Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(23)

“Sherry, I need a huge favor. I need a total makeover, and I need it stat.” I laugh. “Of course, I don’t need a makeover—you just gave me the perfect shoulder-length haircut.” I eye my Perfect-Man-in-the-Raw. “It’s for a guy. Uh-huh. My company is using him for the face of our new line. It’s top secret. But I need it all—haircut, waxing all that bear chest. Pedicure, manicure. Eyebrows. The works.”

She gives me a slot for tomorrow at noon, during her lunchtime. And I quickly head to the living room and write down the address for James and hand it over after I hang up.

“We have a lot of work ahead. Tomorrow, meet me there at noon. Get your life squared away. You’ll be mine for three months.”

James Rowan then surprises me by pocketing the address and asking, “So for three months, does that mean you’re mine too?”

“I . . .”

I hold my breath, wondering if anyone in their right mind has ever said no to the guy.

“Oh, and . . .” He grabs me by the chin and scrubs his thumb along my lower lip. “You’re not waxing me.”

I try to suppress a shiver from his touch. “Um . . . not me. But someone is waxing you.”

“No one is waxing me.”

I sigh, getting the feeling this guy will be the death of me.





SPA DAY

I’m flipping through the magazines outside the spa when I get a call from Jeanine.

“How goes it with Thor?” she asks me.

“He’s not exactly Thor anymore,” I whisper into the receiver. “I have him at the spa now, and he’s getting more sexified with every passing minute.”

“Seriously? I want pics.”

“He’ll definitely look the part. Whether he can act it . . . I don’t know. He’s stubborn and has absolutely no manners whatsoever.”

“Not to mention the whole caveman thing and that godawful accent.”

I pause. “He’s not dumb,” I say, but she is right about his slow, easy, fuck-proper-speaking accent. “I just . . .”

“Maybe you can get him to keep his mouth shut.”

I frown. “He does not keep his mouth shut, that’s for sure. Especially about . . .”

“About what?”

“He’s always coming on to me. He doesn’t possess a lick of subtlety. Even if it is in the contract, he’s constantly trying to . . . you know.”

She laughs. “Ah. You live a hard, hard life, Lizzy my dear, with a gorgeous man wanting to fuck you. So, are you having trouble keeping it in your pants? Is that what you’re saying?”

I let out a huge breath of air. “Yeah.”

“Well, the contract doesn’t officially prohibit sexual contact. It simply says that he must treat you in a professional manner. But if you were to treat him in a not-so-professional manner, there’s nothing he can do about it.”

“You mean he’s the one in breach of contract? Not me? So I could sleep with him and treat him like crap and demand the million dollars back, and he’d have no recourse?”

“Yep. The contract definitely favors you, sweetie. I told him to run it past his lawyer, but he didn’t have one.”

I rub my eyes. It feels wrong taking advantage of him like that. Dirty. “I don’t even know why I’m having this conversation with you. It’s stupid. It’s against everything my father wants for me. I need to focus on business.”

“You’re contemplating it because he’s hot as fuck,” she says. “If I had that opportunity, girl, I’d be all in too.”

Great. Just another reason for me to want him. Like I need any more.

I end the call and am checking the time when my phone pings.

James: Real men don’t get manis and pedis.

An hour later: They damn sure don’t get facials.

Massages? Really? Infrared?

Where you at, Liz?

Where you at? No. Liz? Hell no.

No response? ’S okay. Can’t talk now anyway. Freezing my balls off in a machine that uses subzero temps. What the fuck are you doing to me? I thought you wanted a man! I’m being treated like a prissy teenage girl.

An hour later: Where are you, Ms. Banks?

Better. He doesn’t sound like a rapper.

I type out a quick response and hit send.

Me: I’m right outside. Where you left me.

James: I’ll never complain about a massage again. Nothing but fond memories here.

I frown at the implication but assume he’s just trying to get a response, something to hint at interest.

Never going to happen, James. I grin, then think of his exposed cock. A tingle settles in my hips and a little lower, which is a little too pleasurable for my liking.

James: She’s great. REAL attentive if you know what I mean.

Me: Sherry is a happily married WOMAN with three kids, a dog, and a white picket fence.

James: Sherry? Psht. She had to go out. I got Wanda. And THANK YOU for putting Wanda ON me.

Wanda? What the . . . ? No. No. HELL no. I booked Sherry for a reason.

Broad has great . . . hands . . .

The dot-dot-dot bit is intentional. She has great boobs, and she’s shown them to everyone. In fact, she’s a breast-implants influencer.

Can you imagine? What does a breast-implants influencer do in her spare time? Flash random guys?