I take a moment to admire the picture she makes, breasts heaving, pulse pounding at her throat, her skin rosy, just waiting for my touch.

  “Perfect,” I mutter, sliding a finger under the edge of her panties and dragging it through her wet curls to flick over her clit.

  She utters a strangled cry, arching against me, and I press into her, grinding my rigid cock against her hip. I’m no saint. I’ve been with a few women, women who’ve been around, women who know the score, but I’ve never even touched a woman this desperate to feel my hands on her. Desperate for my money, absolutely. But desperate for me, just me? Never.

  Her face is flushed, her eyes closed once more, her hips moving in rhythm to my hand as I slide my finger back and forth against her heated flesh. I need to see those eyes again, need to see her react as I enter her, as I bring her pleasure.

  “Open your eyes for me, Princess,” I tell her, gripping her wrists a little tighter when she doesn’t initially respond. “Open wide. I want to see those beautiful green eyes.”

  She opens her eyes, and I slide a finger deep inside her. She wails, and it’s all I can do not to come in my pants. She’s so tight, so hot, and so responsive as I curl my finger inside her and make her cry out again, writhing against me as I slide in and out, adding another finger, pushing higher and deeper with every stroke. She’s begging again, desperate pleas with every breath, gasping and moaning, and I cover her mouth with mine, just to feel her ragged breath in my mouth. My lips move to her throat, licking and nipping at her skin, savoring the taste of her musk and sweat.

  Finally, I lift my head and press down on her clit with my thumb, and she spasms around me, her screams of pleasure ringing in the small metal room. Her walls grip my fingers like a vice, clenching hard around me again and again, until finally she falls limp in my grip, quivering, trembling, utterly wrung out.

  I stare down at her, and all I can think is, I can’t wait to do that again.

  I slide my fingers out of her and raise them to my nose. Her scent is intoxicating, and I brush the moisture across her lips. “Taste yourself, Princess,” I tell her. “Taste yourself on my skin.”

  She opens her eyes, bright as a cat’s, and licks my fingers clean. I swallow hard, the sight of her pink tongue swiping over my flesh doing nothing to help my raging hard on.

  A grating noise from above alerts us just before the elevator starts moving again, and I do up her buttons seconds before we reach the first floor. The doors open, and I gesture to her to go ahead of me.

  Instead of walking forward, as I expect, she leaps out of the elevator like a gazelle on the Serengeti, disappearing into the crowd of firefighters and hotel staff in a second. I push through, brushing off the horrified staff, who clearly hadn’t realized exactly who was trapped in the elevator, but by the time I’m clear of the crowd, she’s gone.

  And I didn’t even get her name.

  ***

  Shay

  I race down the sidewalk, dodging passers-by and looking over my shoulder like I’m running from the cops. Frankly, I’m actually surprised I can run like this. My legs are still trembling from the beautiful stranger’s talented touch in the elevator, my core still tingling, my skin overheated and somehow too tight for my body. My pussy aches, like it needs more, although I can’t imagine what because I’m pretty sure that orgasm turned me inside out.

  It’s not that I’ve never had an orgasm before. I know my way around my body, but I’ve never got close enough to a guy to get that far. In school, I was studying hard, and I wasn’t the type of girl the guys were attracted to anyway.

  After that, well, I was working, and there wasn’t time for that kind of thing. Even if anyone had looked twice at me which, let’s face it, they didn’t. In fact, I can’t remember the last time anyone even asked me out, let alone looked at me like Tall, Dark and Handsome did; like he was dying of thirst and I was the last Big Gulp on Earth.

  When he walked into that elevator, I wanted to hate him, just on principle. His suit had to be worth four times my monthly salary, and we’re not even going to talk about his watch. But the way he spoke to me, like I was someone, someone important. I know he saw my nerves. I’ve never been a huge fan of the dark, and instead of mocking me, he tried to make me feel better.

  I slow to a walk because it’s even harder to run when you’re laughing. He made me feel better, alright. So damn good I screamed. Still, I know running was the right thing to do. He’s a rich guy with a charming smile and money to burn. I’m...not. Not rich. Not hot. Even if he’d wanted to make something more of it, how far would we have got?

  I know what I am and what I’m not, and under ‘Not’ is Attractive To Suitable Men. If I’d stayed, even if he wanted more than another notch on his bedpost (or elevator wall), he’d have turned out to be an asshole in the end. They all do. The one time one of the rich kids asked me out in high school, I later found out it was because he was curious about what it would be like to ‘do a whale’.

  Yeah, I didn’t show up for our supposed date, and I never regretted it for a minute. So I’m not going to regret walking out on this guy, either. I’m sure he can find a hundred girls, all far more beautiful than me, probably all professional models or heiresses, or both, right there in his little chick-tionary.

  Oh come on. Every guy has a chick-tionary.

  I, on the other hand, have a life to change. Mine. Now I know where I stand with Hennessy, it’s time to move on. I’ve got six years experience and a wealth of local knowledge. I may not have a degree, but there must be someone out there who doesn’t care about that, who’ll see experience as valuable in itself.

  I duck into a cafe, order an iced latte to cool down my still feverish body, and start surfing the job sites. An hour later, my ebullient mood is deflating fast. Clearly the post-orgasm high is wearing off, not helped by the fact that everyone wants a goddamn degree.

  Then I see it. ‘Events Coordinator. Temporary contract, experience required, no degree necessary. Immediate start.’ Clearly, whoever this is, is desperate, but that’s okay, because I am too. I can’t stay at Hennessy now, not without making everyone think it’s fine to treat me like the wage slave I am and constantly promote less qualified candidates over my head. This may be a temporary position, but it’s got the right job title on it, and that’s what I need right now. I compose an email, attach my most recent resume, and fire it off.

  Then I order another iced latte, because damn, I’m still too hot for my clothes, and that thought triggers the memory of what he was doing under my clothes, and I’m so ready when that latte finally arrives. I gulp it down, desperate to cool off. My nipples are engorged, rubbing uncomfortably against my bra, and I’m having to restrain myself from wriggling in my seat to try and ease the tension between my thighs.

  The last of the latte trickles down my throat just as there’s a ping from my phone. I nearly drop it as I stare at the subject line. ‘Interview today’. They’re calling me in. They’re actually calling me in! I open the email and scan it.

  Correction: They’re calling me in rightnow. I’ve got half an hour to get across town and get myself under some semblance of control. I blink, triple check the email, then leap out of my chair, pay for my coffee, and hurtle out the door to hail a cab.

  Interviewing me is an older lady with not a hair out of place. Her perfume smells faintly of gardenias, and she looks like she could shut down a bar fight with a single glare from her steel gray eyes, but she’s welcoming and calm and doesn’t make me feel like I’m inadequate for not having a goddamn degree.

  She offers me some iced water, and I accept gratefully.

  “Thanks. It’s been kind of a crazy afternoon.”

  She smiles and hands me the glass, then gives me a moment to sip.

  “Now,” she says. “First things first. Are you single?”

  I almost choke on my water, then stare at her. “What’s that got to do with the job?”

  She tilts her head. “Nothing whatsoever. Or at least, it shouldn’t. But sadly, the gentleman you’ll be working for has very bad luck with assistants, and I need to make sure I’m hiring the right one. So, do you have a partner or not?”

  “No,” I snap. “And I don’t intend to. I certainly have no interest in hooking up with some snakeskin-suited money man. I just want to do my job and go home.”

  Her eyebrows twitch, and now I’m regretting the snakeskin-suit comment. Dammit, I really wanted this job.

  “Look,” I tell her, standing up and lifting my purse over my shoulder. “I have years of experience and no qualifications. I just learned that my current position is never going to go anywhere, and all I wanted was a shot at proving myself. But if your boss is more concerned with whether or not I’m going to spend all day hitting on him, we’re probably not a good match anyway. Thanks for your time.”

  I turn away, and my heels sink silently into the thick, soft carpet, which is why her voice is clear as a bell when she speaks.

  “Can you start now?”

  I turn around and stare at her. “Well, technically yes, but I’ll lose my pay for my notice period, and I’m afraid—”

  “And if Max can reimburse you for that?” She sees the look on my face. “Max is your new boss.”

  “He is? I mean...you’re hiring me?”

  The corners of her mouth turn up ever so slightly. “That is why you came to this interview, isn’t it?”

  “Yes! I mean...yes, of course. I just… Oh hell, whatever. Thank you!” I shake her hand, and she immediately starts telling me about the job.

  “The Lupin Family Foundation’s annual gala is in a bit of a mess,” she says, handing me a binder about three inches thick.

  Lupin? As in…? Holy shit. I wanted to get into the big leagues but wow. Talk about be careful what you wish for. I shake my head and focus on the issue at hand. Panic won’t help me get the job done,

  “Let me guess, the last assistant was single?” I smile up at her, hoping to hide my nerves as I open the binder and scan the contents. My professional brain soon takes over, noting vendors, entertainment options, guest lists. And no current invoices. Shit. This woman did nothing at all. “When is it?”

  “It wouldn’t have been a problem if she hadn’t been so determined to hook herself a rich husband via the office. Midsummer’s Eve.”

  It takes me a moment to realize the last two words are in answer to my query about the date, but then I do the math and look up at her, trying to figure out what the hell’s going on.

  “Th-This Midsummer’s Eve? As in, June twenty-first of this year?”

  She nods and grimaces.

  “That’s three weeks away.”

  “You see our problem, then?”

  “You want me to pull off one of the biggest events in the city in less than a month?” My tone rises, but there’s little I can do to pull it back. I wanted a job that used my talents, not mission fricken impossible.

  The door opens behind me, whispering over the thick carpet.

  “Max,” she says, apparently relieved by the distraction. “This is your new Events Coordinator. Shay Thorne, meet Max Lupin.”

  I turn around, and the third nightmare of the day walks towards me, smiling a familiar smile. He doesn’t look nearly as shocked as he could, considering the last time we saw each other, his fingers were still wet from my pussy.

  I straighten up, pulling my shoulders back even though all I really want to do is curl into the fetal position and cry at the injustice of it all. My big shot at my dream is the Lupin annual ball, a fairytale affair attended by half the East Coast elite, and a chunk of the West Coast glitterati, too. It’s impossible to pull off something like that in less than six months, but I’m going to have to do it in less than one, and I’m going to have to do it all while ignoring the stunningly gorgeous man in front of me who had his hand in my panties the first time we met.

  I can do this. I can do this.

  “Shay Thorne,” he says, his tongue wrapping around my name in a way that makes me shiver. “What a pleasure.”

  I‘m so screwed.

  ***

  Max

  I can’t believe my luck. She’s here, right in front of me, my dream woman. And she’s agreed to work with me for the next three weeks in order to make the gala happen. That gives me three weeks to work on her and persuade her that actually she should give us a chance. I’m many things, but insensitive is not one of them, and she’s clearly not as pleased to see me as I am to see her.

  That said, I saw her pupils dilate when she first recognized me. She wants me. Whether she’s willing to admit it or not is another matter.

  I open the office door for her. She looks at it like it’s going to bite, but finally, her manners get the better of her, and she walks through, giving me the perfect view of her ass. I didn’t get to watch her walk away before. I was too unprepared for her exit to enjoy the view. This time, I give myself a moment to appreciate the perfection in front of me, before refocusing on the back of her head and her glossy hair.

  “We’re heading straight over to the venue,” I tell her. “My mother has asked a number of our regular vendors to meet us there so that we can discuss our needs and see if they can accommodate us.”

  “At three weeks’ notice? Unlikely,” she says, and I’m pleased to note her tone. She sounds frustrated but not defeated. It means she’s not underestimating the mammoth task ahead of us, but she’s not backing from it. I like her spirit. God knows I’m going to need it if we’re to get this gala off the ground in time for Midsummer’s Eve.

  We exit the office building, and I direct her to the curb where my town car is waiting. Brett opens the back door for us, and she looks at me, then at the inside of the car.

  “It’s just a car, Shay.” Then I realize the problem. “We can open the windows if you’d prefer more light. It’s the quickest way of getting about town, though, and we need to be at the venue in thirty-five minutes.”

  She frowns at me, then her face clears. “I’m not that scared of the dark. I just didn’t think… Never mind. Don’t worry about it.”

  She slides into the car and folds her legs in after her. I want to run my handover her skin, spread her thighs, and take advantage of the car’s privacy glass, but there’s a job to be done, and she doesn’t trust me anyway.

  Yet.

  But it’s nice to know she’d forgotten I’m a billionaire, between the office and the car. How else would I get around town? Nash, my security consultant, would have a fit if I ditched the very expensive armored vehicles he has made up for me, to his own spec, to gad around town in a cab.

  I slide into the car after her, and she squeezes herself up against the opposite door. It rankles a little, but I pretend not to notice. We’ve got time for her to get used to me, and I’d rather she came around to the idea herself rather than me pushing into her space.

  Focusing on the job at hand is easier said than done, though, as we walk into the venue with her lush curves leading the way. I tear my eyes away from her ass and focus on opening doors for her. It seems to irritate her, which I take as a good reason to keep doing it. I’m not about to let her forget me or keep me at a distance. Besides, my mother would have my hide if I didn’t open doors for a lady. It’s not that I don’t think she can do it herself. I just don’t think she should have to.

  A small, dapper man introduces himself as the manager and leads us through the lobby to the ballroom where we’ll be holding the gala. “We were most concerned not to have heard from the Foundation,” he says, in between pointing out where the tables and stage and so on usually go. “We did attempt to contact your office several times, but never received a reply.”

  I shake my head. That’s the last damn time I hire my own assistant. Shay’s already done more than Cherise ever did. She’s already opening up the binder and peppering the manager with questions. I zone out, forcing myself to look around the room rather than at her face, so alive and focused on her work. She clearly knows her stuff, talking about caterers, maximum attendee numbers and accommodations for the band.

  None of which have been booked, of course.

  I sigh, and she looks over at me. “What’s your budget?” she asks, and I smile.

  “We’ve got three weeks to pull off an event which usually takes eight months to plan. Just do what you have to do to get it to work. The cost really doesn’t matter at this point.”

  She gives me a strange look, then turns back to her binder. “Of course it doesn’t,” she mutters not quite under her breath, shaking her head.

  Ah, so that’s it. The money. I’d forgotten the way she looked at my suit when we first met. She doesn’t like rich guys.

  Well, on the one hand, she’s shit out of luck, because I’m not about to give away my billions, and my company that makes those billions, just to make her happy. On the other hand, such distaste for the rich has to have come from somewhere, although it seems unusual in a profession expressly designed to cater to the rich. Most people with less money make do without someone else’s help to plan their parties.

 

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