Chapter 10
The silver faucet tap squeaks as Oliver turns off the shower. As the warm water swirls down the drain, the steam covering
us like a blanket dissipates, drifting upward. It hits the marble ceiling, skittering left and right like fog rolling over
valleys. My body is vibrating, mostly from the aftershock of one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had, but it begins
to full-on shiver as he unravels his wet body from mine.
“Wait here. I’ll get you a fresh towel,” he says, taking one final look at me. His eyes are glazed and heavy, but his eyebrows
lift like he’s coming out of a trance; he smiles and shakes his head before disappearing around the corner of the bathroom.
Hearing his bare feet padding across the tiled floor back toward me, I cross my arms, covering my hard nipples as though he wasn’t just running his tongue over them.
My goose bumps bring clarity; I’m standing here in this near stranger’s hotel room, practically naked in the shower.
This was so stupid. I wring out my underwear and slide it back on, the cold sensation unwelcome but the action instinctual.
He reappears with a white, fluffy hotel towel wrapped around his waist and a bare chest, exposing the V’s pointing down to
his snail trail of hair dancing under his navel. My breathing hitches before I refocus and grasp the other towel he’s holding
out for me.
He watches me for a few seconds before coming to his senses. “Sorry. I’ll get you some dry clothes.” He pads back into the
bedroom, riffles around in his suitcase, then approaches me with an oversize navy-blue T-shirt. My fingers curve over the
soft fabric, our hands brushing as we exchange.
He huffs a laugh as I take the soft T-shirt from him, strategically holding the towel with one hand as the other forms a circle
and loops the T-shirt over my wet hair.
I head straight to the bathroom mirror to remove the residual makeup smeared across my eyes. I wash my face, drying it off
with my towel. As my eyes refocus, they study Oliver’s bare back in the mirror as he looks for his own clothes before locking
onto the reflected text on my T-shirt.
I tilt my head, trying to figure out what stnemtsevnI occiredO means. I pull the fabric away from my stomach to read it upside down. In white text on a navy background, it says, Odericco Investments.
Scrunching my eyebrows, I turn around and say, “We didn’t get these in the welcome pack,” holding the fabric out like a child
showing their parent a new drawing.
Oliver shrugs. “Being Dom’s assistant has its perks; you look good in it,” he says, his stomach muscles tense as he stretches his torso to put on a matching T-shirt.
He catches me looking, transfixed by the ebb and flow of his body, before approaching me, fingers lingering on my waist as he places a soft kiss across my lips.
My chest deflates as I sigh into his mouth, pulling on the fabric to get him as close as possible.
Finally, as if on a transatlantic signal delay, my brain catches up to what he just said. I stare blankly at him, blinking
as I try to process the words.
“What do you mean?” My mouth hangs open ever so slightly, eyebrows sky-high.
“You look good in my T-shirt,” he repeats.
He looks me up and down, studying my confusion with an equal glower. “They give them out all the time at the office.” He scrunches
his brows together. “You can keep it. I have a ton more I use for the gym.”
I press two fingers into the bridge of my nose. “No. I don’t mean the bloody T-shirt. You’re . . .” I can barely get the words
out because honestly I don’t want the confirmation. “Do you work for Dominic Odericco?” My voice echoes off the walls.
“Yeah?” He looks at me suspiciously, dropping his hands from me.
“What the fuck?” I jut my chin out in confusion, eyes nearly popping out of my skull as I push against his chest. “You didn’t
think to mention that?”
He looks as confused as me. “I thought you knew. Everyone here knows.”
“Clearly not! My comp—” I stop myself. “My boss’s company is in the competition that is hosted by your boss.”
He purses his lips, shaking his head. “So . . . ?”
“You have got to be kidding me.” I let out a frustrated growl, pacing the room in my underwear and the Odericco T-shirt; it feels tighter by the second. “It’s a huge conflict of interest; thank god we didn’t have sex!”
“I mean . . .” He picks up his watch from the side table with a bemused smile. “There’s still time . . . ?”
Head in my hands, I sit on the edge of the bed. “Don’t you see how bad this is?”
For the first time in this conversation, he looks genuinely concerned. Coming around the bed, he crouches in front of me,
gently taking my hands in his. “It’s okay—there’s like four degrees of separation between us. We’re both assistants to the
people in the competition. It’s not like we’re actually in the competition ourselves.” He scratches the back of his neck and huffs a laugh. “Now, that would be bad.”
My stomach roils. Fuck, fuck, fuck. If it came out that I’m the real CEO and founder of Wyst, that would be pretty terrible. If it came out that I almost had
shower sex with the head judge of the competition’s assistant, that would be fucking awful.
“Oh god, I’m going to throw up,” I say, leaping up to my feet. A migraine swiftly bubbling its way to the surface. “Why have
I not seen you around Dominic?”
He shifts awkwardly. “He’s usually sending me out on errands during this kind of event: getting his coffee, booking dinner
reservations, managing his luggage. All the lackey shit.”
I study him. “And you were openly complaining about those errands to everyone at the bar tonight. I’m surprised he hasn’t
fired you.” That was harsh but what the actual fuck.
“Well.” He scratches the back of his head, considering his next words. “Dominic’s also my cousin . . .” His mouth downturns as he cringes, anticipating my negative reaction. He is correct in the assumption.
A fresh wave of adrenaline hits my chest. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, I nearly had sex with Oliver Odericco?”
“Oliver Kavanagh!” he corrects with an air of desperation, like it’s a last-ditch attempt to rectify the night. The name doesn’t soothe me;
instead, my hands start to shake as it takes me right back to the initial phone call with Mr. Fucking Kavanagh.
Oliver Kavanagh doesn’t just work for Odericco Investments, isn’t just Dominic Odericco’s cousin. Oliver Kavanagh is the sole
reason me, Spencer, and Wyst are here. Oh my god, I nearly told him the idea is mine when we were at the pool.
Holding my hands in the air, I announce, “I seriously have to go.” I frantically pack up my things. My wet clothes are still at the bottom of his shower. I close my eyes briefly,
trying to avoid thinking about blissfully ignorant Jess having the time of her life with Oliver, cousin and assistant of Dominic
Odericco, under the spray of the warm water less than ten minutes ago.
Scanning on fast forward through everything I’ve seen and heard at TechRumble, I get stuck on something weird Dominic said
backstage earlier.
Where’s okay?
It sounded strange when he said it, but now the pieces fall to the floor and lock into place like red-flag Tetris blocks.
Okay. O.K. Oliver Kavanagh.
“Does Dominic call you . . . O.K.? Like your initials?”
He nods. “Yeah, it’s a teenage nickname.
I used to call him Dodo as retaliation, but he threatened me with a demotion to office night cleaner if I refer to him as that at work.
I think he secretly loves our inside jokes, though.
” He shoots me a soft smile as he steps off the bed, gently touching the arms at my sides with his warm palms. “Violet, this is fine. I am so unbelievably insignificant at Odericco. Dominic barely trusts me to get his coffee order most days.” He tilts his head playfully. “Which
is fair because I tend to spill them over incredibly attractive women before he can drink them.”
That’s why he seemed already settled in when Spencer and I arrived at the hotel early. Why he could get the dry cleaning sorted
so fast. Why he seemed so disinterested in any of the presentations. Why everyone already knew his name at the assistants’
party. Why he had the key card to the executive pool.
My blood pounds into my temples. Every part of this night was because he is Dominic’s assistant. Everybody knows him, and
everybody saw me with him.
He’s the assistant to the King of TechRumble, not to mention his flesh and blood. Everyone probably fawns over him. And I
could have been caught heavy petting in the C-Suite hot tub with him.
He holds my crossed arms and lowers his chin to meet me. “Look, why don’t we just chill out, I’ll order us some room service,
we can talk, get to know each other, and maybe if we feel like it, have a couple more life-altering orgasms . . . ?” His hazel
eyes twinkle in the low light, swirling gold and green streaks like koi fish gliding around a pond.
For a split second, I consider it. If this was real, I would stay. If I was really an assistant, someone with so little significance in this competition. If I didn’t have to watch Spencer like a hawk to make sure the plan and subsequently my company don’t blow up in my face.
“No, sorry. I need to, ummm . . . process this. Alone.” I swallow, avoiding his eyes.
His broad shoulders slump at my words, but he accepts my decision and he silently steps away from me, hands taut at his sides
as I pick up my bag and my bra and slink out the door.