17. Jess
Grand Hospitality Affair
“It’s so good to meet you, Mrs. Sanborne,” I say to the sophisticated white-haired woman in her late sixties. Sean introduces her as one of the board members of Blackwood Holdings and co-founder of the event. I learn that she’s been with Blackwood for decades and is an active participant in various community events, aimed at making a positive impact in the city.
“Please, call me Daniela. How wonderful that you could make it.” She reaches out both hands to take mine. “I assume it’s your first event?”
“It is, and I’m excited to be here.” It’s a huge event! There are so many people, and all dressed to the nines. I survey the crowd, but I can’t seem to locate Richard. Finding him is like searching for a needle in a haystack.
“My dear, our events are a great way to connect, and you’ll find some of the most influential figures here tonight,” she says, and I’m almost surprised when she brings me into a hug. From what I’ve picked up from Sean, I didn’t expect any warmth from a Blackwood board member, but I’m only too happy to return it. I assume everybody is friends on special occasions such as this one.
She continues talking about the charity and what it stands for. The Grand Hospitality Affair is a yearly event dedicated to supporting local communities in the hospitality sector. Scholarships, training programs, and local business partnerships are the heart of this wonderful initiative. I get a sense that, despite Sean being a regular attendee, his involvement in the charity isn’t widely known.
“Ye’re runnin’ a bit late. The show’s about to start,” a man with a thick Irish accent says as he joins our group. He pats Sean on his shoulder, then faces me and reaches out his hand. “Connor O’Malley. Who do we have here?”
“Jess Summers. My pleasure.”
“Jess Summers, is it? Well, the pleasure’s all mine.” He smirks, eyes twinkling with mischief. “So you’re the one who has the big man here blushing like a schoolboy.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say I have him blushing,” I quip. “I’d like to think I just caught him off guard with my irresistible charm.”
He laughs. “Nicely done, and damn right.”
“Connor here is the resident trouble-maker,” Sean interjects, shooting him a stern look. “Officially, he holds the prestigious title of VP of sales at Blackwood. Unofficially, he’s the reason we have a ‘Fun at Work’ policy.”
“You mean ‘No Fun at Work’ policy, Chief?” Connor retorts, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Precisely.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Oh, I’ve had my fair share of experiences with his strict policy rules,” I chime in.
“I bet ya have. But don’t be fooled by his Metropolitan slickness and sulky face, Jess,” Connor says, pausing for effect before adding, “There’s more to him than meets the eye. It’s not all business meetings and bedtime prayers. He’s just hidin’ it well. Once it’s out, mind yourself!”
“Well, isn’t that a revelation,” I say in a playful tone. “I better watch out then.”
“Don’t say ya weren’t warned.” Connor smirks, shooting a glance at Sean. “That’s the cat out of the bag now, Big Man.”
Sean raises an eyebrow at Connor’s remark. “The cat might be out, but remember, I’m the one holding the leash.”
“Ya don’t have to remind me. I’m well aware, Chief. Now, pints?”
Right on cue, Jasmine Williams, Sean’s friendly PA I’ve met before, welcomes us warmly, offering drinks. She informs Daniela and Sean that there’s a slight delay due to an unexpected issue—one of the art pieces, surprisingly large, is proving challenging to maneuver through one of the narrow entrances, causing a temporary hold-up. When I look at Sean, he gives me a “We’ve got this, no problem” nod. True to Sean’s prediction, nobody pokes into our relationship—or why I’m here in the first place. My mere presence by his side automatically grants me acceptance into the inner circle.
No, it’s more than that. I feel like I truly belong.
With my hair and makeup all set, I’m wearing a breathtaking red cocktail dress with a sleek silhouette, a neckline that’s making a cheeky statement, and I’ve paired it with golden-beige heels that lace from my ankles all the way up to just below my knees. I mean, this outfit and my matching red nail polish, who can have doubts?
Sean stays at my side as we engage in small talk with other guests, each one eager to greet him. He introduces me to a diverse array of influential individuals. Through these encounters, I’m carrying a profound understanding of not only Sean and the people that make Blackwood, but also just how tight-knit the NYC hotel circle is—everybody knows everybody.
With the second ring, Sean offers his arm, and heat floods my veins at his closeness while my hand grips his muscle as he ushers us to our seats. My chest swells when Connor insists on sitting on my other side.
A few moments later, the grand hall transforms into an auction arena, and the Grand Hospitality Affair unfolds.
It isn’t just huge. It’s grand. Nowhere I can spot Richard.
When I take my seat, I take one more look around, absently twirling a ring on my ring finger, the pretty piece of jewelry we made a surprise pit stop for at the jewelers. I did protest, but Sean had insisted the jeweler was waiting, and who was I to argue? Of course, I’ll return the ring after our time as a fake couple is up. Its placement among my other rings is intended for an audience of one. While it might give off the impression of an engagement ring to a particular observer, the intention is to keep everyone else blissfully unaware is working perfectly.
Such a bummer he isn’t here. Oh, well, he’ll likely see one of the photos in tomorrow’s paper. There are photographers everywhere. Now, I’m not a spiteful person, but for some reason, there’s something oddly satisfying about the idea of Richard discovering me in the midst of success—it’s like a balm for my wounded heart.
Moments later, bidding paddles are discreetly distributed.
The auctioneer, an elegant figure, takes the stage, introducing the first item—a rare piece of art starting at five thousand dollars.
I’m not bidding, but watch when other bidders enter the fray. With a calculated glance, Sean makes his move now and then, subtly escalating the bids.
“Jaysus, Sean’s makin’ sure those art pieces go for a pretty feckin’ penny. Owners will be thanking him from their new yachts,” Connor whispers, sitting next to me. He can’t help but offer a low whistle. “He’d usually be quiet enough about any contribution, but he’s making his presence known today, whatever’s goin’ on.” He smirks, but I don’t have time to react.
A masterpiece of modern art takes center stage, and a hush falls over the room.
The auctioneer introduces the Metropolitan Reverie.
It’s the drawing I’ve been waiting for, the reason why I’m here.
It looks even better than I imagined.
The canvas is an impressive twenty-one by ten feet, and it’s an abstract piece that captures the skyline of New York City. After several recent exhibitions, Josephine Ashford’s artwork is gaining recognition in the art world, sparking rising demand both nationally and internationally. By the looks of this piece, the artist utilized her entire arm length to blend bold, swirling charcoal strokes to represent the city’s vibrant energy. The skyline is powerful, with subtle references to iconic NYC landmarks. But wait…no…is that what I think it is? Amid the abstract forms, I discover something that quickens my pulse. There’s a hidden figure that resembles Spider-man swinging through the city! I know it’s just in my imagination—but I’m sure it’s a sign.
Now I know it for certain: I have to have it. Oh, it’ll look more than wonderful in our lobby. It’s perfect!
“We’re starting the bidding at fifty thousand dollars for this exquisite piece,” the auctioneer begins.
My heart races, and the air is thick with anticipation.
Of course, Sean notices my excitement, and he turns to me, his brow going up just a millimeter. That’s the one?
I offer him a subtle nod.
Go for it, his eyes say. Show’s all yours.
All right, I eye back.
The bidding war for Metropolitan Reverie begins, and I join the action, bringing the bid up to fifty-five thousand dollars.
As expected, several paddles rise at the next amounts, but my eyes remain fixed on the artwork. Soon, the increments become smaller, and one by one, bidders start bowing out. With each increase, my determination intensifies, and soon we reach the pivotal moment.
The auctioneer asks, “Do I hear one hundred thousand dollars?”
At that, I raise my paddle once again, my hand shaking a little. That’s so much money. But I’m ready to claim what I think will be an amazing investment, both financially and aesthetically.
My heart quickens when no one else matches the auctioneer’s next bid suggestion.
Connor leans in. “That’s the job done now, I’d say,” he whispers to me, and even Daniela, sitting front row, turns to offer a warm smile.
“Going once... going twice…” the auctioneer begins, and just as the realization of triumph settles in, a sharp voice sounds from the back.
“Two hundred thousand dollars.”
The room buzzes with surprise. I turn, disbelief written all over my face.
It’s Richard.
There he stands, paddle raised.
Tall, confident, with a perfect poker face. He has always had a knack for making a grand last-minute entrance (especially when it comes to breaking hearts).
But right now, it feels like two hundred thousand bricks have dropped on me.
The auctioneer seamlessly adjusts, acknowledging the new bid. “We have two hundred thousand dollars. Do I hear two hundred-fifty thousand?”
I clench my paddle. I can’t match him.
In our talk beforehand, Sean and I capped the auction budget at one hundred thousand dollars.
When Richard’s gaze meets mine, anger roars inside of me at his smug face. It wasn’t a mere coincidence that he arrived late and overlooked my bet—no, he’s well aware I want it. I know what Richard is doing—because I’ve seen him do it before. If he thinks he can gift it to me later, arguing that he just tried to raise its value for me, he’s wildly mistaken. While I don’t doubt the drawing is going to be worth much, much more in a few years, I can’t get into debt. I can’t push the limits for this piece that has captured my soul.
Sean looks at me, aware of my turmoil, leans in and whispers, “May I?”
Yes, I nod.
His lips brush against my knuckles before he faces the auctioneer.
“One million dollars,” he says, his voice cutting through the room.
The crowd gasps.
Faces fall.
My heart leaps.
He said it as if it were nothing. Like he ordered pancakes. Like he asked for a napkin.
“Two million dollars,” Richard counters.
More gasps.
Double jerk.
“Three,” Sean says without blinking.
Holy moly.
The atmosphere is charged with the thrill of anticipation. All eyes swivel back to Richard Rutherford. My heart is about to pound out of my chest. Its rhythmic thumping echoes in my ears.
Do not match, do not match, I think.
Richard seems to assess the situation, then shakes his head—no. Art has never held much interest for him, and he’s unaware of its value. What he isn’t unaware of is Sean’s determination. He recognizes my fiancé would sell his soul to bring joy to my heart.
He gives Sean a nod of acknowledgment, a silent and polite concession.
“Going once... going twice…” The room holds its breath. Me? I’m sitting on the edge of my seat, wondering if I’ll need CPR by the time the hammer falls.
“Sold, for three million dollars.”
The auctioneer brings the hammer down. Thunk!
I let out a breath, my shoulders drop, and tension melts away in my body.
It’s ours.
The room erupts into a wave of applause, not just for the victorious bid but for the intensity displayed by both men in the epic exchange. I fight to hold back my too-obvious delight at Sean securing the most significant piece of the evening. Undoubtedly, the art magazines will be full of the dramatic showdown at the auction. Critics will analyze the significance and catapult the artist to new heights of recognition.
Connor leans in with a grin. “Told ya, job done.”
We leave swiftly during the break, with warm goodbyes from Daniela and Jasmine, and my hand firmly around Sean’s arm.
“Christ alive! Life’s too short for these borin’ charity auctions, isn’t it? You’d have more craic at a funeral,” Connor teases with a knowing grin, patting Sean’s shoulder as we walk past him. “Enjoy the evenin’, you two.” Connor leans into Sean, lowering his voice conspiratorially—but just enough for me to hear. “Word to the wise, lad. Keep this one. She’s good for ya.”
I’m filled with pure joy.
I’ve made the right decision.
As we ride the elevator down to the parking garage, Sean shoots me a triumphant smile. It’s one of those smiles that steals your breath, and for a moment, I find myself almost needing to gulp, struck by the sheer beauty of it. Everything went off without a hitch.
Yes, his smile is triumphant, but oh, boy, so is mine.
“Thank you for doing that.” I beam at him, unable to hide my joy. “Our lobby will look spectacular.”
“It’s a good investment, I’m sure. And now, for the fun part of the evening. Are you hungry? Dinner’s waiting.”
I stare at him. “Dinner? As in a business dinner?”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s not a corporate dinner. I want you to come to dinner—with me.”
I lean against the shiny elevator wall. “You know, it’s common courtesy to ask if a woman wants to join you for dinner…” I raise my hand to playfully poke his chest. “…instead of assuming she will.”
He catches my hand in the middle of the movement, wraps my fingers in his and kisses my fingertips before he lets go. “Are you saying you don’t want to go?”
My heart flutters, and I try to act nonchalantly while grabbing onto my purse. “I’m not saying that at all. Dinner sounds great.”
I believe I have gotten to know Sean pretty well over the last two weeks, and he’s a straightforward kind of guy. Chances are if he really needed to talk to me about business, he would just do it. It’s one of the things I have come to expect, which is why our “faking an engagement” has been hard for me to process.
But is this a casual dinner or a date? That’s the three-million-dollar question. Not that it makes a difference—or concerns me.
It’s a date, I decide.
A fake one, of course, but still, a date is a date. Or is it real?
I mean, he bought a three-million-dollar art piece because of me. I’m aware he didn’t buy it for me, it’s for our lobby. But it still counts.
Sean Blackwood, the most irritable, utterly commanding, supremely authoritative, yet undeniably most eligible billionaire bachelor in NYC is out on a legit frickin’ date. And who’s the one he managed to rope into joining him? Yours truly!
How fortunate he is. Ha!
“So, where are we going for dinner?” I ask, once I’m seated in his luxury Mercedes, fastening my seatbelt. Nervous excitement flutters in my belly. Taking a first date with a guy I’ve been fake-engaged to should be a walk in the park. Yet here I am, proving that even a seasoned faker can’t dodge the fluttering nerves.
“We’re going to one of my favorite little Mexican restaurants,” he says. “I don’t go nearly as often as I’d like, but when I was first starting out, it was where I would treat myself.”
He’s taking me somewhere that’s important to him. Oh, if that doesn’t tug at my heartstrings and make my stomach burst with butterflies. I honestly half-expected him to take me to the bar again or some super-duper fancy place that matches his expensive taste. But this? This is better.
“Mexican sounds perfect,” I say, giving him a warm smile. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had good Mexican food.”
“Then prepare yourself, because Monta?a serves authentic Mexican cuisine.”
“Hey, I’m sure it’s better than the last time I had Mexican food.”
“Where was that?”
“It was at Taco Bell.”
Sean laughs, a sound I hear so rarely, but when I do, it instantly makes me happy. His gaze travels across my body as he watches me laugh too.
“Have I told you how stunning you look tonight?” he asks before facing the road again.
“Thank you, you clean up well yourself.” Sean is impeccably dressed in a form-fitting dark-gray suit, and his tie adds a touch of flair with its deep, rich shade of orange. There’s something about a man in a finely tailored suit that will always be sexy. Especially if that man has muscles that look like they were chiseled from stone, and the suit highlights every one of them, and I swear, he can probably flex the buttons off. At least he can in my fantasies, and oh, my God, do I have plenty of those running through my head on a daily basis.
Passing another car, he turns to me, rumbling, “Are you wearing panties tonight?”
OMG. Naughty. I’m wearing a thong. The dress is smooth, and it leaves no room for traditional undergarments. A thong was the only practical choice to ensure that no lines disrupted the silhouette of the dress along my hips.
“I’m wearing a thong,” I tell him.
“Take it off for me.”
“Sean!”
“We’re going to behave, relax,” he assures me with a wink. “I just like knowing you’re not.”
Okay, there definitely seems to be a pattern here. I do as he says (not hesitating all that much). In one swift motion, my fingers slide into my thong. I roll it down over my hips, pushing them past my calves and heels.
“Much better,” he praises while I open my little golden-beige purse to deposit it.
“Give it to me.” He holds out his hand, eyes back on the road.
“Sean?”
“I’ll give it back.”
I pass him my thong, and he smoothly tucks it into his side pocket before placing his hand on my knee. There’s definitely a pattern here. With just his left hand, he navigates the road, and the other rests casually. Just as he promised, he refrains from making any advances. It’s both tantalizing and scorching, scorching hot.
We pull up to the restaurant, and Sean gets out first. I barely have a chance to unbuckle my seatbelt before he has the door open for me and extends his arm. Feeling giddy and not even attempting to hide my pleased blushing, I accept, and we head into the restaurant arm in arm. With my dress being knee-length, I don’t have to worry of unintentionally making it into one of NYC’s infamous gossip magazines, gracing the pages under a “flashing” headline—ultimately ruining the charity article I had envisioned as a beacon of respectability.
The restaurant is small, as he mentioned before, but traditionally decorated. Ornate wooden carvings and vibrant Talavera tiles provide an elegant cultural touch, while elaborate wrought-iron chandeliers cast a warm glow. It’s evident a lot of love and pride has been put into the space. It’s equally evident that he comes here more than he lets on, because they know him on sight.
Judging by the ambiance and the impeccable appearance of the women around, I surmise that I may not be the sole attendee who’s opted for a thong-less approach, and Sean’s hand on my hip reminds me of his appreciation of this choice.
It feels delightfully naughty, with no one in the know.
We’re greeted like royalty and whisked away to the only empty table. The waiter arrives, and we give him our orders. Sean orders the nachos with extra guac, and I’ll try the tamales—without the avocados (they never made it to my list of favorites). Unlike the margarita I order.
When the waiter leaves, I say, “Don’t even think about kissing me after all that avocado.”
“I’ll make sure to rinse my mouth out first.”
“Good.” I take a thoughtful sip of water. “So aside from your love of Mexican cuisine, tell me something else I don’t know about you.”
Sean leans back in his seat, relaxed in a way I haven’t seen in a while. “What do you want to know?”
“Something personal. Something fun.”
“Ask me a fun question,” he challenges.
The question pops into my head instantly. “Your middle name isn’t Peter by any chance, is it?”
He looks puzzled. “Actually, it is. Named after my grandfather.”
“No way!”
“Yep.”
“Oh, my gosh, just like Peter Parker!” I beam at him, intrigued. My chest rises, and I’m hoping my dress doesn’t reveal my perky nipples beneath the fabric. “You know, Spider-Man? Besides Mary Jane, he had a thing for a Jessica.”
“Seriously?”
“You bet.”
He chuckles. “Believe me, no Spidey-skills here. Heights aren’t my thing. You’re looking at a guy who wouldn’t even climb a ladder.”
That explains why he was so concerned on the balcony the first time we met and didn’t politely suggest ‘handling’ things. I flash a grin and reply, “Well, I guess we won’t be plotting any daring rooftop getaways together, then. But hey, at least we can enjoy…well…” My eyes fall to my lap and slide back to him. “…ground-level adventures?”
“Who needs heights when there’s so much to explore down here.”
“Exactly.”
“Got any more burning questions?” he asks.
“I sure do,” I say brightly. “Do you have siblings?”
“I’m an only child. I was raised by both my parents. I told you about my mother passing away. I was thirteen when it happened. After that, my dad was pretty busy, so it was one nanny after another until I was old enough to work, and then I started working at my father’s properties, learning the ins and outs of hospitality. It was one of my mother’s final wishes. She told me that she knew how important it was to him—to stay.”
“Oh…so did you like it?”
“Thankfully, I did. I wanted to make it a career. That was the last time my father and I ever agreed on anything.”
“So, you really were born and bred in this business, huh?”
There’s a smile on his face, and when he speaks, it’s full of sarcasm. “I think if I had wanted to go into any other profession, my dad might have had a heart attack.”
“It sounds like he cares for you.”
The waiter pops by to drop off our drinks, which we thank him for. I pick up my margarita and take a healthy swig. It’s really good, and I take another right away. Sean asked for a black coffee and a soda with lime which he sips thoughtfully as he watches me enjoying my cocktail from across the table. It’s dangerously good. I feel so comfortable I almost forget I’m not wearing any underwear. I don’t think I’ve ever been on such a deliciously hot first date.
“What about you?” he asks. “I know you’ve told me a little bit of how you got into this business, but I feel like there’s more to the story.”
“There’s not much to tell. I had your standard childhood: raised by two parents, and luckily, they’re both alive and well. I’ve worked in hospitality since I was a kid. My parents own a successful small hotel on the West Coast, in Cedar Cove, and I knew from a young age that I wanted to do what they did. So, I got a job at a hotel and loved it so much that I decided that’s my calling.”
Sean raises his eyebrow as he stirs his coffee. When I don’t immediately continue, he asks, “That’s it?”
“Why? What were you expecting?”
“There’s gotta be something else. A few interesting tidbits that you’re not mentioning.”
“Of course there’s more, but I really wouldn’t call the tidbits interesting. More like…” I pause, trying to find the right word. “Sad. Devastating. A hard lesson I had to learn.” I take another sip of my margarita.
His expression turns hard and serious, reminding me of our first encounter in our apartment’s hallway. “What happened?”
Normally, thinking about what happened stings even after all this time. I regard him for a moment, my fingers tracing the rim of my glass. “To be honest, I haven’t talked about it with anyone else besides Pauline, my neighbor Lottie, and Norman. It’s not something I typically dive into on the first date.”
Shit.
First date.
I wish I could take back those words the moment they leave my lips.
Or at least said “fake date.”
Sean arches an eyebrow, just as I expected. “Given everything that we’ve done up until this point, I don’t think we can label this a ‘typical’ first date.”
“Fair point,” I say casually, pondering what exactly he means.
Is it atypical because it’s not a date, or is it atypical because, in his mind, it is a first date but not in the conventional romantic sense—you know, not your run-of-the-mill dinner-and-a-movie date?
“But I still find it quite enjoyable,” he rumbles.
Even though it doesn’t answer my question, my heart swells.
That’s when the door opens and Richard walks in, accompanied by three suits.
Speak of the devil.
The four men look like they own the place, even though Richard is clearly the leader. His commanding presence suggests that this insider restaurant is the ideal setting for a business meeting. The ambiance, neither too opulent nor too casual, seems perfectly suited for business deals. Richard glances across the room, and when he sees us, he nods. Sean nods back.
“Small world,” Sean says, after turning back to me. “Do you want to leave?”
“Absolutely not,” I say firmly, but appreciating his question. From the corner of my eye, I notice Richard and the three impeccably dressed individuals being guided to sit a few tables down.
“Fine by me, my soon-to-be wife,” Sean says, a mischievous glint in his eye.
And just like that, the question is answered. Our “no clue what it is” date morphs into a fake date, with Sean game for extending the performance.
I try not to let my inner turmoil rear its ugly head.
“You were saying?” he asks. “Please continue.”
“Well…the main reason I don’t like to bring up what happened before I bought Westerlyn is because even after all this time, I feel incredibly dumb for not seeing what was coming…” I pause for a moment. “How much did Norman tell you about me or my past while you two were putting the deal together?”
“Not much, really. I knew something significant happened to you before. Or at least, that’s the sense I got. But if it’s really not something you want to talk about?—”
“No, no, it’s okay. I don’t mind talking about it now,” I assure him, crossing my legs and leaning back in my seat. “As you know, I was in a relationship with Richard. Back then, he handled investments. He knew that I wanted to own my own hotel, and one day, I found one that was exactly what I wanted. It was my dream place, a plaza hotel. All I could think about was all the changes I’d make and how I could improve it. I was so excited. But I was young and in love, both of which make you blind. Anyway, the hotel was way too expensive for me alone, so he offered to buy it with me, together.” I sigh. “The one thing I’m proud of myself for doing is keeping our bank accounts separate. Otherwise, it may have turned out far worse than it actually did. Which isn’t saying much because it was still pretty bad.”
“What happened?”
“Just one day before our wedding—he bought the hotel for himself.”
Sean leans on the table, and his expression is darker than I’ve ever seen before. It’s the definition of brooding intensity, a thunderstorm brewing in his gaze.
I can’t take my eyes off him. It’s frightening, in a good way—in a good way because he’s completely on my side.
Sean shakes his head as he crosses his arms. “That’s unacceptable.”
“I know. The funny thing is, it catapulted his career, turning a small hotel into a billionaire plaza mogul empire.”
“That’s not funny. It’s fucked up.”
“I know. But honestly, Sean, in the end, I had to stop thinking about it or what I should have done. I had to accept that it is what it is. If I was ever going to be happy, if I was ever going to move on and make something of my life and live my dream, I couldn’t live in the past. That’s what I told myself every day, until I believed it. My approach was to find the silver lining amid the turmoil, the glimmer of light in the storm. I couldn’t keep thinking about him. I wouldn’t give him that power. Not then, not now.”
“How does he dare show his face in our hotel, let alone try to buy it?” This time, he has a “I’ll burn the world down, and this guy first” death glare. My nipples prickle against the fabric of my cocktail dress.
“I know. The audacity, right?”
“Didn’t you wish he’d regret the crap he pulled?”
“Of course. Especially in the beginning. But somehow, deep inside, I knew I dodged a bullet. He chose the hotel over me. Goes to show how much he truly loved me. Thanks—next! I knew I’d find a better opportunity. And I did.”
Sean reaches across the table and takes my hand. In my mind, I hope it’s as real as it feels. I also hope Richard is watching us, that he sees this. But when I glance over, he’s occupied by studying the menu.
“You’re definitely the most positive, steadfast person I’ve ever met,” Sean rumbles. “I can’t imagine the strength it must have taken to pick yourself back up and start over. A lot of people would have let that situation turn them bitter. But you didn’t. You still managed to save up and make your dream happen. You should be pretty proud of that.”
“The gown, the engagement and wedding ring all ended up in the pawn shop. Without that cash, I might never have secured a stake in Norman’s shares. Crazy, isn’t it?”
There’s a look of understanding that passes across his face. “That’s why you were so upset about Norman selling to me. Old wounds and all that.”
“Well, that was only part of it. The main part is because I swore I would never get involved again with someone I was working with. No sex, no dates, no feelings with coworkers or business partners, in short: no business entanglements, especially with Chief Executive Officers. It’s my number one rule. It encompasses the ‘don’t kiss the CEO’ and ‘never date the CEO’ and especially the ‘wear panties at all times’ clauses—no exceptions.” I smirk as Sean’s eyes light back up. “Clearly, I fell somewhat off the wagon.”
“I’m glad you somewhat did. It’s proved beneficial for the both of us.” Sean pauses for a moment, and then he says, “And now it’s making a ton of sense why you refused for so long.”
“I’m not sorry about anything.”
Sean’s thumb strokes my palm. Just that little touch is enough to stoke those flames between us that never seem to burn out. They only lie dormant until the next time we’re together.
“What do you see yourself doing next?” Sean asks.
I consider his question. I love how he’s always interested in me and my thoughts. “Honestly? I feel like the sky’s the limit. With everything running so well, there’s always room for expansion, and I’ve been considering exploring the adjacent building for the possibility of expanding our New York property. If our occupancy rates remain consistently high, we’re going to need more rooms.”
“I don’t think it’s for sale, the adjacent building. I already had Connor look into it.”
“Oh, not yet, but soon,” I say, smiling, squeezing his hand. “I’ve got a real estate agent with some top-notch insider info. Jane Deets. I’ll reach out to her and see what I can do.”
There is genuine excitement in his eyes. “Excellent,” he says. “If that’s the case, increasing the amenities would be good. If we expand, we can make space for an indoor pool, which is always a draw to guests. Especially in the city where swimming isn’t easy to come by. And a spa. Spas are a great source of income, not just from guests but from locals as well.”
“Norman and I always wanted to explore this option, but the limits of financial resources have held us back. But what about you? Where do you see Blackwood in the next five years?”
“That’s easy. International. Hands down, we’re going to be in many countries across the world. We’ve already started and we’re in the process of acquiring smaller chains in some of the bigger tourist areas, like the Caribbean and Europe.” The darkness in his eyes returns. “That’s if my father will ever get off the board and let me do what needs to be done.”
It’s what it always seems to come down to for Sean, getting out of the tight hold his father has on the company. That’s got to be frustrating, and annoying. I lucked out meeting Norman and connecting with him as well as we did. I have no doubt that if he hadn’t been as open-minded and understanding, it would have been impossible for me to implement the necessary changes.
“Can I ask you something?” I request once the waiter brings our food and we start to dig in.
“Sure, go ahead.”
“I find it strange that your father is so fixated on the idea of you buying me out. I mean, it’s kind of flattering that he’s so interested, but isn’t there a more significant business he should be focused on?”
“He’s a, let’s say, difficult figure. It’s evident that fellow board members are growing weary of his approach. But it’s challenging to take action against the man who built and owns the majority of the company shares. He possesses sufficient leverage to prevent a vote for his removal.”
“You’ve proven yourself time and time again. Magazines are filled with your praises. He shouldn’t be micromanaging you.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Jess.”
I’m intrigued to learn more about his relationship with his father and late mother. In the photo, his dad didn’t strike me as a “difficult figure,” but I hesitate—it’s not my place.
Instead, I say, “His mood, his burden. Don’t make it yours.” His brow furrows, but a flicker of something unreadable crosses his features. “So, when you’re head of the board, when you finally have the reins, what’s the first thing you’re going to do?”
He seems to consider my question for a moment before he says, “As mentioned, we’re set on expanding internationally. But the initial step I’ll take upon gaining control is to assess our existing properties and concentrate on enhancing their potential. Focus on quality over quantity.”
“Smart. Exploring the opportunities right in front of you is a fantastic way to foster growth.”
“We have a separate team who deals with the management side of things, but I always felt we could be doing more. We bought these places because of their potential, and we’ve continued to work to make them profitable, but profit isn’t everything.”
“Right?” I smile at him. “If we wanted to, we could really go ham and focus on the latest technological advances for hospitality. For example, implementing in-room tablets for guests to control room settings and request services.”
“What other changes do you want to make that you haven’t been able to?”
“Oh,” I wave my hand, “don’t even get me started.”
“Too late.” He gives me the cutest smile. “I’m invested. Tell me.”
The rest of the evening dissolves into a sort of impromptu business meeting. The food is excellent. And while, yes, this had started off as a thrilling-auction-turned-hot-fake-date, I don’t really mind the conversation switching because there’s something different about it. It feels like a true collaboration, a true meeting of the minds. I forget everything about me, and there’s only him. Sean Blackwood. Dominant, powerful, with his all-encompassing presence.
The plans we talk about are plans we want to make together. We’re a team.
In fact, I feel like we’re really onto something, and that together, we’re an unstoppable force.
It’s good this isn’t a real-real date.
In a way, it’s for the best. A professional partnership shouldn’t be jeopardized by something as delicate and fleeting as love.
“Wanna have some fun with him?” he asks after the waiter takes our orders for dessert.
“With Richard?” I glance over, and notice two more businessmen have joined his table. While we’re anticipating our final course, they’re still in the midst of savoring the main meal. “Sure.”
“Get up and walk to the washroom. I’ll meet you there in a minute.”
I nod, excitement swelling in me. I get up, and from the corner of my eye, I catch Richard following my movements. He’s about to get up too, but changes his mind when Sean stands.
Once I’m in the beautiful, huge washroom that serves as a front room to the guest toilets, filled with a couch, seats, mirrors and two lavish sink areas, Sean arrives only a few seconds after.
Before I can even get a word out, he rumbles, “I’ve been meaning to do this all evening.”
Before I can react, his lips are on mine.
Before I can even process what’s happening, my brain shuts off.
No power.
Not even a flicker.
Except for the surge of electricity that courses through me with his earth-shaking kiss. It’s brimming with such emotion, passion, and tenderness that it almost moves me to tears. Nothing else exists. We kiss and kiss, unable and unwilling to stop.
Without breaking the kiss, he attempts to lock the door behind us. “Fuck, there’s no way to lock it,” he mutters against my lips before pulling away, but not losing touch of me.
He looks at his watch, and I can tell what he’s thinking. His intentions are clear—he’s not inclined to venture into that territory, and he’d rather spare me the walk of shame in front of Richard. Instead, he chooses to relish a touch of playful torture.
“We don’t have much time, let’s make it count,” he murmurs. “Two minutes, max.”
He brings me back into another kiss and pushes me toward one of the sinks. My hands are all over him, tugging at his shoulders, at his muscular arms. He wrestles control, pulling up my dress so he can slip his hand underneath. His mouth is hot and hungry, just like his gaze had been. His tongue pushes past my lips while his hands grab my naked ass.
He hoists me into a seated position on the vanity, never breaking our kiss. Nearly every inch of us is touching. His hands are back on my breasts, my waist, my hips, squeezing hard, as if he’s never touched me before in his life.
“We can’t keep doing this, Sean,” I whisper between our kisses, breathless.
“Jesus Christ, I want to fuck you so bad, Jess,” he rasps, “but this isn’t the time.”
When there’s a noise, we whip our heads toward the door, but it’s nothing. He kisses me more, his hands back on my breasts, teasing my nipples through the cloth.
“Those damn nipples have been driving me insane all night. Lower that top for me.”
I do as he says, not questioning anything, pulling my dress down, exposing my naked breasts for him.
“A bit more.”
Before I can blink, his lips are circling my nipple, then sucking it in, pulling it hard and releasing it with a pop. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” He repeats the same thing with the other nipple. The sensation makes me moan, and warmth blooms between my legs.
“Oh…Sean.”
His palms skim along my thighs and all I can think about is him touching me between them. Gosh, I’m so relieved I opted for comfort over potential panties struggle.
His hands slide to my knees. “Open your legs. Quick. Spread them. Spread them.”
I hesitate, my head light. “What if someone walks in?”
“I know who’s in charge, Jess. And it ain’t you. I need to taste you. Now.” He’s already lowering himself as I’m opening my legs, my golden-beige strappy heels dangling to his left and right.
“Wider. Relax.”
The next thing I know, he has my clit in his mouth.
“Naughty girl,” he rumbles teasingly. “No underwear? Living life on the edge, I see. Brave move.”
I can’t even joke at this point because his tongue swipes over the sensitive skin, oh-so-gently massaging the sensitive bud, and oh, God, I’m trying so hard to be still. He’s sucking on my clit, teasing it, doing things to it that make my head fall back and my back arch.
One swipe later, I start panting.
Two swipes later, my thighs start shaking, and when he sucks it into his mouth, hard, sending pulses throughout my whole body, I can’t stop a low groan from escaping my mouth.
Three sucking motions later, I’m ready to erupt. We’re talking a volcanic explosion, massive, earth-shatteringly violent, and downright cataclysmically cosmical.
Making sense of things is a challenge right now.
I want to ignore the noise outside the door so badly. But suddenly, he’s back in a standing position, and I follow his lead, standing (all wobbly), while I adjust my top over my chest and he’s helping to smooth my dress down.
The door opens, and an elderly lady with an elegant white bob walks in, her walking stick in hand. We nod at her innocently, and she gives us a warm, cute little smile and proceeds to the ladies’ room in the back.
Once we hear the click of the door behind her, he leans in, and I’m so glad his hand reaches back below my dress and softly starts rubbing my clit, around and around, rumbling, “Once we get home, there’s no mercy.”
My hips buck against his hand as I’m hovering on the edge while he continues to brush his finger against my swollen, aching clit. I can feel how soaked I am for him and let out a desperate whimper.
I’m so wet.
I’m so close.
I’m so very close.
“It won’t be sex,” he rumbles in that low voice against the shell of my ear, stroking me. “It won’t be love making. It’ll be hard fucking, and you’re gonna take that cock like a naughty little thing.”
I nod, fully agreeing. “Sounds like a perfect plan.” At this point, I would have agreed to paint the entire hotel lobby pink and fill it with real flamingos strutting around.
He circles my clit one last time, pinches it, then removes his hand. “I propose that we scarf down dessert and make a swift exit.”
“Yep, my plan exactly,” I manage to breathe out.
My clit protests loudly, screaming, please please please continue.
He gives me a quick kiss, licks his finger clean, reaches up into his hair and dishevels it a bit (the part that hasn’t been disheveled by my thighs), giving me a smirk.
“Good. Let’s go.” Oh, I get it. He’s planning to straighten his hair as we’re walking toward our table, in perfect line of sight of Richard.
I smile. “Okay.”
Sean reaches for my hand, and when his fingers find mine, the touch sends a delicious shiver racing down my spine. He leads me toward the exit, fingers interlaced, then we’re out the door. We’re holding hands, like a real couple. It’s not just the firm touch of his hand or the cute wink, it’s the side-glance when he squeezes my hand and his thumb softly brushes over my knuckle. He’s acutely aware of his actions and what they do to my heart.
Oh, no. This is bad.
Very bad.
Worse than I thought.
I might not only break my cardinal rule.
I might commit an unforgivable act.
I might be falling in love with Sean Blackwood.