Chapter Six
Ava
I am never, ever, ever taking Xanax ever again. That right there is the Devil’s work. Those stupid little pills were supposed to chill me out, stop me from hyperventilating when Reese’s toy plane took off, and help me maintain the tiniest scrap of dignity. That was the line I was sold.
Instead, they had me spouting confessions like a truth serum. And not just any confessions! Oh, no.
Yes. I have used the toys, and yes, I thought of you when I used them.
Kill. Me. Now.
I bet they weren’t even Xanax at all. Bet there was some mix-up at the pharmacy, and now I’m tripping balls on some mystery pills as my smoking hot boss drives us into Las Vegas. Perfect.
“Comfortable?” Reese glances at me with a flash of those piercing eyes as soon as he’s done wrangling that Declan guy. Something about needing a new plus-sized model for the Aurora ad campaign? I wasn’t really listening. All I know is Reese put both hands back on the wheel while they talked, and with his touch gone from my body, cold reality crept back in.
Here’s another thing I’ve learned about the famous CEO of Aurora since starting this job: everyone wants a piece of him. Barely a minute goes by in the office without someone reaching out for a favor, or begging for help putting out some PR fire, or asking for investment. I hate to say it, but it almost makes me understand why Reese is so antisocial and cranky. I’d feel used after a while, too.
I give him a wobbly smile. “Sure,” I lie.
Because no, I will never be comfortable again, but I can’t tell my boss that. Can’t tell him that the backs of my legs are sweaty and sticking to the leather seat of his fancy hired car; can’t tell him my head’s spinning; can’t tell him that I’ve got that restless, tingly feeling low in my tummy that says one orgasm was nowhere near enough. Can’t tell him that my bra straps are too tight, digging into my shoulders, and that the bright sunshine is giving me a headache, and I’ve got dry-mouth from the mystery pills. Can’t talk to him about any of this, okay?
We’re not friends.
I can’t confide in Reese Donovan, bosshole extraordinaire.
My dumb ass kept him entertained on the flight—that’s all. If I hadn’t popped those pills and run my mouth like that, Reese would’ve buried his nose in his laptop and ignored me like usual.
Need to get past this. Need to act like nothing weird happened back there.
Sure, I got my rocks off for my asshole boss and collapsed into his arms. Just a regular Tuesday! We can course-correct.
“Shiny,” I say, pointing at a towering glass skyscraper outside. Guess my brain isn’t fully back online yet.
According to the sat nav, we’re getting closer to the hotel, winding our way through the city center. Even here in the business district, away from the 24-hour chapels and giant casinos that make Las Vegas the famous city of bad decisions, partiers crowd the sidewalks. It’s early in the day, but I count four feather boas out there. An Elvis impersonator yawns as his chihuahua squats outside a major bank.
“I’ll drop you at the hotel. Leave you to recover in your suite while I go meet Leon Anderson.” Reese’s mouth twitches, and Lord, give me the strength not to strangle this man with his own seatbelt. “You’ve had a busy morning, after all.”
“I will murder you in your sleep.”
Reese tuts, turning off the road into an underground parking lot. Sudden shadows wash over the car, plunging us into darkness. “Has anyone ever told you that you blow hot and cold, Ava?”
“I’m not—you’re such—I won’t blow —”
“Don’t get worked up.” Reese pats my thigh and I smack him away. Already, our closeness from the plane, the way we touched each other so freely high in the sky, feels like a million miles away. It makes my chest ache to remember it.
Back there, I was floating on a happy pink cloud. Freed from reality; not really Ava at all.
Now I’m crashing back to earth—hard enough to leave a crater in the Nevada desert. Seriously, what was I thinking?
I wanted it, yes. Wanted him so badly—Reese Donovan. My gorgeous, infuriating boss. If I’m honest with myself, I’ve wanted him since day one. Despite his growly comments and his surly stares, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve wanted to crawl under his desk and help the grump loosen up.
But I also want to eat pistachio ice cream topped with crispy bacon bits for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The things I want aren’t always good for me. It’s not a lesson I want to learn the hard way.
My hands shake as I unclip my seatbelt and turn to Reese. The engine shudders and dies, the car suddenly silent around us. Here below ground, with the harsh sunshine and chaos of the city left overhead, we’re in a sudden pool of calm.
“This morning never happened,” I say.
It’s the same voice I use on Max when he scratches the legs of Gram’s old antique kitchen table. The I-will-brook-no-argument voice. My sternest tone.
But Reese just smiles at me, weirdly sunny. The expression is unsettling on his brooding vampire features; I’m way more used to his frowns than his smiles. “Agree to disagree.”
He’s out of the car before I can argue, long legs unfolding into the parking lot. By the time I’m done sputtering after him, red-faced with frustration, Reese is opening the passenger door wide, holding out a hand to help me out of the car.
Ignoring his hand, I stumble out on jelly legs, nose in the air.
Dignity. That’s what we’re going for here, folks.
Dignity. Dig-ni-tee.
Though a tiny voice whispers in the back of my head that I’m in the wrong city for that.
“A moment please, Ava.”
The passenger door clicks shut, and Reese leans against it, hands in his pockets. Even when he’s not at his full height, my boss looms over me, dark hair rumpled from where he tugged at it in the car. Or did I ruffle it up like that back on the plane? The ghostly memory of soft, thick hair tickles my fingertips, and my hands ball into fists.
Swallowing hard, I glance around the parking lot. A few other expensive-looking cars hunker in the spaces, their paint gleaming in the low light. The parking lot is huge, like a cavern stretching in all directions, and every sound we make is amplified—every scrape of a shoe against the concrete floor; every low word and sharp breath.
We’re all alone.
Not a good idea.
“What’s up?” I ask, aiming for light and landing on strained.
Reese tilts his head, watching me closely. With his sleeves rolled up, the black edges of those mystery tattoos taunt me. What does a man like Reese Donovan get inked on his skin?
He says, “Have you ever thought about modeling?”
My laugh bursts out of me, shocked and loud, rolling around the empty parking lot like thunder. It’s so funny, my abs hurt, and I stop laughing way before my echo does.
Tugging my clothes straight, I fix my boss with a look. “You’re insane, Mr. Donovan.”
A slow shake of his head. “Not insane, Ava. Inspired.”
“Models are meant to be beautiful.”
He stands straighter, clearly offended on my behalf. “You are beautiful. Fuck that.”
“No, I know, I mean…”
My voice trails off, because I don’t have the words. How can I explain to this superhumanly handsome man, this genetic wonder, that yes , I love my body and my looks, and yes , I’m body-confident, but those feelings were a hard-won victory for me? That just because I wouldn’t change a thing about my looks, doesn’t mean I’m brave enough to put it all out there, out in the big, wide world of cruel opinions?
“This is perfect.” Reese strokes his jaw, watching me hungrily. “I need a beautiful, curvy goddess and here you are. It’s fate. I even know that you look fucking perfect when you use our toys.”
A blush spreads from my chest to the roots of my hair.
“That didn’t happen,” I remind him weakly.
My boss ignores me, whipping out his phone to tap a quick message. “I’m telling Declan to stop looking. We’ve found our model.”
Holy hell. “Do not do that, Mr. Donovan.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you practice.” Sliding his phone away, Reese grins at me and winks. Seriously—body-snatcher alert! “With the whole Aurora range if necessary. Anything to get you comfortable for the camera.”
“I am not putting my lady parts on film!”
My hand tingles, and I realize a beat too late that I just smacked my boss in the chest. His sculpted, strong, solid chest.
Reese smirks down at me, unoffended, as I shake out my fingers. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. These ads will be tasteful, I promise, Ava. Nothing X-rated at all.” His eyes darken. “Well, nothing on-camera, anyway.”
“I’m not doing it.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re up in our luxury suite, the Las Vegas skyline stretching away in all directions through the huge plate glass windows. Theoretically, our rooms are separated by one of those adjoining door thingies, but Reese keeps strolling in and out like he owns the place. Every time he glances at my fancy bed with its slatted bronze headboard, he gets a weird light in his eye.
“And stop coming in here,” I say.
Reese ignores me, crossing to the coffee station to flick the stack of fancy coffee pods. “Tell me what it would take to persuade you to model for us, Ava.”
Yanking my dress for tomorrow onto a hanger, I fling the closet door open. “A million dollars.”
“Really?” Oh God, he sounds way too pleased. “In that case—”
“Did I say one million? I meant ten million.” The hanger clacks against the clothes rail, and I shove it straight with jerky movements. This conversation has me way too flustered right now.
A million dollars?
Was my grumpy boss about to offer me one million dollars to model his sex toy line? And did I seriously brush that offer away like it was nothing?
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 all he wants 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, that part 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.
But I know 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. I see him.
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 I here ? 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…”
He trails off again. Usually, the man won’t quit berating me, and now he can’t finish a damn sentence.
“But will you be safe?” My stomach twists at the thought of Reese in danger. Even though he’s big and strong and muscled enough to take care of himself, I still hate the thought of him walking out there unprotected. What if this mobster is armed? What if it’s a trap?
What the hell kind of trouble did Ms. Nina get into?
My boss ruffles my hair before walking to the adjoining door. “I’m not Leon’s type. Remember, don’t touch yourself yet.”
After all, Reese is a very aggravating man. Anything could happen.