The Two Week Arrangement (Penthouse Affair, #1)

But he’s graceful about my faux pas. Without hesitation, he smiles and shakes Bianca’s hand with a warm, “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too. I was curious to finally find out what you looked like,” she says with a mischievous quirk to her lips.

“Presley’s talked about me? Wow, I’m flattered.” He flashes a sheepish grin at me, rubbing the back of his head. “So you’re already introducing me to your friends, huh? Wait, forget it . . . that was a bad joke.”

Bianca giggles. “Cute,” she says, which flusters both me and him.

Austin goes to the bar for us. Per Bianca’s recommendation, we order two mango mojitos, and he gets an IPA. Once we’re settled with our drinks, he asks, “So, did you two meet at work?”

“Nope, in college,” I say. “We were paired up in the dorms as freshmen, and we’ve been together ever since.”

“That’s great you’ve maintained your connection so long. It’s too easy to lose touch with old school friends.” He sips his beer. “So, what exactly do you do at work?”

Did he not understand me, or is he just clumsy at conversation? Oh well, it’s not like my manners have been perfect either.

“A bit of everything,” I say with a shrug. “It’s an internship, so I’m there to learn—and they also want to test me. But I’ve only been there a week. So far, most of the work I’ve done has been in logistics.”

“Cool. Can you be more specific?” he asks.

His abruptness catches me by surprise. “Uh, I guess so. Like budget, supply-chain management . . . oh yeah, I’ve also written a little web copy, I forgot about that.”

“You wrote for Aspen’s website? So if I went there right now, I’d see your work?”

“Just one page. It’s no big deal,” I say, feeling a small flush of shy pride. “My boss said he wants to put my programming skills to use on the back end, but that hasn’t happened yet.”

“Oh, man, for real?” He beams. “You’re beautiful, smart, cool, and you program, too?”

“Yep. She’s pretty much the total package,” Bianca says. “You should think about locking her down sooner rather than later.”

Austin laughs, and I look into my drink to hide my blush. But instead of answering her, he goes right back to prodding me. “Have you ever done any IT work? Or security?”

This goes on for almost ten more minutes. Every time I reply, Austin instantly fires back another question. As excited as I am to work at Aspen, and as much as I love talking about my job, this is starting to feel less like friendly interest and more like an interrogation.

Finally, I say jokingly, “I feel like I’m at a job interview.”

He blinks. “Oh, sorry. I was being awkward, wasn’t I? I’m just really curious about the hospitality industry. I’ve been thinking about changing jobs, and one of my potential leads is a hotel chain. So, about the—”

Bianca leans forward and gives Austin a tight smile. “I think it’s your turn to tell us about yourself. Got any hobbies?”

I wouldn’t have said it quite like that, but I’ve been getting increasingly weirded out by his one-track mind. Honestly, I’m relieved to get off this topic.

After that change of topic, the night becomes much more fun, almost too much fun. The next time I check my phone, it’s an hour later.

“We should get going soon,” I say, offering him an apologetic look. “Early morning tomorrow. How much were our drinks?”

Austin spreads his palms with a smile. “Don’t worry about it. They’re on me tonight.”

“Oh . . . are you sure?” When he nods, I say, “Thank you.”

“Have a good night.” He shakes Bianca’s hand again and gives me a hug. No kiss, no romantic comments. We might as well just be friends.

I feel oddly relieved, then frustrated with myself. He’s a perfectly decent guy—why can’t I want him, too? Why does my body insist upon reacting only to the man who’s such a bad idea in so many ways?

When Bianca and I get home, we wash off our makeup and say good night. She turns out the lights. I lie down on the couch and wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. But half an hour later, I’m still wide awake, Dominic and his shocking proposal swirling through my head.

Sure, I could justify this financially, but what about ethically? And even if I’m not doing anything wrong, what would happen to my career if anyone found out? How safe would my secret be?

On the other hand, Michael needs this money ASAP. And it might be nice to eat something other than instant ramen for the next three months. If things go well, I could even put down a deposit on my own apartment. Bianca wouldn’t have to put up with my couch-surfing anymore—she always insists that it’s fine, but I’m sure she’d prefer privacy. My aching back also likes the sound of a real bed. Plus, I wouldn’t have to live out of a suitcase . . .

With a harried grunt, I flip on the end table lamp and dig through said suitcase for my tarot deck. I concentrate on my question about my future as I shuffle, draw a card, and set it face down on the coffee table. Then I draw four cards, two on each side of the first. Finally, beneath the rest of the spread, I lay down one card for advice.Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

I flip over the first card. My current situation is . . . the Five of Coins. I snort. No crap, I was already painfully aware of my financial difficulties.

The second and third cards, representing sticking to my current path, are the Hanged Man and the Ten of Wands. Neither card holds much good news. They represent someone struggling under an exhausting burden, taking too much responsibility onto my shoulders. While I’m not afraid of hard work, I hesitate at this card’s strong hint that overextending myself might result in nothing but pointless pain.

The next two cards are totally bizarre. The Lovers and the Three of Swords. Passion and desire. But the latter card implies strong emotions, too . . . specifically, heartbreak and betrayal. Terrific.

I leave them for now and move on to the last card. What advice will the tarot offer me? I flip it over and snort when the Fool is revealed.

Maybe I’ve been overthinking this. Sometimes we have to leave the comfortable path to find the best solution to a problem.

The worst that could happen probably isn’t the nightmare that my runaway anxiety is conjuring, but it’s still pretty damn bad. There aren’t many cards more dire than the Three of Swords. And the Lovers is too unclear to be of any real comfort.

I’m used to pushing myself. I know how to bust my ass, focus, and sacrifice. It’s what I’m good it, and has gotten me this far in life.

I rub my thumb over the three figures on the Lovers card. I shouldn’t let myself get caught up in foolish, schoolgirl fantasies about the sexy and intense Dominic Aspen. But it’s almost impossible not to. Remembering the way he kissed me in his office floods my blood with something hot and unspoken. Dirty fantasies flash through my brain—his long eyelashes fluttering closed as he gave himself over to the kiss—the warmth of his tongue touching mine for the first time—the scent of leather and cedar filling all my senses. A low ache forms between my legs and I huff out a sigh.

Frustrated, I push my fingers through my hair. I don’t freaking know—I’m too tired and confused and conflicted to think straight right now. I put the cards away, turn off the lamp, and try again to sleep.

I don’t remember drifting off. But I must have, because I dream of Dominic’s kiss.