The Contract

She dug her knuckles into her eyes and finally got them to focus. Wait- where was The Man?

And then she noticed the case.

She stared at it for a long time, like it was a foreign object she had never seen before, contemplating if she had the energy to actually get out of bed to retrieve the damn thing.

When she finally mustered the courage to get out of bed Emily couldn't decide which was worse: the ache between her legs or the ache in her head. Either way, she had to suck it up and get the case. This wasn't going to be pretty.

She wobbled over to the table and leaned heavily on it. The gold latches on the case made a loud snick when she popped them open. Inside were several rows of neatly stacked one hundred dollar bills. On top of the thick stacks lay The Man's elegantly engraved business card it looked like something straight out of a movie.

Emily froze when the sound of an incoming text message faintly chimed next to her.

She anxiously swiped her phone and read the message. It was from her husband, fuck. The text said that he missed her and loved her and he would be at the room in a few minutes and blah... blah... blah...

Realizing that she'd have to wait to call The Man, and feeling completely deflated, she turned the phone off and tossed it to the side not caring where it landed.

Emily collapsed on the bed with a loud exhale; she was drained physically and emotionally and thought some quality time with Morpheus would do her some good. Maybe some quick Z's would help her clear her head before her husband got back.

*********

Emily woke up shivering.

Why the hell was it cold anyway? It shouldn't have been. When she had lain down she was sweating and exhausted. Not to mention that the temperature outside had reached 102 degrees. Maybe the air-conditioning was just on too high in the hotel room.

Rolling to her back she cracked open her eyes and looked out the widow.

Snow?

Oh ya, it was January in Chicago. And the damn window in her apartment was open.

"Well, that explains why it's cold in here," she muttered out loud, flopping a forearm over her eyes in disgust.

Maybe if she tried really hard she could Yoda the thing closed.

"Nope, not gonna happen," she groaned when nothing happened, the "Force" apparently not with her. She was going to have to get her ass out of bed and close the thing herself.

She had cracked the window open earlier because she lived on the top floor of her building and the heat wasn't working properly; it had gotten to 90 degrees in the apartment. Now it was a balmy 52 and she could feel the icy breeze moving across her legs.

Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders she tip-toed to the window to close it; trying to avoid as much of the frosty wood floors as she could.

On her way back to bed she stumbled over the thick book of erotic stories that was on the floor next to the bed. She had been reading a steamy story about a very attractive multimillionaire who signed a contract with a woman for her sexual servitude. The book must have tumbled out of her hands when she had fallen asleep.

Emily's cheeks flamed when the memory of her erotic dream slammed back into her. Ech, if she could only be so lucky. She wanted more than anything to be able to surrender herself in real life like the girl in the story did.

Grabbing the book from the floor, she curled up on the bed, flipped through the pages and started reading again: The attorney answered the phone on the first ring, "Hello Mrs. Taylor. We've been expecting your phone call..."