Chapter 16
Damien
Nothing could put me in a worse mood than knowing someone is fucking with me.
I know Decker is at the root of it, but it’s not like he is actually waltzing into my hotel himself.
He definitely wouldn’t set foot in the Opal Room, so he couldn’t have swindled any of my workers out of there with his own slimy hand and cheap smiles.
Which means he has insiders, and that makes me even angrier.
“You look lost in deep thought,” Diego comes into my office, and I realize I have been zoning out. “A penny for your thoughts?”
“I’m not that cheap,” I say. I’m early today and haven’t even had my coffee yet, so I’m not sure why I am trying to figure this out right now. It’s consumed my thoughts for hours now. I’m so bent out of shape about it, I’ve hardly slept.
“Nah, but I am your best friend. Which means I also know you. You’re trying to figure out who the sellout is.”
“I have a theory,” I say, shoving up from my seat to pace the room because sitting still is driving me nuts when my mind is running this wild.
“I do too, but you go first,” Diego says.
“Someone in the building is talking to customers and convincing them to go elsewhere. Which is wild considering most of our loyal patrons would be appalled at the idea of being solicited during their stay. Unless Decker has more than one person working for him, it has to be someone who also has access to the Opal Room,” I say.
I am just brainstorming out loud. It’s not like he hasn’t thought of this already.
“So you don’t think it’s some rando then?” He asks, and I rub my chin and shake my head.
“No. Because whoever it is would need to blend in, but also be appealing to people. Someone they trust,” I say, and then he finishes my sentence.
“Someone they know,” he says, and I point at him.
“Exactly.”
Diego runs his hands through his hair and narrows his eyes as he stares at nothing in particular. “Someone who works for you?” he asks the question I don’t want to think about but have obviously had to consider.
“Maybe, which would mean it’s someone who goes to both the hotel and the club,” I say.
“Bartenders?” he asks, and I run through all of them in my head. “I have two girls who work both at the Summit and the Opal Room. Jordan has been here for years, way before Decker took over his hotel, and Madeline is a straight shooter for sure.”
“How sure?” Diego asks.
I open my mouth to say something, then stop. Even though my employees were thoroughly vetted, nothing proves someone couldn’t have cornered and bought them off.
“Listen, if we are going to point fingers at the bartenders, we are also going to have to consider security guards,” I say.
“True,” he says as his phone goes off. “Well, I’m going to have to put a hold on this quandary, but we will figure it out.
Decker is too new to the industry to get away with this for long.
It’ll all come crashing down on him. And when it does, we will have our patrons back plus all his vacationers too. ”
Diego heads out the door and steps aside just before walking through as Annelise walks in.
I swallow hard as I take her in. She’s wearing a gold dress that fits her curves like it was painted on.
I watch as Diego’s eyes run involuntarily over her before he smiles, tips his head, and leaves.
For a moment, I consider grilling her about wearing such a sexy dress to work. Then I remember…I paid for it.
“You’re late,” I tell her as she approaches me with my coffee. Her perfume, hanging from the freshly showered locks of her hair, fills the air of my office, making it hard to breathe and focus at the same time.
“You’re early,” she says with just as much salt.
I’m not used to being talked to like this.
I’m also not used to looking forward to my personal assistant’s arrival every day.
In my defense, I’ve never had an assistant quite like her.
Annelise is all-consuming, and I couldn’t tell you if that’s a good or bad thing.
I take my coffee from her with little to no amusement in my expression, and she waits. My eyes flash down to the cup and then back at her.
“Is something wrong with your coffee, Mr. Graves?” She asks, and my first instinct, influenced by the heat pulsing through my veins straight to my groin, is to correct the way she’s addressing me.
Call me Damien.
But I don’t. Formality is important if I am going to keep a handle on her sass. It’s also important if I’m going to keep myself from blowing my load just because of the way her tits look in that dress. I mentally kick myself for picking a dress that's so fucking hot.
“No,” I answer flatly. I’m not going to lie, that one syllable is all I can really manage right now.
“Is the coffee right?” she repeats.
“It’s fine,” I answer, and I make my way back to my desk because I need to put some space between us.
“You haven’t tasted it yet,” she says.
“I don’t need to taste it to know that it’s fine,” I snap back. “The baristas never get my order wrong.”
“They know you well enough, I’m sure. But you should still take a sip of it to be sure. No one is without flaw.”
I think about that for a moment. Baristas.
While I don’t have any baristas at the Opal Room, the girls working at the hotel coffee shop are known for being very friendly and familiar with all my guests.
Not only that, but they are some of the only hotel workers that see everyone on a regular basis.
Even if Decker’s little spy isn’t one of them, they probably know more gossip and see more than anyone else.
I make a mental note to talk to the baristas later.
“Sir?” Annelise asks again, and I take a sip of the coffee.
“Perfect. Thank you, Miss Bates,” I say, but my tone is anything but grateful. I’m frustrated. Frustrated because I have someone doing an inside job right under my nose. Frustrated because I can still smell Annelise’s perfume even with the ten feet of space I put between us for safe measure.
“More perfect than usual?” she asks, and I narrow my eyes down at the steaming Americano.
“Why is it different?” I ask.
“They’re using a new brand of milk, I think,” she says. “Something about keeping it local.”
“Whose idea was that?” I ask.
“Jocelyn, I think,” she answers.
Leave it to Jocelyn to do things without my approval.
Though obviously half the reason I hired Jocelyn was because I don’t want to make decisions about things like milk brands.
I have enough real problems on my plate.
That, and she was one of the most adamant applicants I’ve ever had.
She had originally applied for the personal assistant job, but she was a bit too tailored for my taste.
Her attention to detail is great, but with her lack of curves, thin lips and her overly interested demeanor, she’s lacking in the sex appeal department for me.
“Of course it was,” I say. Then, without thinking about it, I ask, “How do you feel about it?” I take another sip, realizing that I shouldn’t care what my assistant thinks about these kinds of things either.
“I like it,” she says. “I’m an iced latte girl. It’s nice.”
“How so?” I ask, and Annelise gives a half shrug.
“It’s richer. It has a nice creamy mouthfeel,” she answers, and my eyes flash up to hers. There are a lot of things I can handle in my job, but hearing Annelise say the words creamy and mouthfeel in the same sentence is not one of them.
I walk around my desk and over to the door, closing it and turning the lock. Annelise’s eyes widen, and she looks a little on edge.
“Locket,” I say, and she touches the necklace on her collarbones.
“Sir?” she asks.
“The safe word,” I tell her. “It was in the benefits clause you signed that there would be a safe word.”
I step in front of her, and her breath quickens, making the room steam up each time we exhale, and the tension becomes palpable.
“I will never force you to do anything you don’t want to do,” I tell her.
“Within reason, of course. You agreed to the all-inclusive part of our contract, which implies that some things are expected. But I will never take advantage of you. That said, if anything I am doing is ever making you feel uncomfortable…if anything is…” I run my fingertips along her collarbone, touching the necklace as I do, “...unwanted…the word is locket.”
“Thank you, sir, but I can read and I understand the contract just fine,” she tells me with her pretty little chin held high.
But I didn’t lock the door and put my phone on vibrate for nothing.
Her saucy attitude is in full force this morning, and all the aforementioned frustration is building up in me with enough force to explode on a volcanic level.
“Damien,” I tell her. Then my eyes rake over the dress, and I debate whether I care about how much I paid for it and if it would be worth ripping it to shreds. “What are you wearing under that?” I ask.
“Lingerie,” she says. “That you bought.”
“What color is it?” I ask as my eyes continue to strive for X-ray vision. I can imagine the most likely lace panties and bra that she’s got on under that shiny material. But right now, imagining isn’t enough.
“Red,” she answers, and my jaw unhinges.
“Red,” I repeat. “That doesn’t really go with turquoise.”
“I wasn’t planning on a fashion show,” she answers spicily but I’m not in the mood. Well, I’m in the mood, but not the kind where I put up with her being a brat.
“Show me,” I demand. And despite my former clause about safe words, I’m not asking.
“Sir?” she asks.
“Damien.”
“Damien,” she repeats. “You want me to lift up my dress?”
“I want you to take it off.”
I’m not asking. And judging by the way her throat tightens and loosens again and the way her eyes flutter in a blink to regain composure, this little minx knows exactly how serious I am.
With her eyes locked on me, brimming with prowess, she reaches behind herself and tugs at the zipper.
As it slides down her back, my dick hardens.
She reaches up and pulls each strap from her shoulders, exposing them completely.
The bra is strapless, and I rack my brain to remember which one it might be.
On the day we went shopping, I was in a very one-of-everything mood, simply needing the woman who walks in step with me around the corridors of my empire to look just so.
And let me tell you, she does. She absolutely fucking does.
She peels the material from her torso, exposing one exquisite inch of her powder-soft skin at a time, and with the smallest shimmy of her hips, the dress rounds her curves and falls to the floor.
And with her eyes still fucking mine, Annelise steps out of it, standing in front of me in nothing but her heels, panties, and a bra that showcases her tits impeccably.
I approach her, taking two precise steps that close the space between us as I do.
Then, I lift my hand and run my fingers along her cheek, brushing the tips down her jawline and her neck.
Her lip’s part, and she emits a small, hot, sweet breath.
Never have I wanted to devour a neck so much in my life.
But I don’t.
Instead, I lean in just enough to whisper against her hair.
“Wear that tonight,” I tell her, and Annelise’s attention snaps up to me.
“Tonight?” she asks.
“The Opal Room,” I tell her. Then I walk around her, open the door and walk out without closing the door behind me.