The Two Week Arrangement (Penthouse Affair, #1)

Presley

Sliding into the buttery-soft leather seat the next morning, I huff out a sigh. It took some convincing, but in the end, Dominic won, and I agreed to accompany him to Roger’s waterfront home on the condition that it was only for one night.

Dominic agreed easily with my terms, and so here we are, his shiny black limo parked at the curb in front of my building. He chats with the chauffeur as my overnight bag is placed in the trunk, and then he slides in beside me.

As the driver pulls back into traffic, Dominic turns to me, his expression serious. “Are you okay?”

I nod and stuff my phone into my purse. “I’m fine.”

He’s a puzzle I’m still trying to solve. A CEO and billionaire who sometimes acts every inch the dominating powerhouse the media makes him out to be. And then other times, my favorite times, he’s softer somehow, transforming into a twenty-something single guy you’d meet at the corner bar for a beer and a slice of pizza. Part of the fun on these little excursions, I’m coming to realize, is that I never quite know which version of him I’m going to get.

The breathless feeling in my chest grows with each of his worried glances. What will happen later? What do I want to happen later?

We head toward the highway, and Dominic presses a button to raise the privacy screen, separating us from the driver.

He runs one hand over the back of his neck, looking a little uncertain. “I’ve been thinking . . . we have some work to do. If Roger’s going to believe we’re a couple, we need to get our stories straight. Make it look like we know each other well.”

“Makes sense,” I reply, nodding. “Well, we’ve got two hours to kill right now. Let’s talk.”

I smooth my dark-washed jeans over my thighs and feel a little thrill at the way his gaze flicks down for a second. I’m dressed casually in jeans, a bright red sweater, and tall boots. I have a black cocktail dress packed into my overnight bag since I’m not sure what to expect later or how formal things will be.

“Perfect. You go first.” His mouth twitches in a small smirk. “And nothing professional, I already know all that.”

I think for a minute, acutely aware of his focus on me. I don’t leave much room in my life for hobbies, friends, or anything else besides work. Unearthing ugly family history seems too intimate for this stage. And, oh God, the idea of admitting my embarrassing lack of a love life . . . Yeah, no, that won’t be happening.

“Well,” I say slowly, “I live with my best friend, Bianca. I like to read.” I hesitate. “And you’re probably going to laugh at this, but my grandma taught me to read tarot cards, and it’s still a hobby of mine.”

“I won’t laugh. But I admit, I didn’t expect that from someone so left-brained.” He leans back, setting his ankle on his opposite knee. “Can you predict my future?”

Although his light tone is amused, it’s not derisive, and I’m relieved that he isn’t judging my little hobby.

“That’s not quite how it works. It’s more like a decision-making tool—at least, that’s how I use it. To guide you toward a path when you’re unsure.”

He considers this. “Interesting. So you already know the answer deep down, and the cards are just a tool you use to dig for it.”

“Exactly.” Feeling bolder now, I say, “Okay, it’s your turn now. Tell me something special about yourself. Something secret.” I’m excited to be learning more about the Dominic that people in the office don’t get to see.

He pauses, his chin resting on his hand while he considers my question. Then he says, “I was a super nerd until I hit puberty.”

I laugh in delight. “Oh, really? Tell me more.” I scoot a little closer, eager to hear more.

“Ha, no thanks. I think I’ll pass on those details.”

“Come on, don’t be like that. I like hearing about the things no one else knows.”

“You mean my flaws?” He shrugs. “I have loads of them.”

“Doesn’t seem like it from where I’m sitting.” Which is currently almost touching him.

“Trust me.” He points to himself. “Riddled with shortcomings.”

I can’t help but chuckle. The man is in a ten-thousand-dollar suit, wearing custom-made cuff links and a vintage Rolex, and he’s also self-deprecating. I think I just fell a little harder.

“So, what’s the big secret, then?” I ask. “The thing you don’t want people to know?”

He looks lost in thought, his gaze drifting to the window for a moment while he thinks. And when he speaks, his tone is cooler. “I’m really particular about my coffee.”

I raise my brows. “Your coffee.”

“I’m a coffee snob.” He shrugs.

I roll my eyes. “That’s it? That’s the huge reveal? The extent of your big, dirty secret?”

Dominic smirks again. “For now. Why? What about you? Any skeletons in the closet I should know about?”

I consider his question. It’s insane. And hilarious. Does he really expect me to answer?

“Maybe?” I say, my voice betraying me. My lack of confidence is obvious.

He chuckles. “Spill it, intern.”

“Intern?” I exhale sharply and place a hand over my heart in mock outrage. But the secret truth is that I like his silly nickname. I’ve felt like anything but an intern lately. Everything has felt so intense and real.

“I’m sorry,” Dominic says, his voice turning serious. “To be honest, you’re nothing like any intern I’ve ever met before. You’re . . .”

When he pauses, I find myself leaning forward, eager to hear what he’s going to say.

“Smart. No . . .” His eyebrows scrunch together. “You’re brilliant. Your SAT scores, your GPA . . .” He waves a hand in the air. “Never mind. You’re just . . . different. And very driven.”

“Thank you.” I smile and duck my head, but there’s no need to be modest. I graduated college at the top of my class with a 4. 0 average. I’ve had multiple internships at major corporations. Bianca’s right—I’m pretty much a badass. It’s just nice to know Dominic sees me that way, instead of just a pretty face.

A smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. “You know,” he says, his deep voice lingering over the words in a way that’s decidedly sexy, “to pull this weekend off, we also need to be comfortable with touching each other.”Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

My eyebrows lift. “Touching each other?”