The Two Week Arrangement (Penthouse Affair, #1)

Presley

I can barely focus on the path back to my desk. My knees are still shaking, my cheeks burn, my lips are still tingling from that kiss. The revelation that Dominic is attracted to me is mind-blowing enough, let alone the idea of pretending we’re a couple.

I sit down, open the report I was in the middle of reviewing, and stare at it blankly without absorbing a single word. Instead a rush of thoughts crowd my head. Michael fretting over his school fees. The nerves that twist inside me every time I think about how in the world I’ll support both him and I. Then there’s everything I could learn about business from observing Dominic and Roger’s negotiations. The chance to affect such a significant deal. The possibility of having Dominic’s touch, those strong hands and full lips on me again. . . even if it’s not written in the contract

I shake my head, uncomfortably warm all over. Am I seriously considering this? No, I can’t. Can I?

I’d be lying to an investor. I mean, we wouldn’t lie about Aspen’s actual business metrics. We’d just be making Dominic look like the kind of stable, mature guy who has a steady girlfriend. It’s more of a . . . storytelling technique. Creative advertising. It’s done in business models all across the world, the marketing strategies and branding that close deals.This material belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

No, that’s nonsense—a lie is a lie. On top of that, it would be incredibly unprofessional and inappropriate. I can let myself crash one business dinner, but spending two weeks with the CEO outside of work hours would be unfair to the other interns.

And if we got caught, it wouldn’t matter that our relationship was fake. It would look real enough to land us both in deep shit and possibly drag Aspen Hotels’ name through the mud. The HR department would freak out, and the PR crisis would be even worse.

My heart is thudding so hard, I’m almost breathless. I flatten my palms against the cool surface of my desk and take a much needed deep breath.

That’s when my thoughts take another turn. If we pull this off, everyone will benefit. Me, Michael, Dominic, the entire company. And the idea of spending more time with Dominic is so tempting, for reasons that have nothing to do with what I could learn and everything to do with my attraction to him.

My increasingly tangled thoughts are interrupted when Jordan comes bounding up to my cubicle.

“Hey, Presley. Oliver said our proposal looks great, but some new info came in from the construction company and he wants us to revise our estimate.”

“What?” Crap, I didn’t process a single word he just said. It’s no use—my brain is too full right now. I swivel around to face him. “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

He cocks his head at me. “Is something wrong? You look pale.”

“Uh . . . no, I’m just tired,” I lie.

He blows a loud sigh of sympathy through his lips. “Monday mornings, am I right? You want to come grab some coffee while we talk? I was thinking of going to the cafeteria anyway.”

“That sounds great, actually.” I push out my chair. “Maybe my blood sugar is low.”

He flashes me a pleased grin. “There ya go. Snacks solve everything.”

Despite my thoughts buzzing around inside my head, I have to chuckle. Seems the absentminded frat bro has an unexpected mother hen side.

In the cafeteria, I take a giant cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin for good measure.

As we find seats, Jordan says, “I had the craziest weekend.”

Not crazier than mine, I’ll bet. “Yeah?”

As Jordan rambles on about some party he went to, I reply in mostly monosyllables in all the right places, but I can’t stop my thoughts from drifting back to Dominic and I pray Jordan doesn’t notice, because there’s no way in the world I can tell any of the other interns about this.

• • •

It’s Wednesday evening and I’m supposed to meet Austin in less than an hour, but I’m stuck in neutral. Instead of getting ready, I find myself staring blankly into the mirror with only half my makeup on, trying to figure out what this odd feeling is. It’s not bad, exactly, but it’s also not good.

Is my intuition trying to warn me away from him? Do I want to bail on this date?

I don’t think so. I need a break from all this madness at work—not to mention a cocktail or three—and the prospect of seeing Austin again is a pleasant one. Yet, I’m still strangely reluctant. I still feel an urge to . . . hold something back from him.

I turn and call out, “Hey, B?”

“Yeah?” She sounds like she’s in the kitchen.

“Will you come with me?”

A cabinet closes, and soon Bianca pokes her head into the bathroom. “You want me to crash your date?”

I fiddle with my tube of mascara. “Yeah. I just, I don’t know, I suddenly don’t feel ready for this to be a serious thing. Does that make sense?”

“Sure, no problem. I’ll be your life raft.” She pats me on the shoulder. “Scoot over. Where are we going?”

I shift so she can use the mirror, too. “Some bar downtown called Tres Amigos.”

“Ooh, your boy toy picked a classy place. Make sure you get one of their mango mojitos.” She starts swiping on foundation.

“You’ve been there? Is the music super loud?” I ask.

“No, Grandma, I promise you can hear yourself think.” She pokes out the tip of her tongue at me.

By the time we’re on our way, her presence and cheerful teasing have calmed me. A little.

The bar is refined, yet relaxed, with soft golden lighting, hardwood floors, and wide, caramel-colored chairs. Unsurprisingly for a Wednesday, it’s also half-empty. As we approach Austin’s table, he spots us, and a flicker of disappointment crosses his face.

“Hi, again,” I say awkwardly, feeling a bit guilty about upending his plans for the evening. “This is my roommate, Bianca.”