The Two Week Arrangement (Penthouse Affair, #1)

Dominic

I can tell Fran’s in a mood today before she even opens her mouth.

“Why haven’t I seen you with a woman lately?” she asks, hanging up her coat in the front hall closet.

It’s a great fucking question, but I don’t have time for this. It’s Friday morning, and I have to leave in less than five minutes to head to the office.

I bring my mug of coffee to my lips, taking a sip in order to buy myself some time. She’s great with my kids and I love her, but damn, is she nosy.

“Did you hear me?” she asks, reaching for the teakettle, and turns the heat on high to make herself a cup of tea.

I’m starting to regret giving her a key. I’d like a little warning before I get scolded.

“Maybe I’m not into women.”

“Then why haven’t I seen you with a man?” she asks without missing a beat.

I roll my eyes, tightening my tie around my throat as I stand up from the table. Damn. I rub my temples. I haven’t had near enough caffeine for this yet.

“It’s been three years, Dom,” Fran says, as if I needed reminding.

Her tone is maternal, low and soft, but her words still sting. My hand clenches around the drawer handle for a moment before I open it and pluck a spoon from inside.

Goddamn, Francine. Cut me some slack.

“I’m not looking for anything serious,” I say, keeping my tone casual and light. I learned that lesson when I very seriously gave my heart to a woman who saw no issue with crushing it under the heel of her boot.

“That’s absurd.” Fran sighs and reaches for a mug in the cabinet before fixing her tea. “I just think you should think about your daughters.”

“I am thinking about my daughters,” I respond coolly. “I’m only thinking about them.” They get all of my free time and attention without having to share me with someone else.

I place my yogurt and spoon into the side pocket of my laptop bag and head for the door. “I’ll be home late tonight,” I call out, and hear Fran make a disgruntled noise.Text © owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

Fantastic. As if I don’t have enough to worry about.

The week has flown by, and tonight I have plans to meet with Roger to discuss the stipulations of our agreement. He’s expecting Presley to be on my arm. Unfortunately, she hasn’t committed to our little agreement yet. Instead, she’s been avoiding me, spending all her time in front of her computer or surrounded by the other three interns.

When I arrive at the office, I intend to confront Presley, but I’m stopped in the hall by my finance director and spend nearly an hour in an impromptu meeting about next quarter’s earnings. After that, I have two meetings back to back, one with a city council member, and then my staff meeting. Oliver sticks around after the meeting, briefing me on the beefed-up cyber security plans we were forced to create after a system breach last year.

“Everything looks good,” I tell him, but I’m distracted, and I’m pretty sure Oliver knows why.

By the time I’m through, I spot Presley chatting casually with Jordan at the coffee bar. He’s telling her some story about his evening, showing off, trying to be funny. Presley doesn’t seem to mind at all. She laughs softly into her coffee, her body language relaxed and open. She seems to like him.

What a prick.

I take a deep breath. Now isn’t the time to get aggravated with my employees—especially not some immature frat boy. This has to be resolved . . . now.

Presley had the whole week to come to a decision. I’ve given her the space she wanted and never even mentioned our unfinished business during our brief, almost nonexistent exchanges. It doesn’t matter that if I concentrate, I can still feel the warmth of her face against my palms and taste the sweetness of her lips on my tongue.

I clear my throat. “Can I have everyone’s attention?”

The white noise of the office softens to a low hum as hands still at keyboards and conversations halt in mid-sentence. Everyone’s attention turns my way.

“Thank you all for a great week. Interns, especially, we’re very impressed and grateful for your dedication. Take the rest of the day off. Enjoy the weekend.”

My employees look a little stunned, unaccustomed to half days. Jordan fist-bumps Presley, who maneuvers through the motion with a little difficulty, nearly spilling her coffee.

“Except for you, Presley. I need to speak with you in my office.”

The office becomes dead silent then, quieter than I’ve ever heard it during work hours.

Presley’s complexion turns pale right before her cheeks grow bright pink. But she isn’t embarrassed or nervous, I realize. She looks fucking furious.

Jordan looks at her, then at me, and then back at her. “See you Monday, Pres,” he says, feigning a casual tone, but she won’t tear her gaze away from me long enough to even give him a convincing good-bye.

“Come with me.”

Presley is hot on my trail. I can practically feel her bursting with frustration, and I can relate to that sensation. Although, my frustration is of an entirely different brand. She’s got me in her crosshairs before the door even closes.

“You can’t do that. Not in front of everyone. What will people think?”

“First, I don’t care what they think. They report to me, not the other way around. And second, they’ll probably assume we have business to settle, which we do.”

She’s quiet for a moment, before looking down at her shoes. “I just don’t want people thinking that we’re involved somehow.”

“Involved?” I ask.

“Sleeping together,” she says.

I study her for a moment. She’s so determined. So breathtakingly put together. “But we’re not sleeping together.”

“I know! But—” Presley cuts herself off, pressing her fingers to her temples. She takes a breath, her eyes closed, calming herself. “I just don’t want people talking.”

When she opens her eyes, I’m struck by her expression. It’s as if she’s trying to decide whether to believe me.

I want her to know that I’m genuinely sorry for putting her in an uncomfortable situation. I want her to feel safe with me. I would have never asked her to stay behind in front of the staff if this had occurred to me.

But she’s right. She’s a woman, a beautiful young woman, and I’m a man, and people talk. Unfortunately. That’s just a sad fact of business.

“I’m sorry. That didn’t occur to me. It won’t happen again.”

Her expression softens, and I want to touch her. My fingers are tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before I have time to decide whether I should cross that line. She seems surprised, but she doesn’t move away or break eye contact with me.

Interesting.

“Are you coming with me tonight? I’ve been more than patient.”