Boyfriend for Hire(56)

“I’m just saying, I wouldn’t blame you if working here made it hard to focus.”

She sits up straighter and crosses her arms, the upper curves of her breasts just barely peeking out of the neckline of her blouse.

The ache in my gut grows stronger. What the hell is wrong with me?

“I don’t need to pay for sex,” she says quickly, “if that’s what you’re implying.”

“If that’s what you think this profession is about, you might as well be some airhead intern.”

Sienna scoffs. “Oh, like what you guys do here is so noble.”

“You don’t think a woman prioritizing her own pleasure and happiness isn’t a worthwhile pursuit?”

“Not when it’s exploited for monetary gain,” she snaps, seemingly pleased with herself.

“Ask any of our clients about their experiences with us, and I assure you, ‘exploited’ is the last word they would use to describe it. Come to think of it, we have the paperwork to prove it. Let’s add filing client-satisfaction forms to your to-do list.”

She pauses, a pretty blush creeping over her cheeks and chest.

On a roll now, I take a breath and continue. “I’m sure you’re professional enough to handle reading all about how pleased your brother’s clients were to take a ride on his . . .”

She holds up both hands. “All right. I, uh, better get to work, then.” Grabbing the files I dropped on her desk, she quickly opens the first one and scans the page, the blush lingering on her rosy cheeks.

I return to my desk, feeling satisfied that I won that round. As I sit down, a new email comes in, arriving directly into the EVERYTHING ELSE folder Sienna set up for me. It’s Charlie, reminding me for the twenty-seventh time that my deadline for the book is quickly approaching.

“Fuck,” I mutter quietly, but clearly not quietly enough.

Sienna nervously raises her head, chewing on her lower lip with her brows knit together. “Did I do something wrong with your email?”

“No, it’s not that. My agent, Charlie, has just been all over me lately about this book deal.”

Her brows wing upward. “You’re writing a book?”

“Supposed to be. The finished manuscript is due in four weeks, and I’ve got nothing. Well, not nothing. But I don’t have much.”

“Why don’t you ask them to extend the deadline? Or just back out? I’ve seen your finances, and it looks like you’re doing fine.”

“Can’t. Already spent the advance.”

“How responsible of you.” She rolls her eyes.

Jesus. This girl. She doesn’t cut me one ounce of slack.

“On my mom.”

Sienna must really think I’m an idiot who can’t handle his money. At her puzzled expression, I explain.

“I’m trying to move her closer to me, and I already put a down payment on her new place.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize . . .”

“Don’t be.”

I’m about to turn and put my back to her again so I don’t have to feel like I’ve been sucker punched every time I look at her, but I’m struck with an idea. My mouth starts moving before my brain has processed what I’m about to say.

“Actually, maybe you could help me with the manuscript. Ryder said you were good with this kind of stuff.”

Sienna side-eyes me. “I stopped writing essays for other people in, like, the eleventh grade.”

“No, I don’t need that. I know what I want to say. Maybe you could read some of it, point out where it’s lacking, help me create a writing schedule so I can stay on track, things like that.”

“In that case, Ryder’s right. I’m your gal.” She smiles, and the ache returns.

Dammit, Case. Get your fucking head on straight.

“So, what about you?” I ask. “I know this job isn’t your be-all and end-all. I think Ryder’s exact description of you was something like ‘the smartest thing since sliced bread.’”

She shifts uncomfortably, a slight smile flickering for a second before it disappears. “Of course Ryder said something like that. I think I just had an easier time in school than he did. I studied business in college, but by the time I got to the end of it, I wasn’t sure about what I wanted to do with my degree. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy it, it’s just . . . never mind.”

“Tell me.”

She restacks the folders on her desk, not meeting my eyes, but doesn’t say anything.

Prompting her, I ask, “So, what do you want to do instead?”

“I’m not really sure yet. I just know I want to be doing something I actually enjoy.”

“Like helping keep a male escort on track writing his book on the importance of female pleasure in the bedroom?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

We both laugh, and she shakes her head, then tosses her blond locks over her shoulder before returning to her paperwork.

Smart, beautiful, and driven? The more I get to know Sienna, the easier it is to forget that she’s my best friend’s little sister.

It was a relief when she agreed to help me with my book. If her performance so far has made one thing clear, it’s that time management is her jam. And it’s only her third day.