The Two Week Arrangement (Penthouse Affair, #1)

I won’t let myself spiral with worry right now. Endorphins are still pulsing through my system, and I’m determined not to worry. At least, not yet. I’m sure there will be time for regrets and examination of my behavior come morning.

Dominic gazes down at me fondly, touching my cheek one last time as he holds my gaze. I see the hint of a smile on his lips, and then he swings his legs over the side of the bed and tugs on his black boxer briefs. “I think I agree. Roger the others were about to call it a night too.”

We dig our toiletries out of our suitcases. With two sinks, the bathroom is roomy enough for us to stand side by side while we brush our teeth. Normally, I’d be a little self-conscious, but it feels natural. Comfortable. Almost . . . domestic. I push away the dangerous thought.

After changing into pajamas, I slip beneath the covers, wiggling a little to enjoy their soft, silky slide. Everything feels so good—I’m still languid and sensitive from earlier. Though I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that our guest bed comes equipped with linens worthy of a five-star hotel.

Dominic glances up from his suitcase to shoot me a soft smile that I don’t dare call affectionate. “You look comfortable. Sleep well.”

“You’re not coming to bed?”

He pulls out his laptop and sets it on the desk. “In a bit. There’s a little more work I wanted to get done first.”

I’m a little disappointed, but mostly just amused. How typical of a workaholic CEO. “Good night, boss.”

He chuckles as he turns off the bedside lamp. “Good night, intern. Let me know if the light bothers you.”

Although the night has worn me out, for a little while I let my gaze rest on him, silhouetted by the soft glow of his screen. He really is an amazing man. Hardworking to a fault, sweet when he wants to be, a skilled and generous lover . . . even though he’s made it clear that he doesn’t believe in love.

My eyes grow heavier. I drift off to the quiet noise of tapping keys.

• • •

I’m woken by Dominic nudging me and saying something.

“Wha . . . ?” I squint up at him in the bright morning sunlight.

“We have to go,” he says insistently.

I rub my eyes with one hand and grope for my phone with the other. “What time is it?”

“It’s after ten.” Before I can ask, he adds, “You slept through breakfast. I had Roger’s valet put a few muffins in the limo for you to eat while we drive.”

Wow, I almost never sleep this late. I guess he wore me out last night.

I’m about to crack a joke about his prowess when I finally get a good enough look at him to realize something’s off. Dominic is unshaven, and his hair is disheveled. His face is tense, his brow furrowed and lips tight.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. It must be bad if he’s this frazzled.

“There’s been an incident. We need to get back to the city ASAP. Hurry and get dressed. I’ve already said good-bye to Roger for us.”

An incident? I have no idea what he means, but I sense now’s not the time to ask any more questions. I roll onto my feet, then get dressed and pack as fast as I can.

Outside on the driveway, the limo is waiting, its engine running. As soon as we’re seated and the door is shut, Dominic is on the phone before the chauffeur has even hit the gas.

“How’s Emilia?” His tone is low and urgent, his expression grave. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there was fear in his eyes.

The voice on the other end sounds like a woman, but I can’t quite make out her words.

I try to eat my muffin without getting crumbs all over the upholstery or making it too obvious that I’m straining to eavesdrop. When he said incident, I assumed it was of a business nature. This sounds like something much more personal.

“What did the doctor say?” he asks.

He listens for several minutes, during which his expression gradually loosens.Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

“Thank God.” He pulls his hand down over his mouth, suddenly looking much older than his twenty-six years. “So you’re still at the hospital?”

The woman says something else.

“Okay. I’ll go home, then. But first, can you explain one more thing to me?” A silent pause. “When she fell, just where the hell were you?”

I almost flinch at the steel in his voice. Whoever is on the other end, she’s in deep shit.

Several more minutes pass of her talking.

Finally, he sighs. “I guess it couldn’t be helped. See you in . . .” He checks his watch. “An hour and forty-five minutes.” He hangs up.

I ache to ask him what’s going on, but he’s staring out the window with a brooding expression, clearly not in the mood to be bothered. Confused, I fold my muffin paper into a smaller and smaller square as I try to piece together what I’ve overheard.

Who the heck is Emilia? I know from my research that Dominic had a father and an older brother. His mother passed away when he was a toddler, and I’ve never heard about any other important woman in his life. Emilia’s falling made Dominic panic, so unless she plummeted off a building or something, she’s probably either very young or very old. A little sister? A grandmother? An elderly aunt?

Whoever she is, the woman on the phone got this Emilia medical attention right away, and it seems like she’ll be okay. I’m glad to hear that much. But I still burn with curiosity, and I hope all my questions will be answered when we get to Dominic’s place.