by Cora Bell
I stopped my train of thought. Who cared? After this, I’d probably never be in this hotel again. Mr. Holmes might have a reputation for being the surliest, most egotistical businessman in the whole city, but his hotels were divine.
So divine, that was part of their slogan. You’ll never want to leave…
It sounded just like Mr. Holmes. Supposedly he’d gone through some major tragedy and hadn’t left his home in years. But rumors were a dime a dozen, and I’d heard most of them from Stephanie when she’d been drunk.
The elevator dinged softly, and my stomach jumped. When the doors opened and revealed a large foyer, white tiles that surrounded a dominating table topped with a gigantic vase of lilies under a crystal chandelier, I blinked. It still looked like a suite, not a meeting room.
The guard gestured. “This way.”
I followed him inside, feeling like I was intruding on someone’s home, until we reached the living room. I scanned the entire area, awe overcoming me. So, this was how the other half lived.
The other half meaning Mr. Holmes.
I turned to ask the guard if Mr. Holmes was staying here, but he was gone. He’d vanished swiftly and silently.
Damn. Now what?
I ventured further into the room, drawn by the view. The glass was clear and showed me the entire city of Seattle. Damn. I needed my camera. I needed—
“Like the view?”
I whipped around, nearly slipping on the tiles, trying to find the source of the voice.
He stood halfway across the living room, arms folded over a charcoal suit that fit his body like second skin.
Nash Holmes.
#
I had to remind myself to breathe. To remember that I’d invited Reyna up here, and I certainly had nothing to fear from her. I’d seen her day in and day out for months on those cameras set up all over the hotel. If there was anyone less harmless in this world, I’d have to search far and wide to find her.
But the cameras didn’t do her justice. In person, she was petite. Ravishing. Her skirt suit was not doing her any favors either, because I could see just a hint of her curves beneath the stiff material and my mind short-circuited with the thought of her naked. Of her hair spread on my silk sheets, legs opening for me…
All the blood in my body traveled to my dick, making it throb.
“Mr. Holmes,” Reyna said.
I gritted my teeth. “I expected you fifteen minutes ago.”
“I—it’s—” Her cheeks flushed. I couldn’t tell whether she was embarrassed or just trying to hold back from calling me an asshole. “I know I was late, but my alarm clock broke and then—”
“That’s not why you’re here.”
“Wait, what? I thought…”
I gestured to one of the white leather couches. “Have a seat.” I spoke while she moved, keeping my eyes locked on her the entire time. “I’m aware of the incident in the lobby. Helping an old lady isn’t grounds for being fired—even if you should pencil more time into your morning to account for instances that might arise—including the alarm clock.”
Her eyes flashed first with shock, then anger. She stopped next to the couch. “How do you know I was helping an old lady?”
“Have a seat,” I insisted.
It wasn’t for her. It was for me. I felt more in control when she was seated and not wandering around my home. That’s one thing I desperately needed in my home. Control.
She sank to the cushions, eyes locked on mine. Waiting.
“There are cameras all over the hotel, which I’m sure you’re aware. I saw you helping that old lady.”
She licked her lips, preparing to say something else. My gaze dropped, and for a moment, all I could think of was how badly I wanted that tongue on me. Those lips against mine before they wrapped around my dick…
Focus. “It also captured your old boss in a compromising position.”
Reyna’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I got your message yesterday, and it seemed you needed an explanation.”
Of course, that wasn’t the only reason why I’d wanted her up here. I needed to see her up close. I’d forced myself to grasp at that one last hope that humanity wasn’t completely worthless.
And now she was sitting here looking completely lost and completely vulnerable. And a little pissed off, too.
I walked to the coffee table and picked up the laptop I’d set there earlier. I gestured to the space on the couch next to Reyna. “May I?”
I swore her gaze dropped to my mouth this time. Maybe lower. “Of course.”
Her perfume hit me hard, something subtle, something soft. Like she’d just rolled in a garden. My gut clenched, my dick going hard before I could help it. I opened the laptop, pulled up the video, and turned the screen to face her.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Just watch.”
Reyna was on the screen first, walking a guest through the store. Then Stephanie appeared. She glanced around, turned her back to the camera—at least, one of the cameras, and the only visible one from inside the store—and reached into the cash register.
Truly, she wasn’t even being that discreet when she pulled out the cash and folded several bills before placing them in her purse.
Reyna’s mouth dropped open, a sound of surprise escaping.
I snapped the laptop shut and returned it to the table. “I hope this explains yesterday’s situation.”
“Oh my God…” Her eyes flashed to mine. “I didn’t know. I—”
“I trust you don’t have any more messages for me regarding this matter.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she shook her head. “No.”
“Good.”
I stood because I couldn’t take it anymore. It was hard being so close to her, being this far out of my comfort zone. My heart started beating faster. Anxiety maybe?
When she stood as well, I walked her to the elevator and pushed the button. “I handpicked your new boss myself. There shouldn’t be any more problems.”
Her wide doe eyes locked on mine, nearly bringing me to my knees. She was so innocent. Too innocent. The world would chew her up and spit her out before she even had a chance to live. Part of me said that wasn’t my problem, but the other part—the part that remembered what it was like to be young, naïve, and full of hope—wanted to shelter her from all of it.
The door opened, and she stepped inside. Charles appeared out of nowhere to join her.
“Ms. Turner.” I set my hand on the door, stopping it from closing. She met my eyes again, pools of confusion. “This is the real world,” I told her. “People lie, people cheat. They steal from each other and murder each other. You’d do well to remember that.”
She didn’t answer, only kept her eyes trained on mine until the doors shut.
Once she was gone, I released a tense breath and then yanked off my jacket because I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
I’d done it. I’d put my toe in the real world, the one I’d just warned Reyna against. That still didn’t mean I wanted anything to do with the rest of those fuckers out there. The ones who walked the streets. Cocky, abusive, vile people. That’s all most of them were.
I ran a hand through my hair and realized it was shaking. “Fuck.”
Tossing my jacket aside, I walked to the kitchen, yanked out a bottle of water, and downed the entire thing. Once my hand stopped shaking, I stared at the elevator.
I’d faced part of the real world and I had no doubt it’d stick with me. Forever.
I’d seen Reyna up close and that wasn’t enough.
Somehow, I had to figure out how to get her into my life. Permanently.
CHAPTER THREE
Asshole! I rode down the elevator with my arms crossed and mind whirling. What had just happened? Mr. Holmes had invited me up to his penthouse to—what? To rub it in my face that he had a reason to fire Stephanie?
And what was that warning about there at the end? He wasn’t threatening me, was he? Be
cause, damn, he wasn’t doing himself any favors. Nash Holmes already looked dangerous enough without that. Dark hair, a chiseled jaw, strong nose. Lips that were firm, most of the time stretched into a line that said he didn’t take shit from anyone.
But even with that, I’d barely been able to stay still when he’d sat next to me. He’d smelled like the woods and every part of him radiated sex. But he also looked just like the rumors said. Like he didn’t leave the hotel. Like he only cared about himself. But, God, it turned me on. In that small corner, way back in my mind, I found him sexy enough to dream about. To get myself off to the memory of his strong hands, the cocky arch of his brow...
Those penetrating eyes. His lips forming two words in the darkness. Ms. Turner…
I swallowed back a moan and looked over at the security guard. “I didn’t know Stephanie was stealing.”
“It happens.”
I tried again. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have made you take that message to Mr. Holmes.”
He glanced over. “It all worked out in the end, right?”
“Yes. I—it did. Thanks, Mr.—”
“Charles.” He stood to the side to let me out when the elevator dinged. “You can call me Charles.”
“Right. Thank you.”
“I’ll make sure you get back to the store.”
I shook my head and started walking. “I’ll be fine.”
“Mr. Holmes would insist.”
I shut my mouth and let him walk me back to the store. Mr. Holmes would insist? What did he think? I was going to get mugged on the way? Maybe get hurt rescuing more old ladies from the perils of purse dropping?
Once I was in the store and Charles had vanished, I leaned against the wall and blew out a breath. Work. That’s what I needed to focus on. I hadn’t lost my job, which meant I needed to do what I could to keep my job. I’d already stuck my foot in my mouth. It didn’t need to happen again.
When I got home from work that night, it felt like I’d been gone for days instead of hours. I dropped my purse on the kitchen table and swiveled to the refrigerator. Yeah, my place wasn’t much. Literally. The entire thing could probably fit into Mr. Holmes’s foyer. But it was enough for me. For now.
And ugh…why was I thinking about Mr. Holmes? Nash?
Because of those tortured eyes. Because his hands and arms looked strong enough to lift me without any effort.
“Wine,” I murmured, pouring myself a glass instead of the water I planned on having.
I took it to my bedroom, my clit throbbing. Hell, who was I kidding? Nash Holmes was hot. So damned sexy if I didn’t have dreams about him for the rest of the week, I’d wonder if I was even alive.
I slid out of my skirt and lay back on the bed to rest my feet. I couldn’t help myself. I’d been thinking about the man all day, squeezing my thighs together to stop the ache between my legs. But it hadn’t given me any relief.
After another sip of wine, I pulled off my panties and spread my legs slightly. Damn Nash Holmes. He’d managed to shock me and get me all worked up in a matter of minutes.
I was already wet, leaking onto the bed because of him. I worked my finger around my clit, back arching. I gave a low moan and pictured the man, sans suit and dress shirt, crawling his way up the bed. Lowering his head between my legs and—
The sound of a knock at the door made me gasp. I jerked to an upright position.
“Shit.” With another grumble, I yanked on my skirt, leaving my panties behind, and stomped to the front door.
I yanked it open and angled my head when I saw a delivery man with a box. Not just a box, a present? It was black, tied with a red bow. Simple. Mysterious.
“Ms. Turner?” the man asked.
I nodded and accepted the package. “Thanks.”
There wasn’t a card, so I undid the bow and took off the top of the box. Inside, amidst a pile of tissue paper, was another box. An alarm clock.
It was top of the line, one that probably cost more than my cab fare for the entire week.
My lips parted. “What the…?”
And if I had any doubt who it was from, there was a short card with his slanted handwriting.
Set this before you go to bed. It should work. –Nash Holmes
I choked on a laugh. Seriously? If I wasn’t so confused by his behavior this morning, I would have found it funny. I pulled the alarm clock out and brought it to my room.
Damn it. Was the man trying to flirt with me or just making sure his employees were happy? He sure as hell wasn’t making any sense to me.
I got the alarm clock set up and sipped my wine again. Fine. He’d made his point. Be on time. People are all bad. Blah, blah, blah…
But it did make me curious. What made Nash Holmes the way he was? Why did we have to meet in his suite instead of down in the store where it made sense? Or at the very least in a neutral spot?
And why, when I felt like screaming at him, did I also want him to fuck me until I couldn’t stand anymore?
#
It still happened once in a while. I’d wake up with my hands shaking, sweat on my brow, heart racing so fast I thought I might pass out.
I’d see their eyes in the darkness, hear the horrible laughter. But this morning, when I shot out of bed at the crack of dawn, I said the wrong name when I shouted out.
It wasn’t my dead fiancée’s name that slipped from my lips. It was Reyna’s.
I nearly summoned Charles up here to tell him to head straight to her apartment to make sure she was okay.
But then my heart rate slowed and a hint of rationality showed up, and I was able to calm down.
Then I worked out. Hard. Enough to have my heart racing again. Enough to chase away the lingering fear.
After a shower and an omelet, Charles appeared in the foyer. By then, I already had a plan.
“Did you get the information?” I asked.
He passed over a folder, and I sat at the island in the kitchen and shuffled through it. There were pictures of Reyna, documents, social media links, and so on. I picked up a printed page of photographs.
“What’s this?”
“She posts these on social media, sir. She’s a photographer—or aspiring to be one.”
They were good. Better than good. Art. And they gave me another idea. Another excuse to see her again.
Probably the better excuse. After all, admitting to her I needed her to model for a painting wasn’t going to make the best first—or second—impression. I’d need to build up to it.
“Please escort Ms. Turner up here once she arrives at work.”
“Yes, sir.”
I glanced up before he could leave. “How’s Layla doing?”
“Not bad. She says you owe her, though.”
“Mmm hmm. That’s all Charles.”
Charles entered the elevator, then vanished. Layla was right. I did owe her. Bringing her in to man the store at the last minute had meant she had to take a break from her own job. And, unfortunately, she was going to have to be doing it a bit longer because I needed Reyna up here with me.
I’d call her later. Or send her a basket filled with her favorite wine and cheese.
I walked to the bedroom to search for clothes. I dressed in slacks and a cashmere sweater, choosing comfort and style over something more professional.
On the counter in the bathroom were the anxiety meds the psychiatrist had prescribed me. I’d almost taken one this morning. Or two. Damn, the nightmares were the worst part. I could function throughout the day. But when the night came…
I heard the ding of the elevator and shoved the meds in the cabinet before walking from the room.
The sight of Reyna, looking as confused as ever, actually calmed me. How did she do that? Maybe because she was so nervous, and I was in control. It helped me focus on making the situation better for her instead of thinking about how fucked up I was.
“Thank you, Charles,” I said. “This might take a while.”
Reyna’s eyes w
idened but she didn’t say anything as Charles stepped into the elevator again.
“Ms. Turner,” I said.
“I wasn’t late.” She gave me a pointed look. “New alarm clock and all.”
I almost smirked, but instead only nodded. So, she’d gotten it. It wasn’t exactly a gift, more a way to ensure she made it to work on time. But it was the first thing I’d given any woman—besides Layla—in the last three years.
“Thank you,” she said. “It works really well.”
“Glad to hear it. Would you like something to drink?”
She blinked, glancing to the kitchen, looking like she’d expected something else. “Orange juice?”
This time, I couldn’t help the smile. “Strange request, but I can handle that.”
“I forgot breakfast,” she mumbled, still standing at the elevator.
“Sit.” I gestured to the counter. “I’ll order something.”
“You don’t—”
She broke off when I pulled out my phone and barked out an order to the kitchen staff. “And make it quick,” I added.
I ended the call and walked to her, taking in the soft blue sweater she wore today. The pinstriped pants that were still hiding her curves. I’d have to talk to her about that. But now…
“I have a deal for you,” I said.
She angled her head. “Excuse me?”
“It’s a job, actually.”
“I already have a job.”
“Trust me, you’re going to want to hear this.”
CHAPTER FOUR
It wasn’t what he said—or not only what he said—it was the way he said it. The way his eyes locked on mine like I was the only person in the entire world. Like he was…making a proposition.
Heat spread through my body, and I squeezed my thighs together discreetly, hoping he didn’t notice. I might have pleasured myself to the memory of him last night, but that was a fantasy.
The real Nash Holmes, though sexy as hell, was an asshole. He acted like he could do anything he wanted and sorry, I wasn’t one of those things.
I cleared my throat. “A job?”