Privileged (Adrenalin #2)

1. Sloan

Chapter one

Sloan

T ime doesn’t seem to move despite the rhythmic tick of the clock echoing through the empty waiting room. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it’s mocking me.

Weren’t there thirty minutes left in my shift half an hour ago?

Does that clock even work?

Maybe I should check the batteries.

I wonder, not for the first time, if I can get away with leaving early. There aren’t any appointments left on the massage parlor’s schedule. All of the closing chores are finished and it’s not like anyone would notice… There’s no one here to know if I slipped out and locked the door. Even if they did, would I get in trouble for it? Probably not.

Yet, as I palm the door keys and head towards freedom, I stop just steps away… I can’t bring myself to leave. I can’t bring myself to break the rules, even if no one will ever find out.

With a deep sigh, I steal another glance at the clock that seems to move slower than my grandmother. Twenty-five minutes left. And as much as it pains me to wait, I’ll resign myself to playing the good boy even if no one’s watching.

Gritting my teeth, I straighten the chairs and stack the magazines in a neat pile, hoping the busy work will make time speed up. It only kills a few seconds, if the stagnant minute hand is any indication.

Stifling a yawn, I retreat to the receptionist desk. During the busy season, the masseuses don’t have to close up. The receptionist does. Except, it’s not the busy season. It’s the slow season and that means I get to pull double-duty. Owner’s orders.

I hate the off-season because truth be told, I make my living off tourists. However, it is nice to find a parking space without doing laps around town, or being able to get seated at a restaurant without a sixty-minute wait.

And if I had the balls to ever take advantage of it, I could clock out early if the opportunity arises on days where the spa schedule is empty.

I jolt as a shrill beeping noise explodes through the office, sending both the chair and me careening away from the desk. Though the file cabinet manages to stop me from hurtling into the floor backward.

With a relieved sigh, I register it’s the office phone and pull myself back into position so I can reach the receiver. “Mountain Bliss, how may I help you?”

My fingers hover over the keyboard, ready to book whatever appointment the caller desires. With any luck, they’ll know what they want so I can confirm it and get out of here on time.

“I need to book an immediate massage for Carter Quinn.” The feminine voice has an authoritative edge to it, which I suppose is to be expected when you’re calling on behalf of the CEO of the entire resort. I’ve yet to meet the man, but rumor has it he’s as impatient as he is mysterious, which means my timely exit may be in jeopardy.

“Of course. We’re closing in thirty minutes, but if he can get here right away, we’ll squeeze him in,” I not-so-subtly drop the hint about closing time. It’s rare that my sister and her husband are out on the same night I have off from my second job as a server, and I’m really looking forward to having the house to myself.

“He doesn’t have time to go to the spa. I assume you have a portable table, right? You can set up in his office. Say, fifteen minutes?”

My jaw bobs up and down as I try to form words that might salvage my exit and my first night off from Murphy’s in three weeks. Unfortunately, I’m not sure a hot bath with a frosty beer is an acceptable reason to tell the CEO no. Especially since I’m technically still on the clock.

A frustrated sigh slips from between my lips. I’m supposed to be living the dream—a successful professional, my own apartment in the picturesque mountain town I’ve loved since first laying eyes on it, surrounded by friends and adventure.

Instead, I’m holding down two jobs and crashing at my sister’s to save up for that place of my own, and while I’ve made some friends, most of the time I’m too busy working to see them. Everyone has to pay their dues, I guess.

“Hello? You do know where Carter’s office is, right?” The sharp voice interrupts my musings.

“Yes.” I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “I’ll be there shortly.”

I pull the portable table out of the storage room and stuff a few bottles of oil and some sheets into a backpack, then start my trek across the sidewalk to the administrative building. In total, I have to walk all of about thirty yards between the spa and the elevator to Carter’s office, and since the table only weighs about thirty pounds it’s a manageable distance. That doesn’t make me any happier about having to do this little field trip, though.

True, I’ve been wanting to catch a glimpse of the elusive Carter Quinn for months now. He’s supposed to be wicked hot, and who doesn’t appreciate a little eye candy here and there? But he’s also got a reputation for being no-nonsense, which his secretary all but confirmed with this last-minute command. After a long day on my feet, I don’t have the energy or patience for entitled assholes. And if I’m being honest with myself, I’m overqualified to be the beckon call masseuse for the CEO.

Working at the spa is supposed to be a means to an end, something to make money and keep my skills fresh while I try for the job I want, working as a physical therapist for the ski team. I’ve got all the certifications and a good track record—albeit not in this specific field—but it’s still relevant experience. All I need is a foot in the door with the head trainer.

Mr. CEO might be able to help with that, if I play my cards right. A letter of recommendation maybe? I paste a smile on my face and press the button for the top floor.

When the elevator opens, I’m waved through by a lady who looks like my kindergarten teacher, complete with gray hair in a poofy bun and a pair of readers perched on the tip of her nose. She watches me over the tortoiseshell frames as I approach the office door, making me hyper conscious of the tiny squeak my shoes make with each step.

Treading as lightly as possible, I pass through the ominous door to the office of the most reclusive resident of Katah Vista, and freeze as I take in the man behind the desk.

Whoever said he’s wicked hot was sorely underestimating his appeal. Dark hair cropped close to his head on the sides, with just enough length on the top to grab a handful. A hint of scruff along his jawline, longer around his mouth, as if it grows thicker and faster there. Or he wears a goatee and forgot to shave today. Brown eyes hooded by thick brows, serious but not cold. Assessing. Almost as if he’s confused to see me .

“Can I help you?” He adjusts the tie around his neck, drawing my gaze to the Adam’s Apple that bobs above his collar. Even that’s attractive.

“You asked for a massage?” My voice sounds softer than usual. Timid. I’m not sure if that’s due to the aura of silence in the office, the man, or the suit. Who wears a suit at a ski resort? I feel suddenly under-dressed in my spa-issued polo shirt.

A crease mars his imposing brow as my words sink in. “Janice called you?”

“Yeah. Yes.” I swallow, hoping that will reset my mind and help me speak.

He leans back in his chair with a heavy sigh. Lifting a long arm he points to the center of the room, between the chairs facing his desk and a seating area to my right. “You can set up over there.”

The deep timbre of his voice makes me shiver, which I try to mask by shrugging off the backpack.

As I unpack and set up the table my eyes keep drifting to the enigmatic man across the room. His head is bent over the desk, eyes focused on the papers lying there. A large hand runs through his hair, mussing it slightly, before continuing to his neck, where it stays, rubbing at what I assume is the source of tension that resulted in my summoning. What could possibly make a man like Carter tense?

When the table is ready, I clear my throat, and he slowly lifts his head to meet my gaze. “I um… should I wait outside while you change?” I glance at the table then back at him, hoping he interprets my meaning without the need for clarification. I’m not sure the words ‘get naked’ will make it past my lips without blood rushing to my cheeks.

“Stay there. I’ll use the bathroom.” His broad shoulders flex as he pushes himself off the chair and strides to a door I hadn’t even noticed. A private bathroom? Nice perk.

Alone, I take my first full breath since walking through the door. Carter’s reputation now makes sense. If the man can exude power simply walking across a room, I can’t imagine how intimidating he must be to do business with.

Though I’m tempted to take this opportunity to explore his office, I can’t bring myself to snoop around too much. I catalog the leather couch and chair to one side of the room, opposite the bathroom. The ornate mahogany desk and matching bookshelf. A picture of someone on a podium in a racing bib. Then I busy myself searching for the massage oil I want, one with a light, woodsy scent. My gut says it will suit him, though I have nothing except the wood tones in his office to suggest that might be true.

As my fingers find the right bottle there’s a soft creak across the room. I look up to find Carter exiting the bathroom, and my breath gets trapped in my lungs.

Clad only in a towel, his firm pecs and washboard abs are on full display. The sunlight coming through the window glints off the contours of his skin as he closes the distance between us, making it impossible not to notice the way his muscles flex as he walks. He stops mere feet away, close enough that I can run my fingers over his smooth skin if I extend my arm.

From this distance, I see his eyes are lighter than I first thought. More like whisky than chocolate. They’re not serious so much as tired. I have a sudden burst of empathy for the man who looks like he’s running on empty now that I can see him clearly. That’s not a good thing, since I have a soft spot for people facing adversity. Something about being underestimated or undervalued makes me want to see them succeed.

I don’t see them as kindred spirits or anything. Definitely not. Probably not .

“Where do you want me?” His deep voice rattles around inside my body, drawing my attention back to his.

I swallow, lost for words. I’ve massaged dozens, maybe even hundreds of men before, but I’ve never seen such a perfect specimen up close. It’s both intriguing and unnerving, making me more flustered than I’ve ever been on the job. Is he built from granite?

“Um…under the sheet please. Face down.” I force my eyes to the ground before he notices me staring. Dear Lord, I’m sort of eager to touch him. That is so wrong.

Carter climbs under the sheet and dislodges the towel, holding it out to me. I take it and set it on a nearby chair, trying not to acknowledge that he’s naked without it. This guy owns the mountain. Get your shit together .

“So…uh, what’s bothering you?”

“Excuse me?” His voice sounds amused instead of offended, thank goodness.

I call up my training, trying to sound clinical instead of curious. “Where do you carry your tension?”

“My neck.”

“Any other problem areas you want to focus on? Injuries I should know about?” I squirt some oil into my palm and rub my hands together to warm it up.

“Blew my knee a few years back.” Comes the muffled reply.

I make a mental note to start gently around that area in case there’s any lingering scar tissue.

Taking a deep breath, I try to shake off my infatuation. This is your boss, Sloan. Your career. Don’t blow your shot just because he looks like a Greek god sculpted in a boardroom.

“Okay, let’s get started.” I place my hands on his back, and the resulting electricity threatens to make my knees buckle.