The Two Week Arrangement (Penthouse Affair, #1)

Dominic

Not all of her hair fits into the thin band tying up Presley’s ponytail. A few pieces have escaped, framing her face. I can tell she’d rather it all fit neatly back by the way she efficiently tucks the strands behind her ears. She has delicate features, and her petite frame sits perched on the chair just outside my office. It’s a little more distracting than I realized it would be.

After I left her to review our business history, she pulled her hair back and dug straight in, a look of concentration on her face.

I emailed her the necessary files for her perusal—who we deal with, how our staff is organized, which department handles which process, all the basics. There’s no better way for her to learn than to read, and I have too many emails in my in-box to walk her through it all. She doesn’t seem like the type who needs hand-holding anyway.

Even from across the office, I can see her brow furrowed in deep concentration. I realize I haven’t read a single email since I sent her the files. I’ve been too preoccupied with staring at my newest hire.

Goddamn.

Presley really does look young. She can’t be much older than legal drinking age. I pull up her résumé on my computer and skim over it for the second time today.

Brown graduate. A rival. I smirk.

GPA of 4. 0. To be expected.

Won a national coding competition. Interesting.

She’s impressive, to say the least, but not any more so than the other three candidates. Then, why was it that as soon as she walked in the room, I wanted her as my personal intern?

I swallow the obvious answer with a sip of scalding coffee. I’m attracted to her.

Perhaps appointing her as my personal intern wasn’t the wisest idea. It’s obvious that my dick was making the executive decisions this time. I can’t afford distractions. Then I realize it’s not too late to change my mind.

I begin drafting an email to Beth.

Beth –

Please reassign Presley until further notice. Not the right fit. Perhaps trade with Oliver?

Dom

“I’m done.”NôvelDrama.Org: text © owner.

Before I can click send, Presley is standing in my doorway, waiting for my response.

She’s done? “Already?”

“Yes.”

That’s hard to believe. I gave her dozens of files containing documents of thirty or more pages each.

I close out of the email without sending it as she walks closer. “How could you get through those so quickly?”

“I reached out to Beth last week and asked for any learning materials. She shared all the ones that aren’t your private office affairs with me. I was able to get through the confidential documents in an hour. I figure my time here shouldn’t be spent learning how to spend my time here. I’d rather be of use to you.”

Wow.

“I’m impressed,” I say with a genuine smile. Is that a blush I see on her cheeks?

“It’s basic preparatory work. Where should we begin?”

In moments, Presley is standing over my shoulder as I show her the online database she’ll be using to access our business files. I explain to her our current hotel operations across the nation, not worrying about simplifying any language. She asks the right questions and admits when she’d like a recap on a particular subject. By the end, she offers to compile a spreadsheet of our favorite food and beverage vendors to compare prices. I’m sold.

“I’ll just need to track down the account numbers so I can make the inquiries and get you some quotes. I should have it done in the next forty-eight hours.”

“This would have been done already, but our last director of operations had a sudden exit from the company—” I stop short. No need to explain yourself to a twenty-two-year-old intern.

“Understandable. It’s no trouble,” she says.

Presley hasn’t cracked a smile this entire conversation. I find myself wondering what her face would look like with those full pink lips curled up. I’ve seen her cheeks go rosy more than once now. What will it take to make her smile?

When she leans over my desk to pick up a folder with her name on it, I’m struck by the scent of her shampoo, vanilla and almond. It’s classic, simple, understated. Just like her.

Fuck. Get it together, Dom. I take a sobering breath.

I’ve kept my entire personal life hidden from the public—my clients, employees, and the press. I can certainly keep my attraction to one woman in check. And I won’t be trading her with Oliver on the basis of my horniness. Discriminating against someone in the workplace based on their looks isn’t a practice I support. Even if her looks are wildly distracting. She’s obviously more than qualified.

“Dominic?”

My eyes snap up to hers. Shit. “What did you say?”

“I asked if this is my first assignment.” She’s holding the folder that bears her name.

“It is.” Inside the folder is my proposal for a new construction staffing dispersal. More people on neglected floors, less wasted energy on the floors that just need remodeling. It’ll be a large expense, but worthwhile in the long run.

“When can we discuss it?”

“It’s all in there.”

“I believe that, but—apprentice to mentor—I’d like to spend a little time together,” she says, and her face flushes. “To discuss the p-proposal. Of course.”

“Sure,” I say, fighting a smile. What is with this woman and her odd way of saying things? Her repeated use of sexual innuendo is apparently unintentional, which makes it all the more amusing.

“Five minutes of your time tomorrow, then? Unless you can go longer.”

“I can go for as long as you’d like,” I reply smoothly.

The tomato color flooding to her cheeks is immediate. I can still tease, right?

“Great.” And just like that, she’s off to her desk and I’m alone again.

I don’t realize how much fun I’ve been having until Presley is out of sight.

I don’t usually let my guard down with women. Any therapist would have a field day dissecting that one, but to me, it’s pretty straightforward.

My train wreck of a relationship with Emilia and Lacey’s mother made it incredibly difficult to trust anyone. I recall how I felt when she first told me she was pregnant. I experienced a euphoric sensation of flying when she said they were twin girls, followed by a swift, gut-churning swoop of falling when she said she wasn’t going to keep them. I had no family left, and she was going to take away the only chance I’d have?

In all my life, I had never begged anyone before that moment. It was her choice, she insisted, which I couldn’t argue with. But I could offer her a deal.

I would fund her travels to Prague and the other hidden gems of the world she longed to discover, and she would carry my daughters. I would give her everything she ever wanted from life—a world of adventure and spontaneity. And in return, I, and my unborn daughters, would stay out of it. Within the week, the papers were signed, and custody of Emilia and Lacey was all mine. Within months, I had twin daughters, and their mother was never to be seen again.

The coffee in my mug has gone cold. How long have I been sitting here, dredging up the past? And all because of what, my attraction to some twenty-two-year-old?

It occurs to me that that was our age when Sara and I first met. That’s right. It’s muscle memory. My body is simply remembering what I felt like as a horny twenty-two-year-old. Maybe Oliver was right, and I’m overdue for some female company. But that can be easily remedied.

An email pops up on my screen, a short reminder from Beth that I have a business dinner tomorrow night. He’s an important client and potential investor in Aspen Hotels. Perfect.

Oliver loves to give me a hard time about paying for sex. He can never understand why I can’t just pick up a woman at a bar, like any other bachelor our age. The truth is that I can. That’s easy enough. But it’s not the sex I’m paying for. I’m paying for her to leave after. I don’t have time for anything more. Not while I’m busy playing daddy and running my empire.

I pick up my cell phone and dial the number by memory.

“Thank you for calling Allure, the solution to your evening’s desires. If you know your party’s direct extension—”

A few buttons later, a silky female voice answers. “Hello, Dominic.”

“Hello, Gia. How are you today?”

She chuckles in that dark, sultry way of hers. “I’m well, thank you. Reading some fascinating applications at the moment. Yourself?”

“I’m well, but I could use a companion for Friday night’s dinner plans.”

“Absolutely.” Tapping sounds come over the line as she inputs my request. “Tell me what you need.”

“Someone intelligent, classy. Someone I can show off to a longtime client and potential investor.”

“Always,” she says, practically purring. “We’ll line up a girl for you in no time at all. I don’t have to remind you of our rules . . .”