The Two Week Arrangement (Penthouse Affair #1)(11)

Out of nowhere, he says, “So, Dominic, huh? What’s it like working directly with the big bad CEO himself?”

I finish chewing and consider his question. “His approach to business seems pretty bold. He also has really high standards. Which I respect, because he holds himself to those standards, too. I saw his calendar once, and he’s scheduled within an inch of his life. But it’s hard work to keep up with how demanding he is, and sometimes he can be a little too blunt.”

Don’t forget hotter than sin, my libido nags.

“Man, that sounds intense.” Jordan sucks his teeth in sympathy. “I wonder why we got assigned the way we did. Like you and Dominic—you think maybe he picked you to mentor because you’re hot?”

Excuse me? Hell no, I did not just hear that.

“What the hell kind of question is that?” I just barely stop myself from shouting at him, and the words come out as a strangled hiss. I can’t believe this guy was starting to grow on me.

Jordan’s eyes go huge. “Oh shit, I didn’t mean it like that! I’m sure you got this internship fair and square. You definitely know your stuff. Dominic’s the one I wonder about. Y’know, with his . . . quirk.”

I throw my hands up in exasperation. “What are you talking about?”

“Huh? You didn’t know? Haven’t heard the rumors yet?”

“What rumors?” I ask, lowering my voice and leaning in close.

Jordan grins crookedly at the knowledge he knows something I don’t. “That he pays for sex,” he whispers back.

My mouth drops open. “S-seriously?”

“I know, right? He doesn’t seem like the type. But I heard it straight from Oliver, so I don’t think it’s just an empty rumor.” Jordan tosses back a few fries and chews noisily.

“You heard that straight from Oliver?” It seems highly unlikely for the vice president to be gossiping about his own boss. Or unprofessional at the very least.

Jordan just shrugs. “Well, overheard, I guess you could say. He was taking a personal phone call when I happened to walk into his office for our meeting.”

I stare down at my food like it can provide me with answers. But holy hell, am I supposed to act normal around my very hot boss with this indecent knowledge rattling around in my head? I’m not supposed to know this much about his private business.

I grab the rest of my lunch, mumbling, “I just remembered some emails I have to send. I’m going to finish eating at my desk.” My cheeks burn as I stalk off.





Chapter Five


Dominic



I can’t focus. My fingers drum an unsteady beat on my desk as I listen to Oliver rattle off our executive task list for this quarter. One task requires me to go to a dinner with this potential investor of ours tonight.

If I’m being frank, I couldn’t care less about impressing this man today. The only thing that’s leaving any impression on me is my zipper on my permanent hard-on. All week, I’ve been at the end of my goddamn rope. Seeing Presley’s tight little body, smelling her vanilla shampoo, hearing her warm-honey voice, watching her knock every assignment out of the ballpark. . .

It’s been insanely distracting, and I’m not proud of myself for it. All I need right now is a good hard fuck to flush out all of these unneeded impulses.

“. . . and after we build the spaceship and fly it around the world at least twice, we can go get our assholes waxed.”

“What?” I finally break out of my reverie, staring blankly at my best friend, but Oliver only raises his eyebrows. “Oh, sorry. Shit.”

“Hey, Dom. Didn’t know you were still here.” Oliver tosses his folder onto my desk. “Look, man, if you don’t want to talk work, let’s not talk work. That’s the last thing I want to talk about anyway.”

“All right. What do you want to talk about?”

“How about we talk about how uptight you’ve been ever since you took on your hot little intern?”

Shit. “My stress level has nothing to do with Presley.”

“Right, just like my dad’s late nights had nothing to do with his smoking-hot consultant. Come on, Dom. You like her, just admit it.” He smiles, his eyebrows waggling.

“I like her? What are we, twelve?”

“You know what I mean.” He sighs and props his feet on the edge of my desk.

I hate it when he does this. I frown at the prospect of scrubbing those scuff marks away again.

“I really don’t,” I grumble, using his folder to swat his feet off my desk. “Don’t feel obliged to elaborate.”

“Don’t feel obliged to elaborate.” He mimics me like the little prick he can be. “Oh, I’ll elaborate all right. You wanna fuck her. You want to turn her over on this very desk, spread her legs, and ram it home. You want to fill her with your—”

“Okay, Jesus, do you have to be so . . .” I can’t find any word that won’t make me sound like my father. Crass? Inappropriate? Childish? But, fuck, I am a father now, strange as that still seems to me.

Oliver laughs, then lets out a sigh as he suddenly sobers. “You can’t fuck her, though.”

“I know that. I’m not going to.” This isn’t a college frat party.