Chapter 5 – Pleasing the Boss

I think it was the dress.

Elvis speaks at the same time. “It was the dress.”

I look up at him, recognizing that heat layered in his tone. It doesn’t ignite the same fire as a shocking come-on from a rich, hot, powerful man, but we’ve been together awhile. The way he looks at me is familiar. Comfortable.

And it still does the job.

Particularly when added to the excitement of the evening.

I sq***ze my th**hs together, enjoying the tingle bet**en them. “You look good tonight. In your fancy tuxedo. You know I love seeing you all snazzy.”

His eyes are dark and he gives me a lazy grin. But then he gets serious. “The dress gets attention, but it doesn’t keep it. We do good work, Brystin. That’s what’s getting us in the door. You earned this. We earned this. We deserve this.”

My eyes get a little misty thinking of all the hard work we’ve put in to get here.

I turn back to my phone, trying to mitigate the overwhelm of emotion, and take a bite of my banana. I’d been too nervous to eat, and now I’m starving so I scarf it down while reading Shiloh’s last series of texts.

You’re the one who put that dress on. I know you. Be careful, girl.

Having a friend know me that well is both the best and the worst. Shiloh still thinks of me as the twenty-five-year-old girl who fell head over heels for a man twenty years her senior, a man who vehemently doesn’t believe in love. It’s true. I was that girl.

But Elvis does believe in partnersh*ps and politics, and when he proposed marriage, I knew full well the arrangement didn’t include love.

I’m thirty-three now. I’m not that girl anymore.

Not interested in defending myself, I put my phone down, and give Elvis the same heat he’d given me as I take a bite of my fruit.

“Pretty suggestive over there eating that banana.” He comes around the counter, puts his beer down, and wr*ps his arms around me from behind. “Should we celebrate in the bedroom?”

In my bedroom, he means, because we never have sex in his room. Despite our open marriage arrangement, I don’t love seeing the evidence of other women in my home.

I do love seeing him in my bedroom, though, which Shiloh contends is proof that I’m still into him more than I should be.

Honestly, it’s proof that I enjoy having sex with my husband. Is that a crime?

His hand slides down the neckline of my dress to caress my br***t, and I let out a soft m**n. I arch my back and give him my mouth, which he takes urgently. I can feel him hard at my backside, and considering how arousing this entire evening has been, I could easily see us not making it to the bed.

But when he starts to undress me, I urge him to my room. The blinds are already drawn, and while Elvis has a body that’s meant to be seen, I prefer the dark, tonight. In the dark, I can embrace all the excitement from the evening. In the dark, I can imagine a different hand unzipping my dress. A different mouth breathing hot on my neck.

A different c**k sl*pping inside my p**sy, and when I come, it’s blue-gray eyes watching me as I shatter into nothing.

Without moving my eyes from the car window, I reach over and nudge Elvis awake. “You gotta see this.”

He makes a noise that sounds like he’s stretching then clears his throat. “Are we here?”

“I think so,” I whisper, even though the partition is up in the limo, and I don’t think he can hear us. “We just stopped at an entrance.”

After a moment, the iron gate parts as it swings open, and the car starts driving again. Elvis undoes his belt buckle and scoots close so he’s looking over my shoulder. “Are those cherry blossom trees?”

“Yeah. Pretty sure they are.” It was what I’d wanted him to see. They’re in full bloom, lining both sides of the long drive. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anything so beautiful.

“Lucky timing. Another week, and we might have missed it.”

It’s been a week since my encounter with Hadrian in the elevator, and every day that passes, I feel more and more that I must have made the situation up to be more in my mind than it really was. The exhilaration from being invited to possibly move to the next level in our careers has surpassed whatever I felt near the CEO, anyway. Then today, the two-and-a-half-hour luxury ride to Greenwich and the arrival at what looks to be a gorgeous estate has lifted any last remnants of unease I’ve had about this weekend’s meeting.

A couple of minutes later, the limo is parking in front of a massive house that I can only describe as a mansion. I’m too excited to wait for the driver to open my door, and I jump out as soon as it unlocks.

“Holy f**k.” The mansion is even bigger when not framed by the window of the limo. While I’ve seen some big houses in my time, never anything like this. “It’s got to be twenty thousand square feet.”

“More, maybe.” Elvis climbs out behind me. “And to think—this is only a weekend house.”

I make a gesture with my hand that indicates jerking off because this building is the very definition of pompous.

Before the driver can catch sight of my action, Elvis grabs my hand, but he laughs when he does. “I thought this was the lifestyle you wanted one day.”

I shrug. “I want the career that can afford this kind of lifestyle.”

He looks at me with an eyebrow raised. We both know that this level of opulence is not likely reachable, even if everything goes perfect on my path from here on out. Anderson Cooper and Sean Hannity are probably the only two news personalities who might come close. The closest female, Diane Sawyer, is worth less than half of either of the top men. Needless to say, I’d settle for much less.

“Okay,” I amend, “I want the career that gets invited to this kind of lifestyle on a regular basis.”

He shifts my hand so that our fi**gers are interlaced. “The first was better. Dream big, sweet girl. You never know what’s possible.”

I glow in his direction. Elvis has always been generous with his faith in me. It was probably why I fell so hard for him, because he had so much passion about my abilities, about my potential, about who I could be. I thought it had to be love. It sure felt like love. What else could blind someone to all my imperfections?

I’ve since learned the stars in his eyes are about his dreams coming true, not necessarily mine. He’s honest about it, at least. I’m the one clinging to the idea it might be something else someday.

No, that’s not right. I was clinging. Not anymore.

“Mr. and Mrs. Endlich.” I’ve been so wr*pped up in admiring the estate that I’m only now noticing the woman in a pin-striped blouse and fitted trousers.

“She’s Ms. Shaw,” Elvis says.

“My apologies. I’ll get that fixed. I’m Carol, the house manager here. I’d like to welcome you both to Adeline.”

“Adeline?”

“It’s the name of the estate,” Elvis informs me, show-off that he is.

“That’s right, Mr. Endlich. Named after Irving Seymour’s late wife.”

“Samuel’s father?” I ask, trying to make sure I have all the VIPs straight. And now I wonder if the estate actually belongs to him rather than Hadrian.

“Yes. Though it was Hadrian Seymour who named the place when he purchased it. In honor of his grandmother.” Well, that answered that. “He’s very glad to have you here this weekend. I trust your journey has been excellent so far?”

“It’s been amazing,” I say as a man in a waistcoat and tie collects the luggage that the limo driver has deposited on the drive. “Oh, thank you.”

I look to Elvis to see if we should give a tip. He hasn’t reached for his wallet, and I trust him to know what to do in these situations better than I do.

---