by Kendall Ryan
“I’m not sleeping with you. Is that clear?” Her voice is quiet, firm, and I find it incredibly sexy.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“But is that clear?”
My heart thuds quickly inside my chest. “Yes.”
Her eyes are still fixed on mine as if she’s searching for a hint of a lie.
There’s no lie, Presley. I would never take advantage.
“You don’t seem satisfied by that answer.”
“I just . . . don’t know if it’s a good idea,” she says softly.
“Why?”
“Because . . .”
Her plump lips form a small pout, and I can’t help but stare. Is she wearing any lip color, or are her lips naturally that pink?
“Because why?”
Presley screws her eyes shut in frustration, furrowing her brow. When she opens them, her eyes are like bullets against my useless emotional armor.
“This!” She gestures wildly toward the small space between us, the near-tangible electricity in the air that separates her body from mine.
I fucking knew it. I knew I wasn’t the only one.
“You’re attracted to me,” I say, my voice soft and low. I keep my expression calm and collected, even though I can actually hear my heart pounding through my veins.
Or is that hers?
She stands utterly still, her eyes wide. But slowly, her cheeks grow rosy. Then she draws her bottom lip into her mouth, chewing on it for a moment before letting it pop back out. That little move makes my cock push painfully against the constraints of my pants. I can’t tear my eyes away.
“I’m attracted to you, too.” I hear myself say it before I process the words falling out of my mouth. I’m staring at her lips, leaning in.
What am I doing? This meeting is over, Dom.
“Presley—” I’m about to apologize when there’s suddenly a soft press of warmth, and I realize Presley is kissing me. Presley, intern extraordinaire and novice escort, has her lips on mine in an almost chaste lip-lock.
Time seems to halt as everything stills.
She places one hand against my chest as if to steady herself. Otherwise, our only point of connection is this kiss.
My eyelids float closed without my permission and I step into her, my hands moving up to cup her warm cheeks in my fingers.
God, she’s so small. She’s feminine and soft. And it’s been so long.
I suck in a sharp inhale, pressing more deeply into her wet lips. She gasps and grips my shirt, clinging for balance. My mind is blank, my world full of Presley’s sweet scent and her soft skin and her warm tongue.
I know I should stop. I should control myself and be the cool, collected CEO.
But with Presley in my arms, there’s nothing but fire.
Chapter Ten
Presley
I can barely focus on the path back to my desk. My knees are still shaking, my cheeks burn, my lips are still tingling from that kiss. The revelation that Dominic is attracted to me is mind-blowing enough, let alone the idea of pretending we’re a couple.
I sit down, open the report I was in the middle of reviewing, and stare at it blankly without absorbing a single word. Instead a rush of thoughts crowd my head. Michael fretting over his school fees. The nerves that twist inside me every time I think about how in the world I’ll support both him and I. Then there’s everything I could learn about business from observing Dominic and Roger’s negotiations. The chance to affect such a significant deal. The possibility of having Dominic’s touch, those strong hands and full lips on me again. . . even if it’s not written in the contract
I shake my head, uncomfortably warm all over. Am I seriously considering this? No, I can’t. Can I?
I’d be lying to an investor. I mean, we wouldn’t lie about Aspen’s actual business metrics. We’d just be making Dominic look like the kind of stable, mature guy who has a steady girlfriend. It’s more of a . . . storytelling technique. Creative advertising. It’s done in business models all across the world, the marketing strategies and branding that close deals.
No, that’s nonsense—a lie is a lie. On top of that, it would be incredibly unprofessional and inappropriate. I can let myself crash one business dinner, but spending two weeks with the CEO outside of work hours would be unfair to the other interns.
And if we got caught, it wouldn’t matter that our relationship was fake. It would look real enough to land us both in deep shit and possibly drag Aspen Hotels’ name through the mud. The HR department would freak out, and the PR crisis would be even worse.
My heart is thudding so hard, I’m almost breathless. I flatten my palms against the cool surface of my desk and take a much needed deep breath.
That’s when my thoughts take another turn. If we pull this off, everyone will benefit. Me, Michael, Dominic, the entire company. And the idea of spending more time with Dominic is so tempting, for reasons that have nothing to do with what I could learn and everything to do with my attraction to him.
My increasingly tangled thoughts are interrupted when Jordan comes bounding up to my cubicle.
“Hey, Presley. Oliver said our proposal looks great, but some new info came in from the construction company and he wants us to revise our estimate.”
“What?” Crap, I didn’t process a single word he just said. It’s no use—my brain is too full right now. I swivel around to face him. “Sorry, can you repeat that?”
He cocks his head at me. “Is something wrong? You look pale.”
“Uh . . . no, I’m just tired,” I lie.
He blows a loud sigh of sympathy through his lips. “Monday mornings, am I right? You want to come grab some coffee while we talk? I was thinking of going to the cafeteria anyway.”
“That sounds great, actually.” I push out my chair. “Maybe my blood sugar is low.”
He flashes me a pleased grin. “There ya go. Snacks solve everything.”
Despite my thoughts buzzing around inside my head, I have to chuckle. Seems the absentminded frat bro has an unexpected mother hen side.
In the cafeteria, I take a giant cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin for good measure.
As we find seats, Jordan says, “I had the craziest weekend.”
Not crazier than mine, I’ll bet. “Yeah?”
As Jordan rambles on about some party he went to, I reply in mostly monosyllables in all the right places, but I can’t stop my thoughts from drifting back to Dominic and I pray Jordan doesn’t notice, because there’s no way in the world I can tell any of the other interns about this.
• • •
It’s Wednesday evening and I’m supposed to meet Austin in less than an hour, but I’m stuck in neutral. Instead of getting ready, I find myself staring blankly into the mirror with only half my makeup on, trying to figure out what this odd feeling is. It’s not bad, exactly, but it’s also not good.
Is my intuition trying to warn me away from him? Do I want to bail on this date?
I don’t think so. I need a break from all this madness at work—not to mention a cocktail or three—and the prospect of seeing Austin again is a pleasant one. Yet, I’m still strangely reluctant. I still feel an urge to . . . hold something back from him.
I turn and call out, “Hey, B?”
“Yeah?” She sounds like she’s in the kitchen.
“Will you come with me?”
A cabinet closes, and soon Bianca pokes her head into the bathroom. “You want me to crash your date?”
I fiddle with my tube of mascara. “Yeah. I just, I don’t know, I suddenly don’t feel ready for this to be a serious thing. Does that make sense?”
“Sure, no problem. I’ll be your life raft.” She pats me on the shoulder. “Scoot over. Where are we going?”
I shift so she can use the mirror, too. “Some bar downtown called Tres Amigos.”
“Ooh, your boy toy picked a classy place. Make sure you get one of their mango mojitos.” She starts swiping on foundation.
“You’ve been there? Is the music super loud?” I ask.
“No, Grandma, I promise you can hear yourself think.” She pokes out the tip of her tongue at me.
By the time we’re on our way, her presence and cheerful teasing have calmed me. A little.
The bar is refined, yet relaxed, with soft golden lighting, hardwood floors, and wide, caramel-colored chairs. Unsurprisingly for a Wednesday, it’s also half-empty. As we approach Austin’s table, he spots us, and a flicker of disappointment crosses his face.
“Hi, again,” I say awkwardly, feeling a bit guilty about upending his plans for the evening. “This is my roommate, Bianca.”
But he’s graceful about my faux pas. Without hesitation, he smiles and shakes Bianca’s hand with a warm, “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too. I was curious to finally find out what you looked like,” she says with a mischievous quirk to her lips.
“Presley’s talked about me? Wow, I’m flattered.” He flashes a sheepish grin at me, rubbing the back of his head. “So you’re already introducing me to your friends, huh? Wait, forget it . . . that was a bad joke.”
Bianca giggles. “Cute,” she says, which flusters both me and him.
Austin goes to the bar for us. Per Bianca’s recommendation, we order two mango mojitos, and he gets an IPA. Once we’re settled with our drinks, he asks, “So, did you two meet at work?”
“Nope, in college,” I say. “We were paired up in the dorms as freshmen, and we’ve been together ever since.”
“That’s great you’ve maintained your connection so long. It’s too easy to lose touch with old school friends.” He sips his beer. “So, what exactly do you do at work?”
Did he not understand me, or is he just clumsy at conversation? Oh well, it’s not like my manners have been perfect either.
“A bit of everything,” I say with a shrug. “It’s an internship, so I’m there to learn—and they also want to test me. But I’ve only been there a week. So far, most of the work I’ve done has been in logistics.”
“Cool. Can you be more specific?” he asks.
His abruptness catches me by surprise. “Uh, I guess so. Like budget, supply-chain management . . . oh yeah, I’ve also written a little web copy, I forgot about that.”
“You wrote for Aspen’s website? So if I went there right now, I’d see your work?”
“Just one page. It’s no big deal,” I say, feeling a small flush of shy pride. “My boss said he wants to put my programming skills to use on the back end, but that hasn’t happened yet.”
“Oh, man, for real?” He beams. “You’re beautiful, smart, cool, and you program, too?”
“Yep. She’s pretty much the total package,” Bianca says. “You should think about locking her down sooner rather than later.”
Austin laughs, and I look into my drink to hide my blush. But instead of answering her, he goes right back to prodding me. “Have you ever done any IT work? Or security?”
This goes on for almost ten more minutes. Every time I reply, Austin instantly fires back another question. As excited as I am to work at Aspen, and as much as I love talking about my job, this is starting to feel less like friendly interest and more like an interrogation.
Finally, I say jokingly, “I feel like I’m at a job interview.”
He blinks. “Oh, sorry. I was being awkward, wasn’t I? I’m just really curious about the hospitality industry. I’ve been thinking about changing jobs, and one of my potential leads is a hotel chain. So, about the—”
Bianca leans forward and gives Austin a tight smile. “I think it’s your turn to tell us about yourself. Got any hobbies?”
I wouldn’t have said it quite like that, but I’ve been getting increasingly weirded out by his one-track mind. Honestly, I’m relieved to get off this topic.
After that change of topic, the night becomes much more fun, almost too much fun. The next time I check my phone, it’s an hour later.
“We should get going soon,” I say, offering him an apologetic look. “Early morning tomorrow. How much were our drinks?”
Austin spreads his palms with a smile. “Don’t worry about it. They’re on me tonight.”
“Oh . . . are you sure?” When he nods, I say, “Thank you.”
“Have a good night.” He shakes Bianca’s hand again and gives me a hug. No kiss, no romantic comments. We might as well just be friends.
I feel oddly relieved, then frustrated with myself. He’s a perfectly decent guy—why can’t I want him, too? Why does my body insist upon reacting only to the man who’s such a bad idea in so many ways?
When Bianca and I get home, we wash off our makeup and say good night. She turns out the lights. I lie down on the couch and wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. But half an hour later, I’m still wide awake, Dominic and his shocking proposal swirling through my head.
Sure, I could justify this financially, but what about ethically? And even if I’m not doing anything wrong, what would happen to my career if anyone found out? How safe would my secret be?
On the other hand, Michael needs this money ASAP. And it might be nice to eat something other than instant ramen for the next three months. If things go well, I could even put down a deposit on my own apartment. Bianca wouldn’t have to put up with my couch-surfing anymore—she always insists that it’s fine, but I’m sure she’d prefer privacy. My aching back also likes the sound of a real bed. Plus, I wouldn’t have to live out of a suitcase . . .
With a harried grunt, I flip on the end table lamp and dig through said suitcase for my tarot deck. I concentrate on my question about my future as I shuffle, draw a card, and set it face down on the coffee table. Then I draw four cards, two on each side of the first. Finally, beneath the rest of the spread, I lay down one card for advice.
I flip over the first card. My current situation is . . . the Five of Coins. I snort. No crap, I was already painfully aware of my financial difficulties.
The second and third cards, representing sticking to my current path, are the Hanged Man and the Ten of Wands. Neither card holds much good news. They represent someone struggling under an exhausting burden, taking too much responsibility onto my shoulders. While I’m not afraid of hard work, I hesitate at this card’s strong hint that overextending myself might result in nothing but pointless pain.
The next two cards are totally bizarre. The Lovers and the Three of Swords. Passion and desire. But the latter card implies strong emotions, too . . . specifically, heartbreak and betrayal. Terrific.
I leave them for now and move on to the last card. What advice will the tarot offer me? I flip it over and snort when the Fool is revealed.
Maybe I’ve been overthinking this. Sometimes we have to leave the comfortable path to find the best solution to a problem.
The worst that could happen probably isn’t the nightmare that my runaway anxiety is conjuring, but it’s still pretty damn bad. There aren’t many cards more dire than the Three of Swords. And the Lovers is too unclear to be of any real comfort.
I’m used to pushing myself. I know how to bust my ass, focus, and sacrifice. It’s what I’m good it, and has gotten me this far in life.
I rub my thumb over the three figures on the Lovers card. I shouldn’t let myself get caught up in foolish, schoolgirl fantasies about the sexy and intense Dominic Aspen. But it’s almost impossible not to. Remembering the way he kissed me in his office floods my blood with something hot and unspoken. Dirty fantasies flash through my brain—his long eyelashes fluttering closed as he gave himself over to the kiss—the warmth of his tongue touching mine for the first time—the scent of leather and cedar filling all my senses. A low ache forms between my legs and I huff out a sigh.
Frustrated, I push my fingers through my hair. I don’t freaking know—I’m too tired and confused and conflicted to think straight right now. I put the cards away, turn off the lamp, and try again to sleep.
I don’t remember drifting off. But I must have, because I dream o
f Dominic’s kiss.
Chapter Eleven
Dominic
I can tell Fran’s in a mood today before she even opens her mouth.
“Why haven’t I seen you with a woman lately?” she asks, hanging up her coat in the front hall closet.
It’s a great fucking question, but I don’t have time for this. It’s Friday morning, and I have to leave in less than five minutes to head to the office.
I bring my mug of coffee to my lips, taking a sip in order to buy myself some time. She’s great with my kids and I love her, but damn, is she nosy.
“Did you hear me?” she asks, reaching for the teakettle, and turns the heat on high to make herself a cup of tea.
I’m starting to regret giving her a key. I’d like a little warning before I get scolded.
“Maybe I’m not into women.”
“Then why haven’t I seen you with a man?” she asks without missing a beat.
I roll my eyes, tightening my tie around my throat as I stand up from the table. Damn. I rub my temples. I haven’t had near enough caffeine for this yet.
“It’s been three years, Dom,” Fran says, as if I needed reminding.
Her tone is maternal, low and soft, but her words still sting. My hand clenches around the drawer handle for a moment before I open it and pluck a spoon from inside.
Goddamn, Francine. Cut me some slack.
“I’m not looking for anything serious,” I say, keeping my tone casual and light. I learned that lesson when I very seriously gave my heart to a woman who saw no issue with crushing it under the heel of her boot.
“That’s absurd.” Fran sighs and reaches for a mug in the cabinet before fixing her tea. “I just think you should think about your daughters.”
“I am thinking about my daughters,” I respond coolly. “I’m only thinking about them.” They get all of my free time and attention without having to share me with someone else.
I place my yogurt and spoon into the side pocket of my laptop bag and head for the door. “I’ll be home late tonight,” I call out, and hear Fran make a disgruntled noise.
Fantastic. As if I don’t have enough to worry about.