His buyer is some hoity-toity businesswoman in power heels and a slinky dress. Could be worse. Better than either of the creepy old dudes who'd been the other bidders, for sure. She probably wants a pretty little errand boy to trot around after her. A living accessory, like one of those dumb purse dogs. He can put up with that until he works out his exit strategy.
But it pisses him off when she doesn't even come pick him up, just sweeps out of the auction room and expects him to be delivered to her, like he's a piece of furniture. That kills the last of his already limited inclination to play nice.
When he's delivered to her doorstep, he waltzes out to the balcony like he owns the place and flops down on one of the fancy lounge chairs, all carelessness and insolence.
“So, how's this gonna go? You some kind of cougar?” He gives her a very rude and obviously appraising look, then shrugs. “I guess you're pretty hot. I can handle that.” Before giving her a chance to respond, he plunks his (dirty) shoes on the prissy little drink table and looks around the balcony and out across the lovely vista. “Pretty swanky place. I could get used to this.” He grins.
He knows he's probably just earned himself a sound beating (or a trip straight back to the auction block), but that's fine. It's not like he hasn't been knocked around before.
He can never resist pushing - patience, propriety, his luck. It’s what got him where he is in the first place. A more practical person might take that as a sign to tone it down, but toning anything down isn't in Tony's nature. He wants to see what kind of woman his new master is. He's found that the best way to get the measure of a person is to really piss them off.
no subject
But it pisses him off when she doesn't even come pick him up, just sweeps out of the auction room and expects him to be delivered to her, like he's a piece of furniture. That kills the last of his already limited inclination to play nice.
When he's delivered to her doorstep, he waltzes out to the balcony like he owns the place and flops down on one of the fancy lounge chairs, all carelessness and insolence.
“So, how's this gonna go? You some kind of cougar?” He gives her a very rude and obviously appraising look, then shrugs. “I guess you're pretty hot. I can handle that.” Before giving her a chance to respond, he plunks his (dirty) shoes on the prissy little drink table and looks around the balcony and out across the lovely vista. “Pretty swanky place. I could get used to this.” He grins.
He knows he's probably just earned himself a sound beating (or a trip straight back to the auction block), but that's fine. It's not like he hasn't been knocked around before.
He can never resist pushing - patience, propriety, his luck. It’s what got him where he is in the first place. A more practical person might take that as a sign to tone it down, but toning anything down isn't in Tony's nature. He wants to see what kind of woman his new master is. He's found that the best way to get the measure of a person is to really piss them off.