by Nina West
“Yes, okay.” I want it to last forever. Glancing at the clock, I realize that it’s almost nine at night. We’ve been here for hours. “What do I owe you for this?” Worry gnaws at me. This couldn’t have been cheap.
“Nothing. Wolf covered it,” Tris says, tidying the work station.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I guess he felt pretty damn bad about giving you such a hard time earlier today,” Katie murmurs with a knowing grin.
“What?” I glance around, half expecting him to step out of the shadows. “How does he even know I’m here?”
“We had to get permission. Staff technically aren’t allowed to use hotel facilities but I figured, why not ask, seeing as you’re his personal assistant. I mean, come on! That’s got to get you something, right? So Sally called him and got his okay, seeing as we had no appointments tonight, and he told her to charge it to his account. Tip and all.”
I think my eyes are about to fall out of my head. Henry agreed—and paid—for this? “Seriously?”
Katie shrugs. “I guess he can be a decent asshole, too. And seeing as he’s a decent asshole...” She grabs my hand by the wrist. “Come on. There’s one more thing I have to do.” I trail her as she pulls me down the hall that separates the beauty salon from the rest of the spa, past the trendy little all-white reception area. “Stacy, do you have a waxing room ready?” she whispers to the receptionist. “I need it for ten minutes. Fifteen, max. I swear.”
The exotic Asian girl’s eyes flutter toward the three women sitting on a cream-colored leather bench, sipping from their glasses of champagne as they wait their appointments. “They just walked in,” she murmurs, trying to hide it behind unmoving lips.
“Please!” Katie begs in a whisper.
“Number ten. Be quick!” she hisses.
Katie plants a kiss on her cheek. “You’re the best! Abbi, come.”
“What are we doing in here?” I ask as she closes the door and locks it, enclosing us in a small room with a padded table in the center.
“We are fixing that issue down there.” With a long, pointed finger, she gestures toward my crotch.
My eyes widen as I realize what she wants to do. I open my mouth to say no, but she slaps her hand over my mouth. “Have I led you astray yet, today? Don’t you feel a million times better already?”
“Yes, I do,” I admit. “But I don’t see how doing that will help.”
“What if you hook up with a guy while you’re here? Do you want him to be getting down and dirty and choke on a mouthful of hair?”
I cringe and my face burns bright. “Oh my God.”
“Right? Didn’t you already hook up with someone the first night you were here?”
“No!” I exclaim. “Where did you hear that?” The second the question is out of my mouth, I know the answer. “Tillie.”
“A word to the wise, don’t tell that woman a thing that you don’t want repeated. She’s a gossip piranha. She’ll die without her daily dose of it.”
I sigh. “I didn’t hook up with anyone. I made a huge ass of myself.” Big difference.
“Okay, well, whatever. Everyone’s fucking like rabbits around here. It’s only a matter of time before you are, too. So please let me do this for you. I don’t have to do a full Brazilian. We can start with something less dramatic.”
I can’t believe this is happening. “Why do you want to do this?” I try not to sound suspicious, but I can’t help it. Why is my lesbian roommate so adamant to get my pants off and rip my body hair out?
She levels me with a flat stare. “Relax. I know you know.”
My cheeks burn. “How?”
She slips on a pair of plastic gloves and begins stirring the pot of green wax. “Because I caught you watching on my camera the other night.”
Oh my God. I wonder who’s more mortified. I don’t know what to say. She doesn’t seem bothered, though.
“And don’t worry. I’m not into you. You’re not my type.”
Her words prick me unexpectedly. “Why not?”
“You’re too innocent and sweet. I like my women bossy and confident.”
Hmm. Where have I heard that before?
She laughs when she sees the expression on my face. “Come on. Trust me. The last thing you want to be worrying about is poor grooming when you’re about to get it on.”
I look at the table in front of me, at the wax and strips of paper waiting.
A small voice in my head—the stupid, clueless, dreamy, crushing side that can’t help but fantasize—tells me that I wouldn’t want to worry about poor grooming with Henry.
“What do I need to do?”
“Drop your pants.”
Chapter Nineteen
He’s sitting at the desk with his back to me when I arrive the next morning, already dressed for the day in a navy suit, leaning back in the chair, a pen within his grasp. Multiple voices carry over the speaker phone.
I move quietly for his breakfast dishes, intent on stacking and clearing them for the service staff to pick up when they come at ten to collect dirty linens and such.
“If we have sound research to show that a Wolf will not succeed in Dubai, then give me even one good reason why we should—” Henry’s words drop off. I glance over to find him staring hard at me.
I nod and smile politely, and then quickly move away.
As quickly as my sore crotch will allow me to.
As if being naked from the waist down and splayed across a table under a bright light wasn’t bad enough, when Katie ripped that first strip of hair off me, it took everything in me not to scream. And by that point it was too late to turn back, she so kindly pointed out.
She worked fast, mercifully, and within twenty minutes, I was holding up a mirror between my legs. She’d left a small ginger “landing strip” at the top but otherwise, I’m as bald as Rachel. She even made me spread my cheeks. “You don’t want hair there, either,” she insisted. By that point, I let her do what she wanted, already past the point of mortification.
The aftercare lotion she gave me helped with the redness. She has promised that I’ll have smooth, soft skin within a few days.
I hate to admit it, but she was right. Even if no one ever sees her handiwork, it does make me feel more attractive. And my cotton underwear against my mound feels weird, as if a shield has been removed. If I step a certain way, the material rubs against my clit.
The voices on the other end continue on, a low hum in the background, and I try my best not to disturb Henry’s meeting as I shift around the place, tidying up. I duck into his bedroom and find his bed sheets in a rumpled pile. Again, my mind automatically veers to the thought of him in them.
Don’t let your crush get in the way of your job.
His chastising words yesterday snap me back to reality. Stripping his bed, I gather the sheets, the hamper, and the wet towels, and carry them to the servants’ quarters.
Henry’s gaze follows me the entire time.
By the time I’m done folding and putting away his briefs and socks—even the man’s underwear causes a reaction in me—he’s hanging up the phone.
“Abbi. Come here. Please.”
I take a deep breath, unsure if I’m ready for whatever he’s going to say after yesterday’s verbal public flaying. There’s an edge of contrition in his tone, at least. “Yes?”
He holds out a purple tie. “Will this work?”
His sheepish grin and his rare vulnerability instantly take the edge off my unease. “Yes.”
He waits quietly, tie in hand. He wants me to finish dressing him. I don’t understand why he keeps asking me to do this. He must know how to tie his own tie. Is this a strange power trip thing?
“How did you manage dressing yourself before I got here?” I accept the silky material and our fingers graze. Electricity courses through my limbs.
“Not as enjoyably.” His eyes skate over my hair. “You look different.”
“I wanted to try someth
ing new. Thank you for giving the okay.” I try to avoid his gaze but I can’t help steal a quick glimpse. Blue eyes bore into me. “I planned on paying for it.”
“Consider it part of your compensation package.” He pauses. “For being such a competent assistant.”
“Is that what I am?” I loop the tie around his neck, positioning it under his collar just so. Why do my hands always have to shake when I’m this close to him? Always!
“You’ve made some other changes, too.”
My mouth drops open. How does he know about that?
He nods toward my eyebrows.
“Oh, right.” I exhale with relief, earning his curious frown. “My mama always told me that I’d look silly with thin eyebrows.”
“She was obviously wrong.”
He’s acting so different now. But I guess he always does within these walls, and when we’re in private. It’s when we’re out there that the cold Mr. Wolf persona makes itself known.
I like this version—my private version of him—better. I wish we could hide in here all day.
“Have you called home lately?”
“I’ve had a few calls, but I haven’t talked to my mama since the night I arrived.” It’s a strange question to ask, coming from him. “Why?”
“No reason. I figured you were the type of girl to call home every day.”
“Calling home every day means getting a status report on my ex every day. No thanks.” Not even the mention of Jed can diminish the impact this man has on me when I’m standing this close to him, dressing him. And who thought dressing a man could be such a turn on?
“Still have your mind on him?”
“Not so much.” Not right now. The throb between my legs has begun again. I work quickly, needing to step away from him, to be alone with his calendar and my coffee and not able to do or say something stupid or unprofessional in front of him.
He smirks, like he knows it. “Are you still afraid that you’ll take him back if he comes to his senses?”
“Don’t you mean to ask if I’m still the silly farm girl pining over a spineless dickhead?”
He flinches, and it makes me feel good. Maybe he regrets his unsympathetic words. But why is he getting so personal, all of a sudden? “There. Done.” I run my hand over his tie to line the two ends together, swallowing hard as my fingers graze the hard curves of his chest. I’ve seen it bare enough times to know exactly what’s beneath his shirt. I’m not sure if that’s better or worse. Had I not witnessed him naked, I’d be left only to my imagination, and my imagination couldn’t have come up with something as incredible as the real deal.
Henry reaches up to touch a few strands of my hair and I freeze. I usually have it pulled back in a braid, but today I left it down, so in love with how silky it feels, how it cascades over my shoulders and back. “Thank you,” he finally offers, a rare softness flickering in his eyes.
His gaze drops to my lips, but it’s his exhale I feel skate across them as he sighs. “You understand why I said what I did to you yesterday, right?”
“Because I’m your assistant and people can’t get the wrong idea.”
His hand curls into a fist around my hair at my nape, tugging it softly until my head tips back. “There’s a lot at stake for me here, Abbi. Things are a lot more complicated than you can imagine.” He leans in closer, until his mouth is inches away from mine. So painfully close that a tiny gasp escapes my mouth. I can’t believe this is happening.
This can’t be my imagination or my wishful thinking anymore. Either Henry’s a cruel, cruel man...
Or he’s attracted to me.
The words are on the tip of my tongue, a plea for him to stop torturing me like this. But I stifle those words, afraid he won’t give in, that he’ll choose to dismiss me entirely.
“You are so goddamn sweet.” His lips skim over mine as he whispers, “I don’t even like sweet. I like filthy and unemotional. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m at a pivotal moment in my career and you are fucking with my head.”
“I’m sorry.” I close my eyes, silently begging him to press his lips against mine, to let me slide my tongue against his, taste his mouth. It has to be him making that move; I’ve humiliated myself too many times.
Our hot breath mixes between us, the seconds growing longer as my nipples grow tight and my breasts grow heavy and the throb between my legs becomes unbearable, my panties drenched.
And he hasn’t pulled back.
“I need to know that you can keep your feelings for me in check when we’re in public. Can you do that?”
When we’re in public? My heart pounds inside my chest. “What about in private?”
Henry’s phone begins to ring and he breaks free of me instantly, almost as if the sound was a warning alarm. I nearly topple over with frustration. Taking a step back to grab his suit jacket, he says, “We have our daily status meeting this morning, right?”
“Right. Because of your afternoon sail.” Oh God. Every part of my body is hot now, from my scalp right down to my core.
He lets out a deep exhale, the only sign that the unexpected moment had any effect on him at all. Not the only sign, I realize as he answers his phone and my eyes drift to the prominent bulge at the front of his dress pants.
What the hell just happened?
I trail him out, leaving all my rational thoughts scattered on the floor.
~ ~ ~ ~
The meeting runs exactly the same as it did the last two times, only now I’m out of sorts and struggling to pay attention. I’ve played our moment through my mind a dozen times since our silent walk from the cabin.
Henry nearly kissed me this morning. Why? I know my hair looks good, but I haven’t changed that much.
His knee bobs impatiently, mere inches away from mine. So much closer than he has been in the past. Close enough that I could reach over and touch him. My fingers itch with the urge, but I know that wouldn’t go over well.
What is happening between us?
“Staff update, Belinda?”
“We’ve had a few incidents.”
That helps break the spell that Henry has cast on me. I glance up to find Belinda’s sharp eyes flickering to me.
But it’s Pierre who speaks. “Two nights ago, one of the bar staff members took it upon herself to feed a celebrity guest free scotches all night at the bar.”
Now Henry frowns. “Why?”
“Apparently the guest was upset that she mixed up his scotch for a cheap brand, so she figured she’d ease his anger with a few on the house.”
“How many dollars’ worth?”
“A grand. It was a very rare bottle.”
Henry shakes his head to himself.
Now Belinda steps in. “That’s not all. Security has her going to his hotel room after her shift was over.”
“Bow-chicka-wow-wow,” Ryan mutters absently, the only indication that he’s paying attention as he scans his phone.
“You’ve terminated employment?” Henry asks.
“Not yet. I wanted to—”
He cuts Belinda off with “Get rid of her. Get her on a ferry right away. I can’t have staff making up their own rules, and we’re not running a damn brothel. What’s her name?”
“Rachel Avery.”
Is that my Rachel? I don’t know her last name but she works at the bar. Two nights ago... She wasn’t in her bed when I got up to head to the showers.
My stomach sinks. It must be her.
And Henry just demanded her firing. I glance at him, wondering if he realizes who she is to me, but he simply stares straight ahead, unaffected. “The other issue?”
Belinda’s lips twist, her poor attempt to hide a smile. “This morning, a guest complained that two of our staff were utilizing the spa for their own personal needs last night, while she and her friends were waiting for service.” Her eyes settle on me. “I can’t say that I blame them for being upset.”
My stomach drops. The three women waiting in the lobby when K
atie dragged me into the room last night. Without permission. That was them. This is about me.
Oh my God.
I’m unable to stop myself from reaching for Henry’s knee below the table, squeezing it hard as my heart pounds inside my chest. Henry’s gaze flickers to mine. With my eyes, I plead for him not to press, not to ask for details, not to fire me—or Katie—on the spot. Worse, I’ll die if Belinda has figured out what “service” Katie provided and that becomes a topic of discussion.
He must pick up on my discomfort—anyone would, my face is likely ghostly white—because he dismisses everyone with an, “Okay. That’s all.”
I could kiss him, right here, right now.
“Sally, Belinda, a word.” Everyone gets up. “Wait for me in the hall, Abbi.”
I duck out and round the corner, hugging my iPad to my chest, my legs wobbly, my blood rushing through my ears, throwing my balance off even more. I consider running and never looking back.
“Sally? Is this true?” The walls aren’t soundproof and, thanks to the empty, quiet hall, I can easily hear Henry’s deep voice through the door.
“It’s news to me.”
“It was your assistant, Henry,” Belinda offers, the smug tone glaringly obvious.
“I’m aware that she was in the salon last night. Sally cleared it with me.” Henry’s calm voice gives me a false sense of security.
“I did,” Sally jumps in. “It was dead in there. Not one person waiting. I can’t imagine who would complain about anything.”
“And did Henry clear the use of the esthetics room?”
There’s a long pause. “I wasn’t aware that it extended to that. No,” Sally finally offers.
“They were in there for almost twenty minutes.”
“Who?”
“Abbi and one of the estheticians.”
I squeeze my eyes shut as tears threaten.
“It would have been Katie. She’s the one who orchestrated all this. A roommate, I think. She’s a bit of a live wire.” Sally sighs. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware. I’ll deal with it.”
Oh no. I’ve gotten Katie into trouble. Or worse, fired! Both Katie and Rachel gone?
“Hold off on that, Sally. I’ll get back to you. Give us a minute,” Henry says.