by Kendall Ryan
Then I gasp, because she’s pushed her hips forward, writhing against my body. Before I can say anything, she spins around and enthusiastically grinds her ass onto my burgeoning erection.
I bite back a groan of need. Damn, when she wants something, no force on earth can stop her.
Someone whistles at us. It might be Bianca, but I have no idea, because Presley is totally intent on making my head spin with want. Giving in, I let myself caress her curves and nip at the tender skin at the back of her neck, feeling her pulse flutter under my lips.
“Behave,” I say on a groan.
She pouts. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll behave.” Then she moves my hand over her breast and squeezes hard.
I growl into her ear, soft so no one else can hear, but forceful enough that she makes a throaty, desperate noise. When the song ends, she turns to me, her eyes smoldering with erotic promise . . .
. . . and then she trips. I catch her before she kisses the floor instead of me.
“Okay, I think it’s time to go,” I grunt out, then call to Bianca, “Can I drive Presley home?”
“Fine with me. I was planning to leave with my guy.” Bianca looks over toward a guy seated in the booth nursing a beer, then pats Presley on her flushed cheek. “Just make sure to text me when you get home, okay, babe?”
Presley flashes her an unsteady thumbs-up.
I give my ticket to the valet and wait with her at the front doors until it arrives, then escort her outside and into the passenger seat. She drapes herself over me as soon as I’ve slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door.
“Sorry, guess I had too much,” she mumbles into my ear.
“Don’t worry about it. You’re highly entertaining and educational.” For instance, I’ve learned tonight that copious amounts of alcohol make Presley extremely silly and touchy-feely. The surprises never end.
She pouts. “Are you laughing at me?”
“You’re tough enough to take it.” I peck her on the cheek.
She shakes her head, now smiling at me.
The drive to Presley’s apartment takes less than twenty minutes, and then I’m helping her up the front steps and inside.
I head to the kitchen and retrieve a bottle of water from the fridge for her. “Here. Drink this. You need to sober up.”
She smirks at me, accepting the water bottle. “Yes, Dad.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “I am a dad.”
Presley laughs harder. “You sure are, and an extremely hot dad. You’re like a DILF.”
Shaking my head, I laugh with her.
She finishes her water and meets my eyes. “Thank you for everything.”
I’m assuming she means the promotion, but as I told her before, she earned it.
“And for coming to my rescue tonight,” she adds with a nod.
“You’re very welcome. Should we get you to bed? Where’s your room?”
She nods toward the couch. “We’re in it.”
The tan sofa is ancient looking and sags in the middle. A thin cotton blanket is draped over the back of it, and a pillow is shoved into one corner.
I frown. “You sleep on a couch?”
Presley waves her hand. “Yes, and don’t look so scandalized, Mr. CEO. Keep in mind that until today, I was working full-time in an unpaid position.”
“I guess that’s true.”
The fact that our internships are unpaid has never bothered me before now. Mostly because I’ve never considered what that means, or the sacrifices people would have to make. One of those sacrifices—at least in Presley’s case—being a bed, or any real privacy.
She heads into the bathroom, and I hear her brushing her teeth. Deciding to make myself useful, I make up her bed for her, draping the white sheet I find folded on the coffee table across the sofa, and lay out her blanket and pillow. If there’s one domestic thing I’m good at, it’s tucking someone into bed.
Presley emerges with her shirt unbuttoned down the front and her hair wild around her shoulders. I watch as she strips off her work clothes and then help her tug an oversize T-shirt over her head. She’s still a little unsteady, and I don’t know why, but I find her drunken state oddly adorable.
I place my hands on her hips and help her across the room.
“I can’t have sex with you tonight,” she says, giving me an exaggerated wink once we reach the couch.
“Okay . . .” I’m somewhat taken aback since I didn’t plan on sleeping with her while she was in this . . . state, but still, I’m surprised she just blurted that out.
I have no idea if she’s about to tell me she’s on her period, or maybe that she’s too drunk for sex, which I would agree with, but instead Presley nods.
“Sex confuses things between us. Doesn’t it, Dom?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I let her lean on me as she adjusts the blankets to her liking while I turn that question over in my head.
Barefoot and dressed in a T-shirt that nearly reaches her knees, she looks smaller, and even more innocent somehow. “You won’t buy the cow if you’re already getting the milk for free,” she says quietly.
What in the world?
“Okay,” I say, clapping my hands together once. “On that precious note, I’d say it’s time for bed.”
With my help, Presley sinks down into the soft cushions.
“You okay?” I ask, studying her in the dim light.
She lets out a huge yawn, nodding. “Just tired.”
I should have asked if she’s eaten, but I guess now’s not the time. The best thing for her will be just to sleep this off. And besides, I really do need to get home.
As I sit on the edge beside her, she sighs drowsily.
“You’re so good to me.”
Am I, though? The small, guilty tightness in the pit of my stomach points to no.
“Taking care of you is the least I can do,” I reply, not knowing if I’m even doing that much. Maybe I’m good to her, treating her right the best I know how, but I’m definitely not good for her. Yet I keep finding myself getting more and more entangled.
“You’re good,” she insists again, the words so quiet and slurred with impending sleep that I can barely decipher them.
“I’m glad you think so.”
I stroke her cheek, and she lets out a sleepy mmnn noise. After pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to her forehead, I pull back and see that her eyes are already closed.
Stroking her hair one last time, I murmur, “Don’t fall in love with me, okay?”
She doesn’t reply. I’m not sure if she’s fallen asleep or just not answering me. Then again, I don’t really know whether I was talking to her in the first place, or maybe to myself.
I tug the blanket up over her and rise to my feet while so many unanswered questions dance through my head.
Chapter Fifteen
Dominic
The next day, Oliver and I drive out to check on the progress of several new properties scattered across Washington State. By Friday noon, we’ve made our way to Spokane and stopped for lunch at a pub the locals swear has the state’s best pizza. After debating, we agreed that wasn’t quite true, but they were pretty damn close.
We could have planned something more efficient than a multiday road trip, I suppose, but I don’t often get to hang out with my best friend someplace that’s not the office or my daughters’ tea parties. And if I’m being totally honest, I also wanted a chance to clear my head and figure shit out about Presley, which is hard to do when I see her all day, every day, at work.
“What do you think of the town?” I ask, draining the last of my wheat ale. If this place has one thing going for it, it’s the incredible beer.
Oliver shrugs cheerfully. “Seems pretty nice. It’s no Seattle, but then again, I’m biased. With the airport and all the basketball tourism, I think our new location will get more than enough traffic to remain profitable, even with the first hotel already there. Especially since the cheap real estate keeps our expenses low.”
>
“I see someone read the projections report.”
He scoffs, pretending to be offended. “I’ll have you know I always read everything I’m supposed to.” Then his smile slips a bit. “Listen, can I ask you something?”
Oliver almost never sounds this serious. It instantly makes me suspicious.
“That depends on what it is.”
“I need you to be completely honest with me here, dude.”
“Christ, just spit it out.”
He presses his lips into a flat line, breathing out through his nose, then asks, “Are you doing anything with Presley that you shouldn’t be?”
I hope he can’t see my shoulders tense. “You’ve already asked me that.”
“I know,” he says mildly. “It’s not illegal to ask the same question twice.”
“Well, the answer is no,” I lie.
“Are you sure that’s the story you’re sticking with? I know you want her.”
“What is it with you and this topic?” I snap. “Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me fucking her? How many times are you going to grill me about it?”
He sets his pint glass down a little too hard and a few drops of beer slosh out. “Dammit, Dom, don’t lie to me. I’m your best friend—some would say your only friend—”
“Hey,” I grunt.
“—and your vice president, so I need to know whether anything is happening that might fuck up things between our CEO and our new director of operations.”
Oliver and the rest of my executive staff knew Presley was the right intern for the position, so I don’t think he believes I offered her the job simply because I’m tangled up with her. I wasn’t even the one who recommended her for the spot initially. The others had seen her work, and there was really no question. The rest of the interns did fine, but fine doesn’t win you a midlevel position with a hefty salary and loads of responsibility. Presley was the only candidate who ranked high enough to meet our stringent criteria.
But he remains quiet, waiting me out, and in his stare is a stern warning. “She’s a good girl, Dom. The kind of girl who will want a house in the suburbs with a dog and a lawn and a white picket fence someday. You couldn’t give her that fairy-tale ending, even if you wanted to.”
His words cut unexpectedly deep. “What, I’m not good enough to be Prince Charming?” Shit, I should have kept denying it. Getting offended only proves his hunch.
“Don’t get your panties in a knot. I’m just being realistic here—you and she don’t want the same things in life. Or at least not when it comes to relationships.” His mouth quirks. “You’re two of a kind when it comes to cutting a swath at work, though.”
A heavy sigh escapes me. “I know,” I mutter.
Believe me, I’m all too aware that I’m wrong for her, and it’s not fair to let her wait a single second longer on something that’s never going to happen.
Too bad knowing that fact still doesn’t help me stay away from her. When it comes to her, I’m utterly helpless. The more time I spend with her, the more my doubts and fears creep in, but the harder it is to pull away. Why can’t I find the willpower to get my shit together?
“So, will you promise that you won’t hurt her?” Oliver asks.
I wet my lips. “I . . .”
I have no idea how I’m going to finish that sentence, and I’m grateful to be interrupted by my phone ringing.
I’m much less grateful when I see it’s Francine.
She knows Emilia and Lacey’s daily routine and all their likes and dislikes—probably better than I do, I hate to admit—so it’s rare for her to have a question. Usually, she can handle the unexpected without breaking a sweat.
“What’s up, Fran?”
“Dominic!” Her voice is frantic and . . . weak?
My blood pressure spikes at the sound of toddlers crying in the background.
“Lacey threw up her morning snack. I didn’t call you because I figured it was just the tummy bug that’s been going around, it’ll pass in twenty-four hours with no harm done, and you know me, I’m not afraid of a little mess, so I cleaned it up and put Lacey to bed with some Pedialyte and tried to calm down Emilia, but then suddenly I felt awful, and now I can’t—”
“It’s okay, Francine. I can come home. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Which won’t be very soon at all, seeing as Seattle is almost three hundred goddamn miles away.
“What’s wrong?” Oliver asks, his brow creased.
I cover the receiver to quickly mutter, “Everyone in the entire world caught the stomach flu.”
“—so sorry to call you back home,” Francine is saying, “when you’re out of town like this.”
“It’s okay, Francine. It’s no trouble at all. But it’ll take me a few hours.”
I hang up and yank on my jacket. Of course this has to happen when I’m on the other side of the fucking state. Guess I should be thankful the virus waited until I got back from London.
“Sorry to take the car and ditch you here,” I tell Oliver. “I’d fly, but by the time any seats became available—”
Oliver waves me off amiably. “No worries, man. I’ll do the site visit and rent a car to come back tomorrow morning like we’d planned.”
“Thanks. I owe you a beer . . . no, a bottle of whiskey.” I throw two twenties on the table for my half of lunch and then I’m out of there.
I speed back down the highway as fast as I dare. All I can think of is Francine being sick, struggling to take care of two hysterical toddlers, one of whom is puking and the other probably not far behind, for five whole hours—maybe even six if I hit traffic.
Normally, if he weren’t also in the wrong city, I could ask Oliver to cover for me in this kind of situation. But there is one other person who’s good with my kids, who’s in town and could relieve Francine right away . . .
I hesitate, then chastise myself and call Presley’s desk phone. As soon as she picks up, I frown. I’d kind of hoped she wouldn’t answer, so I wouldn’t have to put her in this position.
“Hey, it’s Dominic.”
“Hi,” she says cautiously, like she’s unsure why I’m calling. She knew I was going to be out of town for a few days.
“Can you do me a huge favor? I’m sorry to even ask this, but I didn’t know who else to turn to. Lacey is sick and Francine got sick too, and I won’t make it back until evening. Would you be willing to watch the kids so she can go home and get some rest?”
Presley sounds exhausted, but she doesn’t even hesitate, God bless her. “Absolutely. I’ll leave right away.”
I let out a long breath weighted with all my stress. “Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver. I’ll make sure you get overtime pay for the rest of your workday.”
“Don’t worry about that. It’s a family emergency—of course I wouldn’t leave you or the girls hung out to dry.”
“Still, I really appreciate you going out of your way.”
“You’re welcome . . . anytime,” she says, and I can picture her smile perfectly. “Have a safe drive. I’ll see you at your place tonight.”
“Thank you for doing this,” I say, navigating my car along the on-ramp to the highway.
“It’s really not a problem. Don’t worry, okay?”
“Okay. ’Bye.”
I hang up, feeling five parts relief to one part disquiet. This is the kind of boundary blurring that made things complicated between us in the first place.
Even so, I can’t let my weird, confusing relationship with Presley stop me from doing what my family needs. If she had said no, that would be one thing, but since she’s in a position to help, I’ll just deal with the awkwardness later.
Chapter Sixteen
Presley
After being let into the building by the security guard, I knock on Dominic’s front door, armed with a bag of tried-and-true holistic medicine: electrolyte drinks, ginger ale, and saltine crackers. My mother always took such good care of us when we were sick, so I made sure to pick
up the necessary ingredients for a settled stomach at the store before I arrived at Dominic’s building.
When I was standing in the grocery store aisle, comparing prices, I remembered I don’t have to worry as much about the cost anymore. I can afford to buy the organic stuff . . . something I’ve never done before. If I were buying for myself, I would have probably gone generic as usual. But for Dominic’s girls? I got the best stuff I could find.
Francine answers the door when I arrive. She is pale as a sheet and gives me a wan smile. “Hello, dear.”
“Hi. I’m here to take over,” I say with a sympathetic nod.
“I hoped as much.” Sighing, she looks positively exhausted as she opens the door and leads me down the hall. “I’m not feeling well myself. I should get home and rest before I make matters worse here. Dominic won’t be happy to find both his girls and an old lady green in the face when he comes home.”
“He just wants to make sure everyone is okay. Including you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have called me.”
Fran gives me a look that says I’m not so sure about that.
I mean, why else would he have called me? I know where his apartment is, and he trusts me with his daughters. After thinking it through, I swallow. I guess that is kind of a big deal.
She smiles warmly at me before she picks up a large canvas bag and an umbrella and heads for the door. “They’re resting in their room. There are sick buckets in the tub, just rinsed. Be careful not to touch anything you don’t have to. Don’t want you getting sick too, dear.”
“Thank you, Fran. Please get some rest.”
When the door closes behind her, I set down my bag and slip off my shoes. I tiptoe to the girls’ room and peek my head inside. I don’t want to wake them if they’re sleep—
“Presley!” Lacey cries.
I guess they aren’t sleeping.
The pale little girl tries to sit up in bed, but she’s too weak and falls back into her pillow with a whimper. Emilia is almost unconscious, probably asleep until her sister’s outburst. Her lips move but her eyes remain closed.
When I get closer, I can hear her saying, “Daddy. Daddy,” and my heart aches. I didn’t know Emilia was sick too.