Scandalous: A Filthy Office Romance

by Lola Darling

  He stops adjusting his cufflinks to stare at me as if he’s confused by the question. “Do I need a reason?”

  “No, but maybe I do.” Oops, that sounded a touch too combative. The look he’s giving me says he agrees. “I mean, what will the board think if you bring me? Am I supposed to play your secretary today?” I tease.

  He shrugs. “You’re a highly motivated intern who should take this opportunity with a smile.”

  My face falls at his suddenly cool, businesslike demeanor. I can’t stop myself, and I turn before he sees the disappointment that I feel. This is silly. We’re back into work mode today, that’s all—

  “Hey,” He takes my elbow and turns me to him. “I don’t just want you there. I need you.”

  I pause, but Dom draws me in for a kiss, and my reservations melt away.

  “You get ready,” he says. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  Twenty-two frantic minutes later, I hurry across the lobby, breathing hard. I managed to dry my hair – barely – and pull it back into a braid. With a button down blouse, navy skirt and blazer, I think I can just about pass for professional, if my red cheeks and breathlessness don’t give me away.

  My phone buzzes with a text—a series of them, actually. I set up alerts for any news or blog results about the Rexford, and now a flurry of them arrive. My pulse races as I read them. They’re all positive, enthusiastic, and responding to news of the gala events with excitement. This is excellent!

  I see Dom waiting in a side hallway, talking to some businessmen in suits. I want to tell him the good news, but there’s no time. He greets me with a nod, then ushers me into a conference room. Inside, there’s a group of people already seated around the boardroom table. They look polished, and severe, and, well, European.

  Dominic takes a seat at the head of the table. There’s a space beside him, so I slide into the chair. Without any kind of formal introduction, they begin to talk. Loudly.

  In French.

  I sit there, totally baffled. Whatever they’re saying, it’s a heated conversation. Dominic’s expression hardens, but his voice is even and calm in that rational tone that he has.

  “Gentlemen,” he finally says in English. “I understand your concerns.”

  Immediately, they switch to English. One of the other men is wearing a bow-tie and white linen suit. He scowls across the table. “Then you are aware that Prescott’s team is acquiring a building, just a few blocks away.”

  Prescott wants to put a hotel here?

  “Yes, Bastian, I am. I fail to see the problem.”

  Bastian isn’t placated. “Our company has lost a lot of money from this rivalry. Your investors here in Europe are worried what will happen if the feud spills over to our shores.”

  A murmur of agreement goes up around the table. I feel bad for the position Dominic is in, but I understand. Nothing matters more to a board of directors than cash, and Blaine Prescott has been plucking it from the Rexford’s pockets left and right.

  Slimy weasel.

  “Your concerns are valid, and understand that I take them seriously.” Dominic looks at each person in the room. “But we’re already taking measures to rebuild and strengthen the Rexford brand, at home and abroad. Juliet, why don’t you explain a little about our new direction?”

  Me? I startle, surprised, but Dominic is waiting with an expectant look on his face. So is every other person in the room.

  “Umm…” I try to gather my thoughts. It was hard enough stepping up to lead a meeting back in Chicago, but here, I’m even more out of my depth.

  Deep breaths, Juliet. Just focus on the plans.

  “Well, our strategy covers several departments. First of all, publicity and branding,” I begin, my heart pounding in my chest so loudly I’m sure the room can hear it. “We’re launching an impressive new awareness campaign for The Rexford Chicago, starting with a gala to celebrate the hundred-year anniversary of the hotel’s rebuilding. It’s a first step in fighting back against rival hotels and reminding them about the Rexford’s illustrious past.”

  I pull out my phone, and access the texts and alerts I got just before the meeting.

  “Our PR team notified me moments ago that we have confirmed national television coverage of the event. It will hit every major newspaper, television station, gossip magazine and internet news site in the nation. The world is going to see The Rexford once again as the most exclusive, luxurious destination for their trip: not just in Chicago, but internationally as well.”

  I stop, looking to Dominic for approval. He gives a nod, then picks up from my speech to finish.

  “We plan to do the same for The Rexford Paris. Nothing Prescott offers can compare to our legacy and what we’ve built, and we’re going to make sure everyone knows it.”

  The meeting wraps up quickly. The board members seem placated, at least for now. I wait by the exit, watching Dom smooth-talk the group, shaking hands before he joins me and walks us out to the front of the building. There’s a limo waiting, and I get inside after him. I’m exhilarated and hopeful that we made a difference. But he doesn’t say anything either way.

  It frustrates me, the way he acts like I can read his mind. Especially right now, when I need some reassurance.

  “Where are we heading now?” I ask. “Another meeting?”

  Dominic answers me with a kiss, hot and demanding. He pops a few buttons on my shirt and slides his hand in to cup my breast, feasting on my mouth until I’m dizzy.

  “No meeting,” he whispers against my mouth. “It’s a surprise.”

  He tweaks my nipple between his fingers, grazing my neck with soft kisses and driving me wild with need until the limo suddenly stops.

  I sit up and readjust my blouse before the driver can open the door.

  “So, does that kiss mean you think it went well in there?”

  He watches me re-button my blouse. “You were excellent, Juliet. It did go well. You have a gift for keeping your cool in high-stress situations, and I like knowing you’re on my team.”

  I flush with pride, but then remember those incriminating photos from the Drake that have yet to surface. One look at those pictures and Dom might think twice about whose team I’m on. I push the thought away and try to smile as the door opens and the driver helps me out of the car.

  Outside, I look around. We’re on a narrow street filled with old, expensive-looking stores. They have gleaming windows and discreet signs, spelling out familiar designer names in gold script. Hermes, Gucci, Prada.

  “What are we doing?” I ask, confused.

  He gives me a smile. “Shopping. You deserve a reward for your performance earlier. Anything you want, ma belle.”

  I don’t have a chance to ask if he means my performance in the boardroom – or the bedroom. Before I can object, Dominic leads me into the first boutique. A well-dressed woman meets us and immediately showers me in a flurry of French.

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter, embarrassed. “I don’t—”

  “But of course.” She switches to English. “Come this way.” She leads me to a luxurious dressing room. The light blue walls are lined with displays of gorgeous formal gowns.

  Dominic takes a seat on a plush settee and folds his hands. He’s enjoying this, and I’m completely overwhelmed. She begins flipping through stunning gowns, chattering mostly to herself. Where would I ever wear one of these? The gala, perhaps.

  If I were going. But am I?

  This feels like high school prom all over again.

  I haven’t been invited, and I won’t just assume that I am. I’m trying very hard not to assume anything about, well, anything, when it comes to Dominic.

  She holds dresses up, but I try to discourage her. I can already tell, these cost more than my annual salary. Silk, satins, incredible velvet with a swooping neckline and a hem that splits up the thigh for days…

  I look at Dominic. He’s nodding. “Are you sure?” I check.

  “Anything you want,” he says, like an
order.

  Well, I guess I don’t have a choice.

  I try on several gowns, modeling each for Dominic. The look on his face excites and humbles me. The way he’s staring at me with heat in his eyes, appreciating me…making me feel beautiful. Nothing works for a self-esteem boost than the hungry gaze of a handsome lover.

  After the gowns, the assistant brings out dresses, shoes, bags. It’s a dizzying array of glamor, like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, and I can’t help but be swept up. I don’t say a word, but Dominic nods in approval over certain outfits, and murmurs to the staff who rush to pack things up in tissue paper and elegant boxes. Soon, we’re emerging from the store with a whole mountain of bags. I’m riding high by the time we get into the limo.

  “I don’t know what to say, Dominic. Thank you.”

  “Actually, you didn’t get nearly enough.” He grins. “When I said anything, I expected you to go a little crazy.”

  “This isn’t crazy?” I look around at the bags and laugh. “Any more, and we wouldn’t be able to fit them on the plane!”

  “One of the perks of a private jet,” Dominic agrees. “No excess baggage fees.”

  Dominic pulls a small gold box from his inside pocket. “To a job well done.”

  My pulse races as I take the box from him and untie the delicate ribbon. I lift the top, but I pause before opening it completely. Everything he’s done for me, with me, has already been life-changing.

  I kiss him lightly on the lips. “Thank you, Dom. I love it.”

  He looks confused. “You haven’t even opened it yet.”

  “Exactly.”

  I finally lift the box and remove the paper. “Oh my God!” My mouth falls open. Inside, a diamond bracelet twinkles at me, set with tiny square-cut emeralds. The design has a delicate, antique quality to it, and my thoughts flicker again to the costume party at the Rexford.

  Dom lifts it out and clasps it around my wrist. “What do you think?”

  I’m surprised to see a flicker of uncertainty on his face, as if he’s not sure I’ll like it.

  “It’s perfect,” I whisper, overcome. “I love it.” I lean over and wrap my arms around him, resting my head against his chest. He holds me tenderly, and my heart feels so full it could burst.

  We drive straight to the airport. Our things were packed up from the hotel, and are already loaded onto the jet when we arrive. I wish we could stay in Paris longer, but he’s needed back in Chicago – and so am I. The big nineteen twenties themed party is at the Rexford tomorrow night, and I have a ton of coordinating to do in order to make sure it goes off without a hitch.

  I fall asleep on the flight as soon as we take off, but wake sometime later. Dom is dozing in the seat beside me, leaning to drape an arm around my shoulders. I move a strand of hair away from his eyes and let my touch linger, enjoying this moment of him so vulnerable and defenseless.

  He’s a good man.

  Kind when he thinks no one is looking, hardworking. Dedicated to his staff and his family legacy. It’s not his money or his status that have taken ahold of my heart like this…hell, it’s not even the amazing sex.

  It’s him. Only him.

  Smiling, I lay back down and snuggle into him, drifting back to sleep. It only feels like minutes before the flight attendant wakes us and we land in Chicago. We’re both still sleepy for the limo ride into the city, though he seems to recover better than I do. I guess he has more experience jet-setting around the world.

  “Do you mind if we make a quick stop at the hotel before I drop you off at home?” Dominic asks. “I need to check on some things as soon as possible.”

  “Sure,” I yawn. “Whatever you need.”

  The limo pulls in to The Rexford, and Dominic cups my face. “I hope you enjoyed yourself,” he murmurs with a kiss.

  “I really did.”

  His lips travel to my ear. “We’ll have to repeat Paris sex very, very soon.”

  “God, I hope so.”

  We keep a slight distance between us as we walk into the hotel. I have to remember, we’re not on vacation anymore. I’m back to being the intern now, but I don’t mind. I have the sweetest memories of being his lover to hang onto.

  “I’ll wait down here,” I tell him. From where I’m standing, the plush couches in the lobby look great to my tired eyes. “Take as long as you need.”

  Dominic begins to say something, but then he looks past me. The color drains from his face. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  But I don’t need to wonder for long. A stunning blonde saunters across the lobby, decked out in a white linen dress and massive sunglasses. She pauses in front of us, and slowly looks over the dark lenses at me. “Well, isn’t this interesting.”

  I look at Dom, confused. The woman lets out a melodious laugh. “Oh, poor darling, he hasn’t told you anything. Typical Dom, always likes to keep the upper hand.”

  She holds out a hand to me, and I can’t help noticing that the diamond bracelet glittering on her wrist looks awfully familiar.

  “I’m Lillian. Dominic’s ex-wife.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ex-wife? What the hell!

  I’m still reeling from her bombshell when Dominic steps forward. “Emphasis on the ex,” he growls.

  “Always one for the details.” Lillian keeps her sunny smile.

  Dom isn’t so friendly. “What do you want, Lillian?” He glares at her.

  Lillian flips her hair, but her gaze doesn’t move from my face. “You know, you look very familiar…”

  I recover. “Umm, I work here. Maybe you’ve seen me on the front desk?”

  She considers that, then shakes her head. “No, that’s not it.”

  Dominic sighs impatiently. “Did you need something?”

  Lillian tuts at him. “I know you’re busy running the universe, but we have some final details to work out for the divorce.”

  “Everything is settled. It’s over.”

  “I thought so, too. But you know how lawyers are, Dominic. Always hiding something until the last minute.” Lillian shrugs, as if to say it’s out of her hands.

  He scowls. “Fine.”

  The elevator arrives, and Lillian steps inside, holding the doors. “Are you coming?” she asks him lightly.

  He takes a step towards her and my heart sinks. Dominic finally looks at me. “I won’t be long.”

  “No,” I say, my emotions finally firing to life. “Take as long as you need. I’m not waiting.”

  “Juliet—” he starts, but I just glare and turn on my heel. I need to get away from him while I still have some composure, before I collapse in tears from the betrayal of it all.

  The distance to the exit feels like the longest walk of my life. But he doesn’t follow.

  I’m on my own.

  I go to the basement to collect my car, somehow holding back my tears, my hurt and my rage until I get home to the apartment.

  Callie flings the door open before I’ve even turned the key. I look at her and a tear rolls down my face.

  “Oh honey.” She gathers me into her arms and pulls me inside. “What did he do?”

  “It’s more like what he didn’t do. Like tell me he used to be married.”

  Callie pats my back and sighs. “That asshole!”

  I wipe my eyes and flop down onto the couch. Emily comes out with a plate of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. She looks upset. “I was making these to welcome you home.”

  “Bring ‘em here,” I demand. “I need to eat my feelings.”

  The three of us jam onto the couch with the cookies and I tell them everything.

  “So, he’s divorced, or not?” Callie asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. She made it sound like maybe it wasn’t final.”

  “So it’s recent, too.” Emily looks grim.

  “I don’t know what hurts more.” I mope, “That he was possibly still married, or that he didn’t think enough about us
to tell me about it. I mean, isn’t that something you’d mention sometime? Especially on a ten hour flight to Paris! It’s not as if he didn’t have an opportunity.”

  Emily puts a hand on my shoulder. “You care about him, don’t you?”

  I shrug, but I know they see right through me. “A little. A lot.” Callie gives me a look. “OK, I’m completely head over heels for him,” I finally admit. “I told myself to keep it professional. But I just…I couldn’t help but be swept up in it all. He’s not like any other man I’ve ever met. As cliché as that sounds.”

  “But now what?” Emily asks.

  “I don’t even know.” I think for a minute. I can’t go back to not caring about him. It’s not that easy. I can’t block him completely out since I’m still his intern.

  So where does that leave me?

  The doorbell rings and we all look at each other.

  Emily gets up. “You better not have ordered pizza, Callie. I’ve got lasagna in the oven!”

  She opens the door wide. A man stands there with a long white box tied in a red ribbon.

  “Juliet Evans?”

  I brush crumbs off my shirt and get to my feet. “That’s me.”

  He hands me the box. Callie and Em peek over my shoulder. There’s a card on the top, and I open it right there in the doorway.

  “What’s it say?” Emily asks.

  I’m sorry.

  It’s written in Dominic’s flowing cursive. It’s only two little words, but I read them again and feel a surge of regret. Does he mean it, or is this another lavish gesture that won’t mean anything in the end?

  “Oh, he’s smooth. See what’s in the box!” Callie impatiently pulls it open.

  It’s one of the dresses from the boutique in Paris. Laying on top is a diamond necklace that matches my bracelet.

  Callie snorts. “Girl, you must be really good in bed.”

  I know I should laugh off the attempt to buy my favor, but my emotions are a mess. Then there’s the sound of footsteps on the stairs. The delivery guy moves aside, and then Dominic is in front of me, filling the doorframe.

  My heart flutters in my chest.