Glen looked at me, his eyes brighter than ever.
He stood up, walked over, and looked down at me. "Today's task is taking you shopping."
He picked up the black card he'd handed me yesterday. "No password. Spend however you want. I want it completely maxed out before today ends."
What? Was this some kind of weird test?
*****
Glen was serious about it. After changing outfits, he took me straight to the city's top luxury mall.
I had assumed this would be an enjoyable shopping trip, but it turned out to be a severe test of my professionalism.
"Pack all of them," Glen said, pointing at a row of the latest designer bags.
I stopped him right away.
"Mr. Griffin, just a moment," I said, grabbing my notebook and pen from my bag and jotting things down.
I said, "According to our agreement, wardrobe expenses fall under reimbursable costs. However, based on my experience, among these three bags, only the one on the left qualifies as a classic style with value retention and appreciation potential.
"The one in the middle is a seasonal limited edition; once the trend fades, its value will drop rapidly. As for the one on the right, forgive my bluntness, but the design is awful."
I looked up and saw both Glen and the saleswoman staring at me in shock.
I continued, "I recommend buying only the left one. If you still want all three, I should remind you that it might go beyond what our contract defines as 'reasonable wardrobe spending' and could count as unnecessary waste.
"Of course, if your goal is simply to spend money for enjoyment, then please ignore what I said."
Glen stared at me as if I were from another planet. "Nicole, are you seriously telling me how to spend my money?"
"No, Mr. Griffin," I said, snapping my notebook shut. "I'm helping you save some cash."
That was also something Cal drilled into me. A qualified kept woman must not only know how to spend money but also how to save it. I had to spend only where it truly mattered and create maximum value for my employer.