Page 16 of Beauty and the Bosshole
We’re all alone.
Nota good idea.
“What’s up?” I ask, aiming for light and landing on strained.
Reese tilts his head, watching me closely. With his sleeves rolled up, the black edges of those mystery tattoos taunt me. What does a man like Reese Donovan get inked on his skin?
He says, “Have you ever thought about modeling?”
My laugh bursts out of me, shocked and loud, rolling around the empty parking lot like thunder. It’s so funny, my abs hurt, and I stop laughing way before my echo does.
Tugging my clothes straight, I fix my boss with alook.“You’re insane, Mr. Donovan.”
A slow shake of his head. “Not insane, Ava. Inspired.”
“Models are meant to be beautiful.”
He stands straighter, clearly offended on my behalf. “Youarebeautiful. Fuck that.”
“No, I know, I mean…”
My voice trails off, because I don’t have the words. How can I explain to this superhumanly handsome man, this genetic wonder, thatyes, I love my body and my looks, andyes, I’m body-confident, but those feelings were a hard-won victory for me? That just because I wouldn’t change a thing about my looks, doesn’t mean I’m brave enough to put it all out there, out in the big, wide world of cruel opinions?
“This is perfect.” Reese strokes his jaw, watching me hungrily. “I need a beautiful, curvy goddess and here you are. It’s fate. I even know that you look fucking perfect when you use our toys.”
A blush spreads from my chest to the roots of my hair.
“That didn’t happen,” I remind him weakly.
My boss ignores me, whipping out his phone to tap a quick message. “I’m telling Declan to stop looking. We’ve found our model.”
Holy hell. “Donotdo that, Mr. Donovan.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you practice.” Sliding his phone away, Reese grins at me and winks. Seriously—body-snatcher alert! “With the whole Aurora range if necessary. Anything to get you comfortable for the camera.”
“I am not putting my lady parts on film!”
My hand tingles, and I realize a beat too late that I just smacked my boss in the chest. His sculpted, strong,solidchest.
Reese smirks down at me, unoffended, as I shake out my fingers. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. These ads will be tasteful, I promise, Ava. Nothing X-rated at all.” His eyes darken. “Well, nothing on-camera, anyway.”
“I’m not doing it.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re up in our luxury suite, the Las Vegas skyline stretching away in all directions through the huge plate glass windows. Theoretically, our rooms are separated by one of those adjoining door thingies, but Reese keeps strolling in and out like he owns the place. Every time he glances at my fancy bed with its slatted bronze headboard, he gets a weird light in his eye.
“And stop coming in here,” I say.
Reese ignores me, crossing to the coffee station to flick the stack of fancy coffee pods. “Tell me what it would take to persuade you to model for us, Ava.”
Yanking my dress for tomorrow onto a hanger, I fling the closet door open. “A million dollars.”
“Really?” Oh God, he sounds way too pleased. “In that case—”
“Did I say one million? I meant ten million.” The hanger clacks against the clothes rail, and I shove it straight with jerky movements. This conversation has me way too flustered right now.
Amilliondollars?
Was my grumpy boss about to offer me one million dollars to model his sex toy line? And did I seriously brush that offer away like it was nothing?