Bound By Contract

Chapter Eight

Michael's P.O.V.

I hear a knock at my hotel suite door. I get up from my comfortable seat on the couch and put the notebook I had been writing in on the light wood coffee table and walk over to answer the door. I see James, one of my security people. He's a big guy and I am startled every time I open a door and find him on the other side.

"Oh, hey James, you scared me again," I say putting my hand to my chest to calm myself.

"Sorry, Mr. Jackson. I just came to tell you that Miss Christina has arrived and is in her room."

I raise my eyebrows, that news interests me. I run into the room and fix my hair a bit with my finger in a mirror. "Oh? What room is she in," I ask, straightening my green v neck t shirt around my waist.

"She's downstairs on the eighth floor in room 814, sir."

"Do me a favor, James," I say walking from the mirror back to the doorway, looking at him straight in the eyes. "Take me down there," I demand almost pleading knowing that James isn't going to want to do it. He hesitates.

"I can bring her here, sir, if you want, it would be easier. Because to take you down there, I would need at least a couple of the guys to help me just in case..." he says. I roll my eyes and push my way past him, cutting him off, and shut my door behind me, giving him no choice but to follow me. I can appreciate that he wants to look out for my safety and after all, that's what I pay him to do, but a guy needs to get out and feel like he can do anything. Sometimes I feel pretty useless because I can't go out and do anything for myself, but then again being mobbed hurts like hell.

James grunts as he is forced to follow me into the elevator. We turn around and the doors shut in front of us. I look down in silence for the duration of the ride, smiling in satisfaction at my little win, James standing behind me. I look up at the illuminated numbers that tell me we are approaching the eighth floor, and I notice in the reflection of the shiny metal doors that he sees my smirk and is looking at me through his narrowed eyes, his dark arms crossed over his big burly chest. Oops he caught me. I open my eyes wide, as the doors slide open, I feel my face grow hot.

James takes his place walking in front of me, shielding me from anybody who might see me. We stop at room 814. I knock on the door nervously, and as the door opens, James walks off slowly. I love it when I have people who don't have to ask, they just know what they should do. He gets it, and I love competent people around me. I know he'll be lurking there or have someone else there until I am ready to leave.

Christina greets me with a warm smile as she sees me on the other side of the door. "Hi, Michael. Come in," she says standing aside as I walk into the small but neat hotel room. It is mid afternoon, so the suns bright rays flood the room with warmth and light. Christina herself looks exceptionally beautiful. I admire the way her blue jeans hug her curvy body and the way her blue t shirt fit her snugly and shows off a little of her flat stomach.

"Thank you," I say entering the room and shutting the door behind me. "So how was your flight?" I ask politely, breaking the ice. I know we weren't on the best of terms when we last spoke. I watch her as she makes herself comfortable and sits on the king sized bed, close to the window. I follow her lead, sitting myself down on the other side of the bed.

"It was very nerve wrecking and bumpy," she says animated. "I was praying for my life the whole time."

I laugh. "Oh no, was it really that bad?"

Her expression softens. "Well, I don't really know. This was my first time flying ever. So I was pretty nervous to begin with."

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry about that. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your going to be flying a lot in the near future."