XOXO I Love You - Sneak Peek
Lexi
Somehow I got an interview at Downtown, the “It” company of the decade. Sure, I’ve heard the rumors about the CEO, Rafe Black. How elusive he is. How rich.
How hot .
None of it prepares me for what’s about to happen. The white-hot lust at first sight. The attraction that sweeps me off my feet and tests the limits of what I can handle…
Rafe
Goddamn it all to hell. The second that goddess walks into my office, with her sultry green eyes and her body like something out of my wildest fantasies, I’m obsessed…
I’m whipped like nothing I’ve ever known. I’ve been a high-achieving Type-A control freak every second of my self-made billionaire life.
But this . This girl . She makes me want to f*ck everything up. Because she feels so unbelievably good that nothing else matters…and I’m already addicted.
I step into the elevator. And I do my best to ignore how seriously unlikely it is that I’ll actually get the job I’m about to interview for. I have zero experience, since I only graduated about a month ago. My English degree from Stanford will (hopefully) help, and I graduated (sort of) near the top of my class. But this is Downtown, the “It” magazine of the decade. It isn’t just a magazine, but a scene , with its own fashion label, lifestyle website, pop culture news blog and even a film production company.
My roommate came across the ad for CEO’s assistant online only a few days ago. Given the glam factor, it almost seemed strange to stumble across it in a place like that. I would have expected Downtown to recruit from more exotic locations…like in Silicon Valley garages or on French Riviera yachts.
Anyway, I’d applied, and, by some miracle, I actually managed to get an interview. I knew every wannabe in California would be dying to get their résumés seen. Not because we have a lifelong dream to be a CEO’s assistant, not at all. But because an underling job like this one might lead to other opportunities within the company—and it’s a company every graduate on the planet would sell their teeth to work for. You knew that if you ended up working there, you’d not only rub shoulders with the rich and famous, but also maybe even become one of them. They were known for hiring young, hot, über-talented geniuses. Which kind of makes me wonder what I’m doing here, but I’ve decided to just go with it.
As much as I’d like to think I have half a chance, I also know it’s definitely a long shot. The email informed me that I’d be meeting with an interview panel. I can picture it now: ten ultra-trendy, over-confident hipsters and one…me.
I take a deep breath.
At least I look the part. As I check out my look in the reflection of the mirrored elevator walls, I can’t help but notice that my new makeover has definitely done wonders.
As soon as I arrived in L.A., my roommate Tess dragged me along on a two-day shopping spree and pampering frenzy. Tess runs a make-up and fashion blog that has around fifty thousand followers, so I figured I should probably take her advice. Now, I have a stylish new haircut. I’ve been massaged, waxed (and I mean everything ), glossed and groomed to within an inch of my life.
New city, new priorities , according to Tess. You’re no longer a student, you’re a hot young urban professional living the dream in the City of Angels. I’d argued that I wasn’t a professional until I actually landed a job, but she laughed that detail off as a technicality. Looking like you do, it’s only a matter of time . Employers love hot, and you, my sweet Lexi, are the total package.
We’re about to find out if she’s right about any of the above.
I try to let Tess’s enthusiasm rub off on me as I stare at my reflection. My long blond hair falls in sleek waves. Highlights of platinum catch the light. Those colorists really know their stuff. My eyelashes have been lengthened by some carefully-applied mascara, also by Tess. A light green silk wrap dress with a short, flouncy skirt hugs my curves and emphasizes the green of my eyes. I wondered if the dress was too fitted and the skirt too short for a job interview, but Tess ordered me to get real. This is Downtown, honey. They work in bikinis half the time. Which is true, apparently. She showed me an article about it. Their offices are cutting-edge, modern, ultra-hip and even have pools, swim-up cocktail bars, loungers and tread mill work desks.
To-die-for heeled Miu Miu sandals with feather detailing complete my outfit. The shoes cost a fortune even at seventy percent off, but Tess said I really need to up my fashion game if I want to be taken seriously. I begrudgingly admitted she’s right. My wardrobe consists mostly of sweatshirts and jeans—the more comfortable the better, since I’ve spent the last four years studying 24/7, not to mention the years before that, which were much worse.
Tess also pointed out that my scary new credit card bill will spur my motivation to get earning as quickly as possible. I didn’t bother telling her I have that motivation anyway, cringing every time I think of my gargantuan student loan.
Anyway, look out, Downtown, here I come.
The elevator pings and the doors slide open. I enter the lobby. It’s all glass and chrome and is positively glimmering with bustle and excitement and glamor. A lone receptionist sits behind a tall desk with a massive print of the L.A. skyline mounted on the wall behind her. There’s an etched glass wall next to it that gives a tantalizing glimpse behind the scenes: busy people and racks of designer clothing, desks and film promotion posters. Sliding doors are open, offering views of the pools and palm trees. Music is playing. Everything about it screams YOU WANT TO WORK HERE.
The receptionist watches me approach.
“Lexi Blondeau? ”
“Yes, hi. I’m scheduled to meet with the interview panel at four thirty.”
“Actually, Ms. Blondeau, something came up. You’ll be meeting with Mr. Black himself.”
Mr. Black.
According to Tess, Rafe Black is famous for his reclusiveness and also his ruthlessness when it comes to business. He’s also rumored to be…ridiculously hot. Either way, I’m relieved. A one-on-one meeting sounds a lot less intimidating than a full-blown inquisition.
“He’s expecting you,” says the receptionist. “Go right on down this hallway. And take the elevator up to the 17th Floor.”
The receptionist’s phone rings and she points down the white marble hallway before she answers it. I want to ask her what number Mr. Black’s office is, but she’s already distracted. His door will probably have his name on it, I figure.
Fine, is what I’m thinking . I can handle this. No problem. Most likely, he’ll be some aloof executive who will run through his list of questions, loftily mutter a we’ll-call-you-if-we’re-interested dismissal, then send me on my merry way. I already know it’s a phone call that’ll probably never come. I’ll wait a few days before reality sets in, while I meanwhile scour the internet for something slightly more realistic.
I walk down the hallway, and press the button for the elevator. It might be a private elevator. It’s not the same one that accesses the lobby of the building .
The elevator swooshes up in that ultra-slick, barely-noticeable way, which gives me vertigo. I reach the 17 th floor in about three seconds flat. I teeter unsteadily into a hallway, which has floor to ceiling windows and a killer view of the hazy L.A. skyline, all the way out to the ocean. I take a few seconds to let my equilibrium settle more or less back into place.
So the 17 th floor is the top floor. There are a couple of swanky leather chairs bathed in sunlight.
Everything is so luxurious .
I can’t help thinking this would be a perfect place to sit and read a good book while appreciating the view. But of course I’m here for one reason only. To kowtow to the mysterious Rafe Black.
There’s only one door. So Mr. Black is the only executive with an office on the 17 th floor. Well, he is the CEO, after all. And the founder of Downtown. And now that I think about it, Tess might have mentioned that he owns at least part of the building. Or maybe the whole thing.
I knock on the door.
And I wait. I check my phone. 4:27.
It might be a full minute before the door opens.
He stands there, wide-legged, silhouetted by the sunlight streaming in from behind him. And— whoa —if I was expecting an ordinary, work-addled managerial type, I was sorely mistaken. Hot doesn’t even begin to cover it. In fact, it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to…just how gorgeous Rafe Black actually is .
He’s tall, and big. His dark hair is thick and more unruly than you might expect from a CEO. He’s wearing an extremely well-cut suit but doesn’t seem entirely at ease in it, as though it constricts a barely-controlled wildness that’s a definite part of his vibe.
“Mr. Black?” My question comes out breathy and cautious.
His eyes are a deep shade of dark, smoldering blue and have a glint in them that’s kind of…electrifying. He assesses me, more than a little cockily. But there’s an edge to him, and I get the feeling I’ve somehow caught him off-guard. He’s more tan and rugged-looking than any businessman has a right to be. It wouldn’t shock me if he spent most of his time sailing the Southern seas or wrangling bucking broncos in the hot sun. I don’t know why I say that. He’s got this outdoorsy look, which sort of clashes with the ultra-modern lines of his office and his building. He’s too masculine to be called beautiful but it’s a word that comes to mind. And it’s the kind of over-the-top male beauty that’ll hit you… right there .
Yikes.
As he opens the door in an invitation for me to enter, his eyes trail intently across my face and my body.
Wow.
This is already… intense.
“Ms. Blondeau.” His voice is deep, tinged with bass notes that sound almost like a purr. “Please, come in. ”
I hesitate. Some deep instinct flickers. For a second I wonder if he might be dangerous.
My hesitation seems to amuse him, and he barely cocks his head and scalds me again with those smoky eyes, like he’s challenging me . I dare you.
The brief, deep-rooted warning is overridden by something else. A curiosity. A pull that feels more complicated than mere attraction.
What I’m thinking is… I don’t care if he’s dangerous .
I can’t quite tear my gaze away from his brawny shoulders and his burly arms, where the muscles are defined even under the layers of his clothing as he clutches the edge of the door with gripping, brutal fingers. As alone as we are, I can’t help feeling like I’m walking into Rafe Black’s lair. No one will hear you if you call for help.
I step into his office, and feel a small rush of anxious excitement as he closes the door firmly behind me. Is it hot in here? The automatic lock clicks into place. I can feel my heartbeat in strange places.
“You’re very punctual, Ms. Blondeau. I like that.”
A good start, maybe. “Please. Call me Lexi.”
“Lexi.” My name, spoken in that molasses-rich voice, sounds strangely erotic. Almost indecent. I find myself wondering what it would sound like…in the dark…as a growl or even a plea as I take his…
What the hell?
I force myself to focus on the reason I’m here: To. Interview. For. A. Job .
This is not like me at all. I’m a clean-cut girl, punctual, reliable to a fault. Socially awkward. And embarrassingly inexperienced. I have never in my life felt such an instant and desperate pull of white-hot lust.
Damn you, Tess! Why did I let her talk me into wearing such a short, clingy dress? I feel like my clothes are entirely sheer, like Rafe Black is somehow penetrating them with his predatory appraisal as he watches me.
“You found me without too much trouble?”
He’s making small talk, to put me at ease, maybe, but I get the feeling that Mr. Black is perceptive, freakishly so, and that he’s somehow able to read me very easily. Too easily.
Small talk isn’t something I’m good at, but it comes more easily this time, for some reason. “Yes, well, I was glad there was only one door.”
He smiles, revealing perfect white teeth.
Holy hell. He really is…very attractive.
“I bought this building specifically for this office,” he says. “I prefer total privacy. I like the feeling of being removed from the rest of the world. What do you like, Lexi?”
So he does own the building. “Uh…” Is he teasing me? “We had to take personality tests in one of my psychology classes and the results said I’m ninety-three percent introvert. So, yes, I can relate.”
“We have something in common, then.” His eyes do that sparking thing again and… oh, no…I’m blushing. “No one can access this floor at any time without my permission. ”
“Oh.” I already know I’m locked in here with him. That no one can get in and that I can’t get out unless he lets me out. I also know that if I don’t un lock my eyes from Rafe Black’s sinfully perfect mouth right now, I’m going to do something I’ll probably regret.
I find myself desperately hoping my reactions to him aren’t somehow… detectable . My nipples might barely be visible through the thin silk of my dress, which has a sort of light, built-in bra that might not be fully up to its job. My skin feels warm and flushed, and I’m getting all hot and… oh god…
Flustered, I distract myself by taking in the surroundings. His office is huge. Three walls are windows and the fourth is black marble. There’s the elevator and one other steel, space-age-looking door, with blinking electronic locks. A large desk sits in the middle of the room and there’s a couch and several leather chairs. One of the glass panes has been folded open, and leads out to a huge patio area and a private pool. Tropical plants and palm trees decorate the space. Everything has clean lines and ultra-swish detailing. Clearly no expense has been spared. The design, at a guess, seems to suggest that Rafe Black is efficient, organized and…controlling. You get the feeling he does things his own way and will tolerate nothing less.
I walk over the window, looking out over the vast expanse of the city, which stretches out toward the distant strip of golden sand and the blue, blue ocean. “You have an amazing view.” Okay, not the most ground-breaking observation, but I can congratulate myself on the blithe, offhand tone of my voice, even if it is slightly husked. At least I don’t sound as shaken as I feel.
“Come, take a seat.” He motions to one of the leather chairs.
I do, as he half-sits against his desk and folds his arms across his chest, causing his suit jacket to tighten against his arms. Jesus, he’s buff. He looks unbelievably…strong. If he wanted to, he could so easily overpower me.
Lexi! I scold myself. Get a grip right now, girl! He’s interviewing you for a dream job, not “overpowering” you!
I do my best to obey the little voice in my head because I’m still picturing him, yes … holding me down…pinning me under all that big, hard weight…oh, hell.
This is bad.
His mouth quirks in a languid half-smile, as though he’s reading my thoughts.
Of course he can’t. I just need to calm down, and now that I’m sitting, I do. I try to, at least.
But then he takes off his suit jacket and tosses it onto his chair. Jesus H. Christ. The man is ridiculously built. Tall and muscular, but gracefully so, like a sculpture of a perfect male form. A perfectly ripped male form, with toned, hard muscles, as though he’s spent the last six months sweatily lifting hay bales in the Outback of Australia or something. As my eyes kind of rove and drink in the sight—don’t judge, this guy is seriously freaking hot — I can’t help but notice, as much as I try not to, that Rafe Black is impressively built in…well…in every conceivable category. There’s a sort of…very large… gigantic, in fact…swell …
Help me.
“Let’s get started,” he says.
Yes. Please. I need any distraction I can get at this point.
He reaches for a silver bucket on a stand I hadn’t noticed before, behind his desk. He pulls a bottle of champagne out of its bucket of ice. “This might seem a little strange, but this bottle was delivered only a few minutes before you arrived. It’s from my brother, Max.”
“Oh. Are you celebrating something?”
“Today’s my birthday.”
“Happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” he says. “Can I tempt you?”
I can’t even begin to describe how tempted I am. I know I probably shouldn’t accept his offer. A glass of champagne will only annihilate my self-control, which at this point I badly need. But I can hardly say no. It’s his birthday . “Thank you.”
He smiles, and his gaze lingers on my mouth, before returning to my eyes. That brief, subtle glance has all the effect of a shot of pure, uncut aphrodisiac.
No one should be this good-looking. Or this much of a big, rugged, sexy tomcat. All I can think of is hot, sweaty, down-and-dirty sex—which I have absolutely zero experience with whatsoever—and it’s freaking me out. I really have no idea what’s come over me. “There’s no reason we can’t enjoy my brother’s gift while we get down to business. ”
Rafe Black pours two glasses of champagne and hands one to me.
Then he sits in the chair that’s next to mine. He looks even bigger this close. And even more manly and mouth-watering, if that’s possible.
I could reach out and touch him…it would be that easy.
What would he do? Would he let me?
Somehow, I know he would.
His eyes blaze and I get that feeling again that he’s able to read me—if not my thoughts, then…my vibes. With chemistry this off-charts, it wouldn’t surprise me. I’m finding it a little hard to breathe with him this close to me.
“As you know,” he says, “I’m looking for a new assistant. I’ve had the same assistant since I founded the company seven years ago. She’s sort of a Moneypenny type. She’s retiring.”
“You must have been young when you founded Downtown, Mr. Black.” I wonder if he’s even thirty. He looks younger than that.
“Call me Rafe.” His wicked mouth quirks. He’s a rich, powerful mogul, obviously. And I’m an unemployed, entry-level nobody. I am, in more ways than one, at his mercy. His request for me to call him by his first name feels like…a small triumph. A connection. An invitation for familiarity that’s ridiculously enticing.
“Rafe,” I repeat. The name suits him. Strong, dark, commanding.
His eyes are intense, and I get the feeling that something about the way I’ve said his name has affected him. “I was twenty. Still at Stanford.”
“I…also went to Stanford.”
“I saw that on your résumé. It was one of the reasons I decided to interview you.” I wonder what the other reasons are, but I hold my questions. Maybe it’s best if he does the talking. My nerves have made me thirsty, and the champagne is the most delicious I’ve ever had. I sip again.
“Are you aware that Downtown is only one of the companies I own?” he says. “One of the smaller ones, in fact.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“We run the magazine and all its off-shoots, as well as several hedge funds, an investment company and a real estate brokerage firm.”
I’m beginning to grasp just how rich and powerful Rafe Black actually is.
“I have to be honest,” I tell him. “I’ve never been an assistant before. I did an internship last summer for a literary agency. The job mainly involved reading manuscripts and writing up reports. But I’m a quick learner and a hard worker. And very eager to please.”
His eyes spangle, and I realize what that must have sounded like. What’s wrong with me? Why the hell did I just say that? I blush again.
“I’m very glad to hear that,” is his soft reply. “I think your résumé and references speak for themselves.” His long fingers curl around the stem of his champagne glass. He looks like he could easily snap it without any effort at all. His eyes burn as he takes another sip. “I’m impressed.”
I think I might be combusting inside this potent cloud of alpha-male pheromones he’s emitting. My senses are hyper-aware, and my body feels unsettlingly warm… and soft…and—oh, hell, this is way too much…
Rafe rubs his hand across his jaw. He’s so freaking… sexy …it’s overwhelming me. His cinnamon skin, the stubble of his beard. I can just tell it’ll be rough and might even hurt a little . His mouth, his thick hair, his dark blue eyes rimmed with thick black lashes. The man is an absolute specimen of hot sin and alpha male energy. And let’s be clear about one thing: I’m not usually the type of girl who goes around thinking about alpha male energy or hot sin. Until now, apparently. “I do require that whoever I hire must be available immediately.”
“I’m available whenever you want me.” Oops. I realize the double entendre only after I make the comment, of course. Clearly my brain has turned to mush. My cheeks burn. “I meant, of course, that I’m available whenever you decide you’d, um, like me to start, if you want to hire me, that is.”
“It’s a demanding job. Long hours. I need someone who can basically be at my beck and call, at any hour of the day or night. We have affiliates in New York, London, Paris, Sydney, and so on, so we’re a 24-hour business. It can be hard on…significant others, if you were to be working a lot. ”
“I don’t have a significant other. I have a roommate, but she’s busy most of the time, building her business.”
“Good,” he says, and his smug charisma hits me in the low pit of my stomach. God, he’s so freaking cocky. And it’s doing things to me I can’t even begin to describe. “There will be times when you’ll be required to travel with me. Frequently, in fact. Do you like to travel?”
“I haven’t really had much opportunity to travel.” I don’t tell him that I never had the money. Or, that as a graduation present to myself, I decided to get my passport issued. Or, that it had just been delivered in the mail. Last week, in fact. “But I’ve always wanted to.”
“Perfect.” Rafe tops up our glasses. Then he reaches for a pen and a small piece of paper. He scrawls some numbers onto the paper and hands it to me. “This is the starting salary. Negotiable, of course. I’ll cover all business-related expenses. You’ll have a driver, and an expense account, if you agree to take the position. In addition, my apartment is in this building, and I have an adjoining studio apartment available for your use, if you have need of it from time to time, which you will, when I require you to work late.”
I glance at the number he’s written and hold back a gasp, wondering if my eyes are deceiving me. It’s more than triple what I might have expected to earn from an assistant’s job. A salary this generous will allow me to pay off my student loan within two years, especially if I can cut down on other expenses. Which I’ll clearly be able to do, with all that he’s offering me .
“What do you say, Lexi?”
“I say…yes. This is absolutely my dream job. Thank you so much, Mr.—”
“Rafe.”
His black-satin voice seems to penetrate the air as a physical force, touching me and ruffling me. How does he do that? “Rafe.”
He smiles. “It’s settled, then.”
This is happening so fast. I can’t believe I just got hired . By Downtown . More specifically, by its drop-dead gorgeous CEO.
Rafe places his glass on the table and leans in his chair. As he moves, I catch a light whiff of his scent. He smells of soap and mint and raw masculinity. And there’s more to it. Something elusive and outrageously, crazily appealing. The manly spice unfurls something in me, intoxicating me along with the champagne. My nerves are gone now, replaced by…sweet, soft, brimming heat. I feel reckless and a little crazy, if you really want to know.
My eyes rove down his long, powerful body and— holy hell. It’s obvious that he’s getting as worked up as I am. His…the front of his pants…is straining…unbelievably…almost like it might…bust out…
I can’t handle this.
What would it feel like?
Lexi. Stop. Right now. Seriously. “When…w-would you like me to start?”
“How about right now? ”
Our gazes meet. I’m having trouble breathing in enough air. I want to breath his air, his breath. That scent of him, that one hit, was not enough.
He leans closer. His dark eyes are burning with some unfathomable emotion.
Then, his hand lifts, brushing against an end strand of my hair.
He’s touching me.
His fingers twirl around a soft lock of my hair, forming a lightly ensnaring hold. Very gently, he pulls.
I follow his pull. My self-control has been obliterated. I want this job, but even more, I want him . Sensing my consent, he pulls me closer, and closer, until my mouth is close to his. My nipples peak into tight little buds of sensation. Concentrated lust seemed to center there, and radiates slowly through my body in shimmery, uninhibited waves.
His lower lip is close to my mouth, as plump as ripe fruit. I’m high from his effect, and so desperate for more of that scent and the taste of him, I can’t control it. This lust. This craving. It’s bigger than me.
“Lexi.” The whispered word is so dark, so deep. “I wasn’t expecting—” He stops, his breathing heavier, as though he’s conflicted.
I have no idea what’s happening to me, but whatever it is, it’s profound. I’m falling. That’s the only way to describe it. I can’t stop it. And I don’t want to.
When his mouth brushes against my lips in a feather-light kiss that promises so much more, I touch my tongue to the rounded curve of his lip. He groans, and his fingers graze my nipple through the soft fabric of my dress. He teases it between his thumb and fingers, kneading it into a ripe bud. Searing sensation surges through my body.
Oh my god. This is really happening.
I gasp as he pinches tighter, rolling my aching flesh more insistently, controlling me entirely with his touch.
“ Lexi ,” he says again, against my mouth. He cups my breast in his warm palm, squeezing lightly. “ Fuck .”
I get what he means. The ferocious urges of my body are driving me, and I realize with a tiny shred of concern that’s swept away by an ocean of surrender that I’ll do anything he asks. Anything. His effect is flooding me with fire.
He pulls at the knot of my dress, untying it. The fabric falls open to reveal my breasts. They feel full and soft. The rosy hue of my swollen nipples looks almost—and this isn’t something I’d usually stop to consider— sultry against the pale white of my skin. I feel more beautiful than I’ve ever felt in my life. Because of him and the way he’s looking at me. Like he wants to eat me alive.
Rafe makes a soft, savage sound. He seems overcome. He’s torn, I can see, by the thought of taking advantage of me, his new, young assistant, if he’ll even hire me now. It’s a strange and sudden turn of events, and completely unexpected. But I’m too far gone to allow his internal dilemma to steal from me this stunningly needy anticipation. I don’t care. I want him .
“Lexi. Do you want this?” His voice is low and deep and so appealing it pushes me past some barrier of self-control. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
No. Don’t stop. No stopping…