Page 17 of Beauty and the Bosshole
I could buy a lot of fancy cat treats for one million dollars. Max could go to that luxury cat groomer and get his fur shampooed, too. Sure, he’d hate the whole experience, but he’d be so silky when he next deigned to be cuddled, and he’d smell like vanilla instead of mothballs. All I want to do is bury my face in Max’s fur, and allhewants to do is hiss at me. It’s a tale as old as time.
“You remind me of my cat,” I say out of nowhere.
“Do I?” Reese picks up a sugar packet and shakes it, then puts it back down.
“Yeah, he’s a bosshole, too. You have a lot in common. But, um, about the modeling thing… I’m not good on camera.”
It’s true—I’m better in person. Better in 3D as nature intended. I’m fine with that, but a modeling campaign seems like a bad idea.
“I find that extremely hard to believe,” Reese says, strolling over to peer inside my suitcase. I shoo him away, flicking at his hip with one of the hotel towels that were rolled and presented on my bed.
God forbid Reese finds the other Aurora toys I brought along in my case to get me through this business trip. He’d probably demand another demonstration, right here, right now, and my will power is running dangerously low. Something about the modeling conversation, the heated memories from the plane, and the hungry looks that this man keeps giving me are wearing me down.
I try another tactic. “It’s not in my work contract.”
“You would be paid extra compensation,” Reese replies smoothly. “And we could draw up a separate contract for the modeling. Whatever it takes to make you comfortable.”
Shoot.
“I’m allergic to certain brands of lube.”
“Then we won’t slather you in them.”
“I’m… I’m not fully shaved. Down there.”
Why, brain? Why??
Reese rolls his neck, clearly fighting another grin. “You don’t need to be. Like I said,thatpart of you won’t be on camera. And frankly, even if it was…”
I wait, breath held, but my boss does not finish that particular thought. He gazes pensively out of the windows instead, out at the sun-drenched city of vice. Damn it.
“People get married in Vegas all the time,” Reese says after a long stretch of quiet. Far down in the street below us, drivers lean on their horns, but up here through our thick windows, the sound is soft. Almost harmonic.
I blink, shaking my head a little to change gears. Where on earth did that come from? Is there a chapel down there? Are we gonna be kept awake by late-night nuptials? “Yes… they do. What about it, boss man?”
“Just thinking out loud.”
Oookay. “Shouldn’t you be prepping for your mobster? Leon Anderson or whatever his name is?”
Reese hums, scratching his chin. He’s still gazing out the windows, lost in his own world.
And… alright, I admit it. Whenever the boss gets caught up in his thoughts like this, whenever he stomps grousing and growling or even worse, teasing me, I like to steal a few long looks at him. You’ve gotta take these opportunities as they come, you know?
Right now, Reese Donovan does not look like a man who woke up screamingly early and already traveled by plane and car. There’s no sign of the dozens of emails he’s already dealt with, nor the panicked phone call with Declan, nor the pressure of going to meet a mobster in a harsh city. To a casual observer, the CEO of Aurora would not look strained at all right now, not with that pale, clear complexion and creaseless shirt. Even his dark hair has been tamed.
ButIknow better. I may not have worked as Reese’s assistant for very long, but I can read this man like one of the steamy romance novels I keep in piles under my bed. Iseehim.
There are the faintest of lines at the corners of his eyes. And Reese’s broad shoulders are tense—braced under an invisible weight. He’s tired. For a crazy moment, I have the urge to pull him into a hug.
“Don’t touch yourself until I get back,” Reese orders.
The moment passes pretty damn fast.
“What I do or don’t do when I’m alone in my hotel room is no business of yours, Mr. Donovan.” But hang on. “Wait… I’m not coming with you?”
Then why am Ihere? Why bring me all the way to Vegas if I won’t be in the meeting to take notes?
Reese grunts, shaking his head. He tugs his rolled sleeves straight. “It’s not safe. Leon Anderson is a loose cannon, and a pretty little thing like you…”