The Two Week Arrangement (Penthouse Affair #1)(2)

Oliver drums his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Damn, that’s right.”

A handful of the best and brightest recent college graduates from all over the nation were selected out of more than a thousand applicants to join Aspen Hotels on a trial basis. For the next two weeks, they will be responsible for learning our current business model and executing the forward motion of our hotels into a more modern format.

It’s not the first time Aspen has offered this internship, but it may be the last. Outreach initiatives like this have proven successful from the public relations standpoint, but employee retention from these internships has never impressed me. I guess that’s the one thing I inherited from my father, the late Phillip Aspen—perpetually low expectations.

“Since when did we believe in internships?” Oliver grumbles into his drink.

Once again, he’s read my mind. Despite my misgivings about the program’s success, I do need a new director of operations. Desperately. This internship, with some tweaks, will help me find a candidate who’s fresh and hungry, not someone so set in their ways that they refuse to do things my way.

“We need to reevaluate our operations if we’re going to survive in this market. Internships are an excellent way of bringing in new blood without losing money on new hires who prove to be financial risks.”

“That was pointed.” Oliver laughs.

“Terry wasn’t a new hire. Terry was a very old hire who needed a wake-up call.”

“I was talking about Kylie.”

“Oh.” Kylie was briefly our director of operations, after Terry’s resignation.

“Why did we fire her, anyway?”

“She had some unreasonable expectations.”

Oliver raises his brows in question, but he knows better than to ask.

I don’t condone unwarranted sexual advances from my employees at our philanthropic events, no matter the blood-alcohol content. I also don’t ruin a perfectly capable woman’s career by broadcasting her actions to my friends and coworkers after she throws herself at me. Instead, I quietly fire her with a sizable severance package and an emphatic good riddance.

“So that’s what you’re trying to get out of this? A new director of operations? Look, Dom, I respect your choices, and God knows, I let you make most of them. But recent college graduates don’t necessarily have the experience we need at the helm of our entire operation.”

I smirk. “I’m glad my father didn’t feel that way when he hired you as a consultant fresh out of college.”

Oliver raises his hands in surrender. “Point taken. And I’m glad you decided you needed a vice president to help you run this shit show.”

He lifts his glass in a friendly toast. I mime the gesture in return.

Ping.

An email grabs my attention. It’s our marketing director, proposing the updated social media branding for my approval. I examine it with a critical eye—each and every font, each pigment of color. It’s classic, but still somehow fresh, and doesn’t stray from our brand. I decide that I like it, and shoot off an email telling her as much.

“Do you ever stop working?” Oliver is leaning so far back into the chair that I have to look over my screen to make eye contact.

“Nope. Shouldn’t you be headed home soon to Jess?”

“She’s off on business.” He sighs, genuinely upset by her absence.

I smile. True love isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Oliver and Jess are a thriving couple to all inquiring eyes. But as their friend, I know exactly how deep their codependence goes. I can tell that as soon as Oliver leaves my office, he’ll be on the phone with her, asking about her day.

He’s fucking whipped.

“Well, chin up, brother. Tomorrow should be interesting, right?”

“For you, maybe.” Oliver frowns. “I don’t have the luxury or energy to enjoy the company of young attractivos.”

I smile at Oliver’s choice of words. He hasn’t lost any of his quirks since settling down. If anything, his propensity for made-up words has only been encouraged by his other half.

“You should enjoy the next two weeks, though.” Oliver tips his glass toward me.

“How so?”

“Get yourself some new blood.” He gives me a devilish grin.

Ah, yes. Back to square one. How do we always end up here? Oh, right, because Oliver has a one-track mind.

“Aspen Hotels needs new blood. Dominic Aspen is just fine,” I respond firmly.

“When’s the last time you had a woman in your bed?” he asks.

I don’t indulge him with an answer, mostly because I can’t remember, but also because it’s none of his damn business.

“That’s what I thought.” Oliver grins, knowingly. “And when’s the last time you had a conversation with a woman that you weren’t paying?”

“Are we done with this lecture yet? I have work to do,” I grumble.

Oliver doesn’t respond, only slides out of the chair and places his glass on my desk, temptingly close to my hand. “Good night, Dom.”

“Good night, Oliver.” He has his phone in his hand, dialing Jess before he’s even out the door.

Classic.

I run my hand through my hair and eye the clock on the far wall. Past dinnertime. I don’t have much of an appetite, but I know I should eat. I should also go home early for once, relieve the nanny, and see my beautiful daughters before they’re tucked away in bed.