The Two Week Arrangement (Penthouse Affair #1)(37)

She pulls in a sharp intake of breath at my crudeness. Even from my peripheral vision, I can see her stunned expression.

I straighten my posture and hold open the door wider. “Look, last night was fun, but it can’t happen again. There are rules for a reason and we will not be crossing them. Come Monday morning, I’m your boss and you are one of the many interns trying for a position with Aspen Hotels.” The words leave me in a rush, but I’m thankful that I sound more composed than I feel. I’m fucking rattled. And I hate being rattled.

Presley lifts her chin and gazes out the door, and without saying anything else, she leaves.





Chapter Sixteen


Presley



On Monday morning, I station myself at my desk, hoping that throwing myself into work will distract me.

I was up half the night with my thoughts running wild. The topic? None other than my sexy-as-sin and equally infuriating boss. Which is so not helpful to my sanity.

I walked into our deal knowing it was all for the sake of wooing a client, yet I thought we’d made a real connection, deeper than just boss and intern. The laughter. The flirting. The kissing. But it turns out our fake relationship really is nothing but fake. How could I be so na?ve?

My eyes burn for reasons that have nothing to do with sleep deprivation, and my computer screen blurs. I blink fast to chase away impending tears.

Get a grip, Pres.

Yes, I misjudged everything and it feels awful, but am I going to collapse or stand back up on my own two feet? I need to let go and fix my mistakes like a big girl. And that starts with cutting my losses, right this minute.

From now on, I’ll refuse to see that prick except during business hours at the office. The next time he comes waltzing up to ask for a date, I’m telling him our deal is off. No more “overtime” for me. Let him figure out on his own how to lie to Roger about where I am. I’ve made some of the money I needed toward Michael’s bills, and I care about myself to much to get emotionally involved with such a total asshole.

Well, to be fair, he’s not one hundred percent an asshole. Yesterday afternoon, he seemed like a great dad. The way he fussed over his daughters was pretty damn adorable. Watching his strong forearms as he lifted them. Fussing over their snack and slicing those grapes in half. It was downright disarming to see such a different side of him . . .

I slam the brakes on that train of thought. Dammit, stop mooning over him like a schoolgirl. He’s already hurt me once—what more will it take to get it through my head that he’s a jerk? The way he thanked me for that blow job made me feel about ten inches tall. Like he was buying a pack of gum or something. Who talks about sex like that, as if it was just a transaction?

But sex is a transaction to him, a nasty little voice whispers in my head. Did you forget that he only screws women he’s paid for? He told you that himself. You were just too blinded by infatuation to really believe it.

My hands slow on the keyboard. Is that . . . how he feels about me? Does he see what we shared on Saturday night as something he purchased?

I shake my head. No more dwelling on it. I’m here to work, and I need to pull my focus back to that. I just have to accept that we come from worlds too different to be compatible, and move on . . . no matter how right it felt to be in his arms.

A knock on my cubicle wall mercifully interrupts my sour thoughts. I spin my chair around, expecting Jordan, only to see Aspen’s vice president.

“G-good morning, Mister—”

“I told you, there’s no need to be so formal. Please call me Oliver.” He flashes me a reassuring smile. “And relax, I came with good news. I just wanted to stop by and let you know what a great job you did on that budget proposal.”

I blink, flustered that a VP would come praise me in person. “Oh, thank you. Jordan helped a lot, too.”

I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. It’s true that he worked hard on this assignment, but I can’t afford to undercut my achievements with good-girl modesty.

“Sure, it was a partnered project, but the quality of your contribution was clear. You really went above and beyond.”

I can’t hold back a grin. “Thank you so much. That really means a lot to me.”

“It’s the truth. Keep up the good work, okay, Presley?” Oliver shoots a pair of finger guns at me and strolls off.

I will. From now on, I’m all business. I’m going to put my nose to the grindstone, prove that I’m the best intern here, and snag that job. I’ll rise above all the ridiculous crap that’s happened and take my power back from Dominic, no matter if he is our industry’s cocky young darling.

My phone dings. I check it and almost laugh at the perfect timing. It’s a text from Austin, asking if I can see him again tonight. What better way to try to forget Dominic and his “dates” than to go on an actual date with an actual nice guy? What a concept.

I fire off a quick text to tell him I’m in, and then get back to my daily hustle.

? ? ?

My buzz of renewed purpose lasts all day. But it wavers when I walk into the bar’s lounge and see Austin sitting with his brow knitted in a grave frown, jiggling his leg and chewing his lip.

The instant he spots me, he jumps up. “Presley! It’s great to see you.”

I hug him cautiously. “You, too. Is everything all right?”