Positively Pricked: A Billionaire Loathing-to-Love Romance

by Sabrina Stark

  I knew what she meant. It did have that new-car smell. As for my old heap, it was somewhere in the depths of the Bennington parking garage, where I'd been allowed to store the thing indefinitely.

  It was all such a whirlwind, I still didn't know what to think.

  After I'd accepted the offer, I'd been sent down to Human Resources, where I'd been given a choice of cars and a key to the executive suite. And then, in the strangest development of all, I'd been assigned a personal shopper, who'd hustled me from store to store, buying suits, dresses, shoes, and all of the accessories I'd need for the new position.

  Even now, my closet was packed with more clothes than I'd ever owned in my whole life.

  I honestly didn't get it. Why would Zane go to so much trouble, when he could simply hire someone who already had the wardrobe, not to mention the experience needed for such a high-profile position?

  Charlotte said, "Hey, can I ask you something?"

  "What?"

  "Aren't you worried you're gonna get fired?"

  "No." I tried to laugh. "I'm worried I won't get fired."

  "Oh come on," she said. "I'm serious. I mean, look what happened with the catering thing. You were just there doing your job, and the next thing you know, you're out on your ass."

  "I know." I gave a long, sad sigh. "But at least the dogs were happy."

  "Dogs? What dogs?"

  I eyed my sadly empty wine glass. Would it be so bad if I refilled it? Already, I wasn't feeling so great, but I was awful thirsty.

  As if reading something in my expression, Charlotte snatched the bottle out of my reach and set it on the other side of the table. She gave me a no-nonsense look and repeated the question. "What dogs?"

  "His dogs," I said. "Flint and Lansing." I gave a little wave of my hands. "There was this incident. Don't ask."

  But she did. And of course, I had to tell her.

  Chapter 24

  "Well," I began, "when we showed up, it was absolutely crazy with people everywhere."

  "You mean like party guests?" Charlotte said.

  "No. With workers, like me." I made little air quotes. "The help."

  "And…?"

  "And they even hired a valet parking service. I have no idea where they parked the cars, but the whole setup was really official, with guys in fancy red uniforms and everything."

  "But what does that have to do with you?" Charlotte asked.

  "I'm getting to that," I said. "So anyway, Naomi and I are unloading our stuff. And I might've left the van open, which wouldn’t have been a problem, except, well, there were these two crazy hounds."

  Charlotte said, "Flint and Lansing?"

  "Right. His dogs, apparently. And get this. Somehow, they end up inside the van."

  "Somehow?" Charlotte laughed. "You mean through the door you left open?"

  "Oh, fine. Yes. Probably. But anyway, they're rampaging through the whole cargo area, causing this huge ruckus, and some 'helpful' valet guy decides the only thing he can do is – get this – shut the van door."

  "You're kidding." Charlotte looked horrified. "He trapped them inside the van?"

  "Right. And I just wanna clarify, I wasn't even out there when this happened."

  "Where were you?" she asked.

  "Inside the house, getting everything set up. But then, I hear all this yelling."

  "From who?"

  "Everyone," I said. "But mostly, from this event planner – Ms. Hedgwick. Apparently, she'd hired some 'dog-wrangler' to keep the dogs entertained, and she was hollering for the guy to get out there and do his job."

  Charlotte's eyebrows furrowed. "Dog wrangler?"

  "Actually, I don't know what his official title was, but he was supposed to keep the dogs somewhere else, where they wouldn’t cause any trouble."

  "Like where?"

  "I dunno. But trust me, they had plenty of space." I waved away the distraction. "So anyway, like I said, I hear all this yelling, so I run out there, and everyone's standing around the van, doing nothing but listening."

  "To what?" Charlotte asked.

  "Mostly clattering and barking."

  "So what'd you do?"

  "So I go to the back of the van, fling open both doors, and there they are." I tried not to smile. "The hell hounds."

  "So they were vicious?"

  I thought of the dogs, with their excited eyes and floppy tongues. I felt a warm, happy glow as I recalled them slobbering all over Zane's front windows. "No. But they were insane. And snacky."

  "Snacky?" Charlotte cringed. "You don't mean –?"

  "Yup," I said. "For party food."

  "But wait, I thought you already hauled it into the house."

  "Not all of it," I said. "In fact, that's why I left the stupid van door open in the first place. We had more stuff to take in."

  "Like what?" she asked.

  "Like, we had these little meatballs, some bacon and artichoke wraps, these cute little finger sandwiches, all kinds of stuff."

  Charlotte said, "And the dogs got into it?"

  "Not all of it. But enough to make a huge mess." In spite of everything, I couldn't help but smile at the memory of how happy they'd looked, frolicking among the catering goods.

  "So," Charlotte prompted, "what'd you do?"

  "Well, at first, I don't do anything, because I'm sure they're gonna bolt out of there any minute."

  "But they don't?"

  "No," I said. "They don't. And they won't, even after I call to them. I mean, there they are, surrounded by meatballs."

  Charlotte winced. "You don't mean they—"

  "Got into them? Yeah, they totally did. The other stuff was sealed up pretty good, but the meatballs broke from their container and rolled all over the place."

  "So then, what'd you do?"

  "Well, I've got to get the dogs outta there, right? So I hop into the van and grab a wad of meatballs off the floor."

  "A wad?"

  "You know, a handful. And I start tossing them out the back of the van. And I'm yelling, 'Fetch, doggie, fetch!'"

  Charlotte laughed. "Doggie?"

  "That was before I knew their names."

  "Well, that explains everything," she said. "So did they? Fetch, I mean?"

  "Not at first, because they've got all this meat inside the van. I mean, they'd be stupid to leave, right?"

  Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Totally."

  "So anyway, before I know it, I've thrown like fifty meatballs. And they're scattered all over the parking area." I sighed. "And I might've hit a valet or two."

  Charlotte was laughing again. "You didn't."

  "Hey, you know I've got the worst aim in the world." I glanced away. "And if you think I can't throw a meatball, you should see me throw a shoe."

  "Wait," Charlotte said. "Why would you throw a shoe?"

  I waved away the question. "Don't ask."

  Charlotte was shaking her head. "I can't believe I'm just hearing this. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

  "Honestly, it was a little embarrassing."

  "Just a little?" She looked beyond amused. "So why are you telling me now?

  My gaze shifted to the wine. "I dunno."

  Charlotte leaned forward. "Is there anything else you wanna confess?"

  "Like what?"

  "Admit it." Her tone grew teasing. "You think Zane Bennington's hot, don’t you?"

  Once again, an image of Zane flashed in my mind. As usual, he was beyond sexy, with that thick hair, gorgeous cheekbones, and a body to die for. With an effort I shoved aside the image and reminded myself that he was not a nice person.

  I gave an irritated sigh. "Of course, I think he's hot. But he's a total jerk, so it doesn't count."

  Charlotte gave me a knowing smile. "That's what you think."

  Already, I'd had enough of Zane Bennington. I didn't want to talk about him, and I sure as heck didn't want to think about him.

  Already, he was haunting my thoughts far too often. Oh sure, most of those thoughts were
homicidal, but every once in a while, a different kind of thought burrowed its way into my brain.

  Like just now.

  And it was pretty darn annoying.

  Deliberately, I changed the subject. "Back to the catering thing, it was such a total nightmare."

  "It wasn't all bad," she said. "Like you said, the dogs were happy, right?"

  "Oh yeah. They had a lovely time. Me, not so much."

  "So I've gotta ask," Charlotte said. "How do you know you weren't fired for that?"

  It was a good question. And lucky for me, I had a good answer. "Because," I explained, "everything was mostly smoothed over until Zane got involved. And with the dogs, these things happen, right?"

  Charlotte gave me a look. "Not to normal people, they don't."

  "Hey, I'm normal."

  But Charlotte was shaking her head. "You're not normal." She gave me a cheery smile. "You're better than normal. You're unique."

  "You mean like a snowflake?" I frowned. "I'm not sure that's a compliment."

  "Well, look on the bright side," she said. "With the money you're making now, you can afford your own dog." She grinned. "And maybe a wrangler, too."

  "I don't need a wrangler," I said. "I need a psychic."

  "Why?"

  "Because I still don't know why Zane hired me of all people."

  "Did you ask?"

  "Sure."

  "And what did he say?"

  "Nothing. As usual."

  "Who knows? Maybe he likes you."

  "Him?" I said. "Not a chance."

  "Why not?"

  "Because he hates everyone. And he might even hate me more than he hates most people."

  "That can't be true," she said. "If he hated you, he wouldn't have hired you."

  I bit my lip. "Unless it's some sort of punishment."

  "Oh come on," she said. "Do you know how many people would kill to be in your shoes?"

  I did know, which only made me feel worse, because on some level, I knew I should be thrilled. And yet, I wasn't. I couldn’t be.

  It wasn't only because I didn't like him. It was because, in spite of what my sister might think, I knew there had to be some nefarious reason he'd hire me of all people.

  Maybe he wanted to see me squirm.

  If so, he definitely knew exactly what he was doing, because my first day proved even more uncomfortable than I'd anticipated.

  Chapter 25

  "You're late," he said.

  He was right. I was. But it wasn't entirely my fault. Paisley, who I'd barely seen over the past few weeks, had parked behind me in the driveway sometime in the middle of the night, and then, she'd caused a giant stink this morning when I woke her up to ask her to move her car.

  And of course, she'd taken her own sweet time.

  As a result, here I was, fifteen minutes late for my very first day on the job. Damn it. I had to say it. "I’m sorry." The words stuck in my throat like a giant chicken bone, even as I promised, "It won't happen again."

  His eyebrows lifted. "You sure about that?"

  "Yes. Definitely." It wasn't even a lie. From now on, I decided, I'd park on the street, if that's what it took.

  I hated feeling rushed, and here I was, nearly breathless after practically sprinting from the elevator to the executive suite. I'd arrived only thirty seconds ago, and still had no idea where my own desk was, assuming that I had a desk at all. Unfortunately, I'd had no time to ask before I'd been hustled straight into Zane's office, where he'd been waiting behind that huge desk of his.

  Unlike me, he didn't look rushed or harried. No. He looked like a million – wait, make that a billion – bucks. His suit was cut perfectly to his broad shoulders, and his tie was dark gray with subtle flecks of red – probably to match his devil horns.

  Oh, I couldn't see them. But I knew they were there.

  He stood. "There's a breakfast meeting in five."

  I was still catching my breath. "Five minutes?"

  He gave me a look. "What do you think?"

  I gave him a look right back. Of course, it had to be minutes. After all, in five hours, it would be mid-afternoon. My question had been mostly rhetorical. But seriously, did he have to be such a jerk, even about such a little thing?

  Then again, this was Zane Bennington.

  I gave him my sweetest smile. "Oh. So it's in five days."

  He didn't smile back.

  Stubbornly, I kept my smile plastered in place. "Or maybe, it's weeks."

  He still wasn't smiling, but I was getting pretty used to it. I added, "You strike me as a planner."

  This wasn't quite true. In reality, this buttoned-down billionaire seemed like a different guy than the one I'd met during our earlier encounters.

  I wasn't even sure why I was tweaking him. It was beyond stupid, and yet, whether it was due to nerves, or because he had it coming, I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

  He said, "It's five minutes. And you're coming with me."

  Suddenly, I wasn't smiling anymore. Already, I'd gotten attached to the idea that he'd be rushing off to a breakfast meeting, and I'd have the chance to pull myself together.

  No such luck.

  On top of that, breakfast wasn't sounding so great. I'd had coffee in the car, and even that wasn't sitting right. The idea of any food whatsoever made me feel just a little bit queasy – partly because of nerves and partly because last night, I'd found another bottle of merlot, this one hidden in the back of the linen closet.

  One sip led to another, and here I was, dreading the idea of breakfast. Still, I wasn't completely stupid. Even I realized that breakfast meetings usually had very little to do with the actual food.

  I tried for another smile. "Great. Where's the meeting?"

  "Here."

  I glanced around. "In your office?"

  "No. In the restaurant downstairs."

  If he meant Claudette's, it was one of the very best restaurants in the whole city. But I'd always known it as a dinner place – not that I'd ever eaten there personally. For one thing, I couldn’t afford it. And for another, the place was notoriously hard to get into.

  "Claudette's?" I said. "I didn't even realize they served breakfast."

  "They don't," Zane said. "But they are this morning."

  "Oh." I couldn’t imagine why, unless Zane had personally arranged it. "So they're opening just for you?"

  "They will if they know what's good for them."

  Was that a joke? Doubtful.

  Before I could even think to ask, Zane flicked his head toward a side table and told me to drop everything but my computer – a sleek little tablet that I'd been assigned, along with a new cell phone, right after signing the employment paperwork.

  More confused than ever, I set down my purse, along with the brown-bag lunch that I'd brought for later on, assuming that I'd be able to eat at all.

  And then, we were off.

  In the elevator on the way down, Zane – without bothering to look at me – gave me a quick rundown on who we were meeting with. Apparently, it was with the owner of a shipping company who handled most of the international transports for the Bennington Hotels.

  Zane said they had several issues they needed to resolve and mentioned that the guy had been a problem.

  I gave Zane a sideways glance. Speaking of guys who'd been a problem.

  But that wasn't the thing that was bothering me now. At the moment, I was terrified of screwing up, especially because I didn't really know what was expected of me. After all, Zane had mentioned nothing about media involvement, press releases, or anything related to my actual job description.

  Reluctantly, I turned to look at him. "I've got a question."

  He kept his gaze straight ahead. "What?"

  "Is there anything specific you'd like me to do at this meeting?"

  "Yeah." A ghost of a smile crossed his features. "Keep him from hitting me."

  The smile – if that's what it truly was – caught me off-guard. "Seriously?"

&nb
sp; And just like that, the smile was gone. "No."

  "Oh, so that was a joke?" A nervous laugh escaped my lips. "So he's not going to hit you?"

  But Zane wasn't laughing. "He can try."

  "Wait, so you weren't kidding?" I felt myself swallow. "Am I really supposed to keep him from—"

  "No."

  "No?"

  "If it's heading that way," Zane said, "you stay out of it."

  Well, that was a relief.

  Sort of.

  But it told me nothing about why I was attending the meeting in the first place.

  Searching for clues, I asked, "Will anyone from the media be there?"

  "Not if they know what's good for them."

  What did that mean? I had no idea, so I tried again. "Okay…So, will I be writing a press release or something?"

  "No," he said. "But we might need to counter his narrative if the meeting goes south."

  I gave a slow nod. Finally, I understood. "So we're talking damage-control? You mean like crisis-management, right?"

  "Something like that."

  As last, I had a sense of what my role would be, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I hated feeling clueless, and I'd been swimming in unfamiliar waters ever since I'd been hired.

  Unfortunately, my relief was short-lived, because less than five minutes into the meeting, I was seriously worried that Zane would get hit.

  And why? Because he totally had it coming.

  Chapter 26

  We'd just settled into our seats when the owner of the shipping company looked to Zane and said, "I was real sorry to hear about your grandfather."

  Zane leaned back in his chair and gave the guy a dismissive look. "Yeah, I bet."

  I looked from Zane to the poor sap who'd just made the mistake of acting like a decent human being. His name was Marco Sarkozy, and apparently, his family owned Ace Transports – the company that had been handling Bennington freight-shipping needs for over three decades. As for Marco himself, he was a heavy-set, middle-aged man with a ruddy completion that was looking ruddier with every passing moment.

  His eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

  Zane shrugged. "I'm just saying. Sucks he's dead, huh?"

  "Well, uh, yeah," Marco said. "As I said on the phone, you have my deepest condolences."

  Zane made a low, scoffing sound. "I mean it sucks for you."