The Two Week Arrangement (Penthouse Affair, #1)

Dominic moves so smoothly among these men, it’s easy to forget he’s only a few years older than me. I’ve been second-guessing myself all night, constantly feeling moments away from tripping over my own tongue.

“You’re so much more natural with them,” I say instead. After all, he was born to this high-powered lifestyle.

Dominic chuckles. “You haven’t seen how Roger behaves when it’s only me. Trust me, he’s enthralled with you. That’s the only reason why he’s started giving me a fair chance.” He rests his arm around my waist, and its heat burns right through the thin dress fabric to my skin. “And we’re more alike than you think, Presley. You have no reason to feel out of place.”

“Are you saying I’m a—how’d you put it—a ‘super nerd?’ Is that what’s happening here?” I arch my brows at him playfully.

“No, uh, of course not.” He’s rambling, and I’ve never heard Dominic ramble. In fact, I’ve never heard him be anything less than one-hundred-percent confident and calculated.

My lips lift in a smile. I like this cautious, flirty side to him. I like it enough to dare teasing him more.

“Speaking of nerds, that reminds me. In the limo, I told you several things about myself, but you only told me one. I don’t think that’s fair.”

“And you want to collect what I owe?” he asks, a husky note to his voice that makes my insides tighten. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll start by asking nicely. If that doesn’t work . . . we’ll see.” I lean closer to him. “So, what’s your story? Are you more than just a hot CEO?”

His mouth twitches in a smile. I just called him hot, and while he doesn’t comment on it, he’s clearly tucking that tidbit away. But I have no regrets. The man is hot as fuck. His confidence alone is off the charts, and the looks to go with that level of charisma take everything to another level.Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

“Honestly, I love it. And I hate it at the same time.”

“What do you love about it?”

“Being the person everyone looks to when shit is going wrong. I pride myself on staying calm under pressure.”

He’s right. Dominic is like a lighthouse in a stormy sea. Everyone looks to him for direction. He’s so steady and certain. It lends him a reassuring presence.

“And what do you hate about it?” I imagine he’s going to say the hours or the high expectations or the public scrutiny involved in pleasing stockholders. But he surprises me yet again.

“It was supposed to be Teddy’s job.” His eyes are stormy and dark, and I can’t read his expression at all.

“Teddy?”

“My brother, my father’s protégé. He was waiting his whole life for this.”

The older brother who died young. I came across an article about him online once, and now I recall the details—it was a drunk-driving accident.

Suddenly, I ache for Dominic. It’s obvious that his brother’s death left a lasting hole in his heart, and that he harbors some guilt about taking over the company when it was always supposed to go to his older brother.

Overcome with a sudden wave of emotion, I reach over and squeeze his hand. “Do you miss him?” I ask quietly. I know I’d never get over it if anything ever happened to Michael.

“Sometimes.” Dominic’s voice is restrained. He blows out a sigh. “But then I get so fucking mad at him that he drove drunk that night, rather than call for a car, that I don’t miss him at all.”

“That’s not true. Don’t say that. You can be mad, but don’t say that.”

His eyes meet mine, and I’m startled by their beauty. Deep blue with flecks of steely gray. They’re stunning.

“I have a younger brother. Michael,” I say.

He nods in understanding. “Are you close?”

“Very. He’s a dancer . . . wants to go into ballet. My dad pretty much disowned him, and since my mom died, I’m all he has.”

Dominic leans in, his face tilting to mine. “He’s lucky to have you,” he says softly.

His breath just barely tickles my lips, and my heart skips in anticipation. He moves closer . . .

Until loud ringing breaks the evening stillness. Dominic pulls back, taking his phone from his jacket pocket. I try not to glare at the damn thing for interrupting.

At the sight of the screen, he widens his eyes for a second before he schools his features. “Excuse me—it’s a private call,” he murmurs.

And before I can ask what’s going on, he’s already walking briskly inside, leaving me alone and confused on the balcony.

What was that all about? I thought we were opening up to each other, and suddenly he yanked that controlled mask over his face and rushed off. I’ve never seen Dominic so rattled. It was almost like . . . he got caught in a secret.

Work wouldn’t call him at this hour. Maybe family would, but I doubt he’d act that way if that were the case. Given everything I’ve learned about his life, I’d assumed he was single, but could he actually be in a relationship? Unhappily married? I sure as hell hope not, considering I spent almost two hours making out with him today.

The idea that I might be “the other woman” claws at my stomach. I want answers, right freaking now, and all the alcohol I’ve had tonight gives me liquid courage.

I drain the last drops of wine from my glass and strike out in the direction he just headed, determined to confront him.

A little niggling in the back of my alcohol-induced brain reminds me that the answers I get may not be the answers I want.