The Two Week Arrangement (Penthouse Affair #1)(20)

“I’m not sure I understand,” Presley murmurs.

“Outside of working hours, for the next two weeks, I’d like you to pretend to be my . . . plus-one.” I almost say girlfriend, but then decide we’re not sixteen anymore.

“A two-week arrangement,” she says, her brow furrowed. “We would be coworkers, nine to five. And then, after hours, we would be a couple. I understand that much.” She pauses, her gaze darting away from mine. “I guess I don’t understand what’s in it for you. Why now?”

“It’s Roger.” I cross my arms over my chest. The gray dress shirt I’m wearing pulls tight across my muscles, a sight that apparently doesn’t escape her, because I catch her gaze drift over my broad shoulders. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “He’s a traditional guy, if I’m being polite.”

“And if you’re not being polite?”

“He’s a good ol’ boy with no trust or understanding of how business works in the digital age. He does everything in person without any executive help, all by himself. And knowing him, it’ll take about two weeks to iron out all the details of our agreement.”

“Okay, sure, but I still don’t understand. How do I factor in?”

“He likes you,” I say, and she scoffs at that, as if I’ve said something totally absurd. “What? It was obvious. During dinner, he paid more attention to you than he did to me.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t apologize. You’re more fun to talk to.” There’s that blush again. “He’s going to expect you at our meetings in the future, as my steady girlfriend.”

“Why?” she asks, a bewildered look in her eyes.

I don’t blame her. To me, this is obvious, but to Presley it must seem far-fetched.

I’ve known Roger since I was a kid. I remember the late-night business dinners at my childhood home. My mother would tuck Teddy and me away for the night and join the men downstairs for a nightcap. That’s when the negotiating would begin. My father would lay out the deal and my mother would serve as moderator between the two, pointing out pros and cons, luring Roger in with her intelligent opinion. It was a beautiful game of cat and mouse, and one that worked every time with several clients. It’s a formula I’m very familiar with.

Unfortunately, I’m missing a vital element of that formula since I’m a single, twenty-six-year-old CEO.

“Roger is very aware of how young I am to be the head of Aspen Hotels. I need to convince him that I’m serious. We need to. And if he sees me in a committed relationship with a bright, intelligent woman, he’ll take me more seriously.”

To Roger, I’m still that kid, peeking into his father’s study to eavesdrop on the adults. He doesn’t see me as much more than a child wandering the halls of his father’s grand enterprise.

“By dating?”

“By pretending to date. It won’t affect your work here at all.”

“How could it not?” Presley asks with a little incredulity in her voice. Her cheeks are slightly flushed and her gaze is focused.

I applaud her on her wariness going into an unfamiliar deal. She’s handling it just as I would—with an open mind and a touch of good old-fashioned skepticism. Smart girl.

“It won’t,” I say, hoping to reassure her. “It’s all laid out in the contract.”

“Contract?”

I hand her a single-page document from the top of my desk. It probably wouldn’t hold up in a court of law, but it would give us both peace of mind in the meantime.

She scans the page, quickly reading the terms, which are basically what I’ve already spelled out. It’s purely a business arrangement, strictly platonic. All costs will be covered. Meals, travel, and accommodations, if required. And just like the first night she accompanied me, I’ll pay her five-hundred dollars for each appearance we make together. Which will probably be several. Roger never comes into the office; it’s always dinners or drinks out with him.

“So, what do you say?” I can almost see the thousands of thoughts and uncertainties racing through her beautiful brain. I bet she didn’t think this would be part of Aspen’s internship program.

I can’t say that I did either.

“Can I think about it?” she asks after a beat.

“Of course.”

She walks toward the door, and I follow. Together, we pause there, me with my back pressed against the door frame. She’s waiting for me to move aside, but I don’t.

Why don’t I? Because apparently I’m a fucking sadist and need to be close to her despite all the reasons I should keep this professional. Exhibit A, the contract I signed stating that our work would be entirely platonic, both in and out of the office.

Yet here I am, my back glued to the door. Presley is maybe a foot away from me. I haven’t been this close to her since I kissed her hand Friday night. I could count her goddamn eyelashes if I wanted to.

“So it is true.” Her eyes blaze directly into mine, eradicating any bullshit I may have left to offer.

Fuck. I thought I already addressed this.

“Never mind,” she says, shaking her head and looking at the floor.

“No, say it.”

Her eyes flash back up to mine, holding me there like a hot hand on my throat. “That you like to pay for it.”