7 Nights with Mr. Black

“Seriously?” I ask them with a surprised Pikachu face.

“Yes.” My dad nods as he walks away with the plate of chopped apples.

“I don’t even get pocket money or monthly allowances like other kids.” I express my bad as I walk after him to the kitchen, where my mother is baking a pumpkin pie for us.

“You are living here for free. You never pay for the food you eat, Wi-Fi you use, electricity, and all the luxury we have provided you.”

Geezz.. He didn’t have to tell me I am broke.

“Emara, your father is right. You are 21 years old. No more a child.” My mother reveals the harsh reality to me that I didn’t want to hear.

“But I thought you didn’t want us to work and focus on our studies completely.” This is hypocrisy!

“Yes. But now you have grown up. You want money for your project? Go earn it like other kids.” My dad tells me as if closing the sentence with a period.

I take my angry steps back to my room and slam the door shut behind me. I can’t believe my parents discarded me as a princess, what is my birthright!

I think of ways to earn instant money for my last semester’s project. I am too depressed to work, too poor for a loan, not too dumb for a sugar daddy and not too hot to strip.

I am fucked! That too without a condom.

Now, I have only one option left. To sell my baby. I pull out the draft of my book that I have been writing since past three years. Though it completed years ago and readers loved it online, it is finally time for me to publish it.

Flash of past passes through my head as I think about the people I wrote this book upon. I shake those traumatic feeling that send chills of horror even now. I have lived that phase of my life and now, I am smarter enough to know it’s a trap or illusion created by my pretty head.

Shits happen to everyone. Move on!

I pull on a red silk shirt and below a black pencil skirt that I bought last week from Target, tie my black hair in a back slick ponytail. I look neat like the female version of Brad Pitt.

After a ride of two and a half hours to Bellevue city, I stop at the Pegasus Publishing house. They are famously known for their interviews and media printing. I mailed them for a meeting and luckily they found a liking in my book.

My knees shake in nervousness as I wait for my turn outside the editor’s cabin. I hear an aggressive debate happening behind the door as if a chaos is rumbling and I wonder if this is the right time for me to come.

Bang

Suddenly the door opens hitting the wall as two anxious men and a tall woman in five inch heals and cat eye glasses walk out in panic. “How did this happen so suddenly? I can’t cancel this interview.”

I instantly stand up on my flat sandals, “Good afternoon, mam.” And give her my best smile. She jerks her head back and looks at me with a startle. Her eyes go through my hair, silk shirt and skirt as if guessing the price, “You. What is your name?”

“It’s Emara Stone. We talked over mail about my book, The Wicked Al-” She instantly cuts me off, “Listen. I’ll pay you 150 dollars if you will go take this interview for me. My journalist got a diarrhea and she is busy shitting in her washroom. I have no one else ready here right now.” Her red lips move hastily, but my brain’s needle stops at the amount she is offering.

One hundred and fifty dollars for asking questions. This looks like a deal sent by Jesus!

“Three hundred dollars.” I push my luck after looking at her desperation. “Two hundred dollars and fix your hair.” She barks and points her finger at the two men, “Team up with her.”

“And what about my book?” I ask her as she turns her heels to her cabin in a do-not-disturb-me walk.

“I will decide after the interview.” With that, she shuts the door on my face. Instantly the two men take me to the white Honda car outside and fill me up with details.

“This will be a quick twenty minutes interview. You will be given a recorder and list of questions you need to ask within the time limit.” The one with round glasses hands me a notepad and a small black color gadget that looks like a remote of a dildo.

“Just ask question and let him speak. Try to get him into as much as details you could and try smiling more.” He says after looking at me and I instantly spread my lips for trial.

I can smile the whole day for two hundred dollars!

“Yeah, good. Now open your hair and remember to sit straight and cross your leg. Right leg above the left one.” He instructs me, and I nod like an obedient dog.

I instantly discard the band from my hair and throw it away like a used condom. I shake my hair like Shaggy told to shake that booty. They freely fall to my chest and I take a deep breath as the car halts to its destination.

Seattle. The city of high class people and higher buildings, working to fulfil their highest dreams. I straighten my skirt as I step out of the vehicle and look up at the huge, intimidating building, which is covered in blue glasses from all sides like a shield.

The tall man pulls out a camera as big as my arm while the guy with glasses warns me, “Don’t look nervous. Smile.”

And I smile nervously.

We enter the building and I see HighBar Systems Co. written behind the pretty receptionist who greets us with a pleasant smile. And I smile more. “We are here for an interview arranged by Pegasus Publications scheduled at one thirty.” The guy with glasses speaks to her and I look around, absorbing the surrounding.

There were robots for employees to tag their card at the entrance and to the right a relaxing glass booth with a big TV and book shelf to its side. The place looks homey, but with a touch of professionalism. And too much clean to my taste.

“Come.” The guy with glasses instructs me to the elevator and we get to the seventeenth floor, going right to our setting. The doors slide open and we enter into another large lobby. This one looks rather astonishing. Floor-to-ceiling curved glass, white sandstone with paintings on the wall at every ten feet.

“I am sorry, sir. You do not have permission for pre-recording the interview or the premises.” The woman with high bun stops us. Her bun is so high and slick and I wonder how much she gets payed to look this good?

“But it was clearly mentioned that we are invited for an interview.” The tall guy lowers his camera in confusion while the guy with round glasses does the talking, smartly.

Gosh! I don’t even know their names and I came all over here to interview some god-damn-who.

“Correct. But for a magazine. If you want the televised interview, you need to have a permit from HighBar’s legal team. And as per the conclave, we can only allow the interviewer, but not the camera crew.” She explains us lucidly like a professional psychiatrist.

The two media guys look at me and purse their lips in irritation. “You go. Take the interview. And make sure to get all the answers. And smile.” He whispers the last word, and I immediately plaster a wide smile on my face.

I wonder if I have a bitch face or do I look depressed all the time?

“And don’t forget to turn on the recorder.” He points at the little dildo remote in my hand. I nod at him and walk after the blond secretary with a high bun. Her hips move like a hunter’s whip left and right, and I re-think my decision of wearing heels on regular days. At least for a good-ass posture.

Suddenly her hips stop moving and I halt in steps too. I look up, wondering why she stopped as she opens the thick brown wooden door in front of us, that is frankly very intimidating. “Please.” She actions me to enter and I nod at her with a smile, whispering, “Thank you.”

I keep my hair in front of my chest and curve my lips in a pretty-friendly smile as I walk inside the cabin. But my smile instantly drops as my eyes stride to the man with green eyes, waiting for me on the executive chair.

None other than the man who warned me to never appear in front of him in this life.

Dakota.

Warning: This book contains Non-Consensual Sex Scenes.. If you are not comfortable, please do not read it!