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"Bailey," You coo, ever so sweet and saccharine, clearly trying to irritate the older man.
He sits at his desk, half-drank bottle of whiskey and seemingly never ending paperwork his only true company. He pinches the bridge of his nose, a harsh sigh escaping him. He really doesn't have time for your bullshit.
"What?" He asks, harsh, rough, scratchier than the stubble that adorns his face. He doesn't bother hiding his irritation, hoping it burns you worse than the whiskey he downs.
You merely smile in response, your lips curving upward into a devilishly sinister smile. He isn't paying attention though, so you ever-so-sweetly ask; "How much for you to lose your dignity?"
The papers crumple slightly under his hands. He throws them down on his desk, the veins on his arms slightly twitching as he subconsciously flexes his muscles in irritation. He's sneering at you, likely thinking you're joking.
You're not.
"What? You wanna repeat that, you brat?" Somehow, he sounds more irritated, and you merely smile all the more. You finally have his undivided attention, it's truly riveting. You can feel yourself practically dizzy with glee.
"How much for you to have a date with me?" He huffs, unamused, so you continue, unperturbed by his antics. "How much for you to get all dressed up and at my mercy for a night, hm?" You bat your eyelashes, leaning in closer as your smile becomes all teeth. You know where to accentuate your words, and you do as well as the best of them as your "caretaker" suddenly has a blush on his face.
"Sorry?" He falters, still trying his hardest to sneer at you, though his confusion rings quite clear despite himself. He sighs again, though it's clear he's going a mile a minute to try and keep up with you.
"10,000. Take it or leave it." He's regained most of his usual bite as he cards his hand through his hair, clearly hoping you'll give up already.
You merely hum absentmindedly and walk to your room. You faintly hear him sigh in relief as you leave.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
You return to his office only 5 minutes later. You don't even knock this time, you know what you want and you sure as hell won't waste a single second to get it.
He looks up right as you enter, scowling as you make your way over. His eyebrows furrow as you set your briefcase on the desk and sit at the chair on the other side.
"Go on. Count it. I'll stay here and watch the whole time."
He opens the briefcase, faltering as he's met with stacks upon stacks of cash. His gaze goes from you to the money and then back to you. His mouth opens, he wants to say something, but he's caught so off guard he can't. It only makes you that much more pleased.
He takes his sweet fucking time for a man who considers numbers at his desk all day.
You throw a collar on the desk as he finishes counting, watching in utter sadistic joy as he looks at the tag.
"Property of [Name.]"
He reluctantly puts it on. You've never been happier to have a money hungry loser as a caretaker.