by Kendall Ryan
The Two-Week Arrangement
Copyright © 2019 Kendall Ryan
Copy Editing by
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Content Editing by
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And by Rachel Brookes
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Photography by
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Table of Contents
The Two-Week Arrangement
About the Book
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Next Up in the Series
Acknowledgements
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About the Book
Dear Sexy AF Intern,
I know you don’t particularly care that I’m the CEO of this company, and you’re just an intern. I also know you’re not impressed by my power or my wealth, and that’s fine.
You think you’ve got me all figured out from working alongside me for two weeks, but you don’t know me. Not really.
You don’t know that I’m a single dad to twin toddlers, or that those two little girls matter more to me than this entire hotel chain.
I’m not interested in starting something deep and meaningful, but what I am interested in is the way your body reacts to mine when we’re in the same room. You probably assume the concentration on my face is work-related, when in reality, I’m figuring out which I want more—to nail you against the wall or bend you over my desk.
While you’re too disciplined to act on it, I’m not. And the night you stepped into my limo, all bets were off.
Prologue
Presley
I have fourteen days to win the job of my dreams. Two weeks of working alongside billionaire hotelier Dominic Aspen to land an executive spot at the most prestigious hotel chain in the world.
There’s just one thing standing in my way: one six-foot-two, infuriatingly sexy thing, my new boss—Dominic Aspen.
If the rumors swirling about him are true, I have no idea how I’ll make it through this in one piece. He’s intense, demanding, and mysterious.
But I need this job more than you can imagine.
I won’t play games, won’t fall for his charms.
Too bad Dominic doesn’t play fair. In fact, I’m not certain we’re playing the same game.
One touch, and I’m putty in his hands. One whispered promise, and I’m done for.
But I was never supposed to fall in love . . .
Chapter One
Dominic
“Been out with anyone lately?”
The tension headache that’s been threatening all day finally sets in, throbbing low in the base of my skull. I shake my head at Oliver’s ridiculous question, my gaze not straying from the screen of my laptop.
“You know I don’t have time to date,” I say, more than a little exasperated that we’ve had this conversation approximately six thousand times.
Just because Oliver is in a happy relationship doesn’t mean he needs to force monogamy down everyone else’s throats. I’m perfectly happy being single.
“Come on, man. You without pussy is like macaroni without cheese.”
My vice president, ladies and gentlemen.
“Fuck’s sake, Ollie. Do you have to be so crass?”
This recurring conversation is wearing thin. I’m about three seconds away from kicking him out of my office. Or kicking him in the nuts. Whichever comes first. Maybe I’ll kick him in the nuts and then kick him out. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve both.
Oliver only scoffs as he wanders to the far end of the office and reaches for a cut-crystal glass from the bar cart. The glass decanters hold fine aged Scotch and the best gin money can buy, but I rarely touch the stuff. It’s there for two purposes—on the rare occasions when I’m entertaining clients, and for Oliver. The man drinks like a fish, though he rarely lets himself get intoxicated by some miracle of his metabolism. But I take no issue with it. It’s well after six, and technically speaking, our workday is over.
Without bothering to ask me if I’d like a glass, he simply pours himself two fingers of Scotch and then joins me again, sinking into the plush black leather wingback across from my desk. He only takes one sip before continuing the criticism.
“Don’t be such a priss, Dom.” He pauses to look at me, his eyebrows raised in amusement as if he’s about to let me in on an inside joke. “You must have forgotten.”
I lean forward and place my elbows on the desk. “Forgotten what?”
He smirks, swirling the liquor in his glass. “That I know all of your quirks.”
I roll my eyes. That’s a polite way of putting it. At least he didn’t call it a sexual deviance again. The memory of that conversation last month makes me shudder.
It’s true that Oliver knows me well. I’d be the first to admit my best friend and vice president has gotten me out of some unseemly situations over the years, but that doesn’t mean I want to discuss my sex life with him.
Even though we’ve been friends since we graduated from Princeton, there are certain boundaries I like to maintain now that I’m his boss. In some ways, those years seem like only yesterday, and in others, they feel like a lifetime ago. Even if Oliver hasn’t changed much, I feel like a completely different person.
“You know the only two ladies I have time for are Emilia and Lacey.”
Defeated, he sighs. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”
I would appreciate it if Oliver didn’t always forget the two little girls waiting at home for me to read them bedtime stories and check for monsters under the bed. Children certainly aren’t on Oliver and Jessica’s radar at this point in their relationship.
They weren’t on mine, either.
“Besides, there will be time for fun and games later. The internship program begins Monday.” I skim over the schedule my assistant has compiled for me.
Oliver drums his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Damn, that’s right.”
A handful of the best and brightest recent college graduates from all over the nation were selected out of more than a thousand applicants to join Aspen Hotels on a trial basis. For the next two weeks, they will be responsible for learning our current business model and executing the forward motion of our hotels into a more modern format.
It’s not the first time Aspen has offered this internship, but it may be the last. Outreach initiatives like this have proven successful from the public relations standpoint, but employee retention from these internships has never impressed me. I guess that’s the one thing I inherited from my father, the late Phillip Aspen—perpetually low expectations.
“Since when did we believe in internships?” Oliver grumbles into his
drink.
Once again, he’s read my mind. Despite my misgivings about the program’s success, I do need a new director of operations. Desperately. This internship, with some tweaks, will help me find a candidate who’s fresh and hungry, not someone so set in their ways that they refuse to do things my way.
“We need to reevaluate our operations if we’re going to survive in this market. Internships are an excellent way of bringing in new blood without losing money on new hires who prove to be financial risks.”
“That was pointed.” Oliver laughs.
“Terry wasn’t a new hire. Terry was a very old hire who needed a wake-up call.”
“I was talking about Kylie.”
“Oh.” Kylie was briefly our director of operations, after Terry’s resignation.
“Why did we fire her, anyway?”
“She had some unreasonable expectations.”
Oliver raises his brows in question, but he knows better than to ask.
I don’t condone unwarranted sexual advances from my employees at our philanthropic events, no matter the blood-alcohol content. I also don’t ruin a perfectly capable woman’s career by broadcasting her actions to my friends and coworkers after she throws herself at me. Instead, I quietly fire her with a sizable severance package and an emphatic good riddance.
“So that’s what you’re trying to get out of this? A new director of operations? Look, Dom, I respect your choices, and God knows, I let you make most of them. But recent college graduates don’t necessarily have the experience we need at the helm of our entire operation.”
I smirk. “I’m glad my father didn’t feel that way when he hired you as a consultant fresh out of college.”
Oliver raises his hands in surrender. “Point taken. And I’m glad you decided you needed a vice president to help you run this shit show.”
He lifts his glass in a friendly toast. I mime the gesture in return.
Ping.
An email grabs my attention. It’s our marketing director, proposing the updated social media branding for my approval. I examine it with a critical eye—each and every font, each pigment of color. It’s classic, but still somehow fresh, and doesn’t stray from our brand. I decide that I like it, and shoot off an email telling her as much.
“Do you ever stop working?” Oliver is leaning so far back into the chair that I have to look over my screen to make eye contact.
“Nope. Shouldn’t you be headed home soon to Jess?”
“She’s off on business.” He sighs, genuinely upset by her absence.
I smile. True love isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Oliver and Jess are a thriving couple to all inquiring eyes. But as their friend, I know exactly how deep their codependence goes. I can tell that as soon as Oliver leaves my office, he’ll be on the phone with her, asking about her day.
He’s fucking whipped.
“Well, chin up, brother. Tomorrow should be interesting, right?”
“For you, maybe.” Oliver frowns. “I don’t have the luxury or energy to enjoy the company of young attractivos.”
I smile at Oliver’s choice of words. He hasn’t lost any of his quirks since settling down. If anything, his propensity for made-up words has only been encouraged by his other half.
“You should enjoy the next two weeks, though.” Oliver tips his glass toward me.
“How so?”
“Get yourself some new blood.” He gives me a devilish grin.
Ah, yes. Back to square one. How do we always end up here? Oh, right, because Oliver has a one-track mind.
“Aspen Hotels needs new blood. Dominic Aspen is just fine,” I respond firmly.
“When’s the last time you had a woman in your bed?” he asks.
I don’t indulge him with an answer, mostly because I can’t remember, but also because it’s none of his damn business.
“That’s what I thought.” Oliver grins, knowingly. “And when’s the last time you had a conversation with a woman that you weren’t paying?”
“Are we done with this lecture yet? I have work to do,” I grumble.
Oliver doesn’t respond, only slides out of the chair and places his glass on my desk, temptingly close to my hand. “Good night, Dom.”
“Good night, Oliver.” He has his phone in his hand, dialing Jess before he’s even out the door.
Classic.
I run my hand through my hair and eye the clock on the far wall. Past dinnertime. I don’t have much of an appetite, but I know I should eat. I should also go home early for once, relieve the nanny, and see my beautiful daughters before they’re tucked away in bed.
Yet, here I sit. Staring at the drops of Scotch at the bottom of someone else’s glass.
Dominic Aspen is just fine.
Chapter Two
Presley
You’re only as small as your dreams.
That’s what my mother said to me in the hours before cancer took her. That sentiment is the cornerstone I’ve based my life on ever since. I don’t do small. It’s not in my vocabulary. I dream big or not at all. I take risks, fight for what I want, and push myself to live life to the fullest.
It’s the only way I know how to honor my mother’s words. I also make sure my younger brother does the same. He’s just finished his first year at one of the country’s most prestigious ballet academies.
My mother would be proud of us both. My father, not so much. She would hate the man he’s become.
He never calls, and when we do talk, he speaks mostly in grunts and monosyllables. He’s about as supportive as an overcooked noodle. He threatened to back out of paying for my brother’s schooling if he majored in dance, and then made good on that promise when Michael came out as gay.
But I swore to Michael that we don’t need him, our father who I now view as little more than a sperm donor. Sure, I’ll have to work a little harder, dream a little bigger, to take care of both my brother and myself, but it’s nothing I can’t do.
Which leads me to today.
“Today’s the day, huh?” my best friend and roommate, Bianca, asks from her perch on the couch.
I gulp down one last sip of my now cold coffee and grimace as I swallow. “Yup. Today’s the day.”
“You’re not nervous, are you?” She levels me with a deadpan stare. “You’re the baddest bitch I know, Presley.”
I chuckle and roll my eyes. Bianca is good for my ego. Every time I brought home a paper with an A, every report card that boasted a perfect 4.0 grade point average, every scholarship I was awarded and internship I succeeded at, Bianca would only give me a knowing stare. It was her equivalent of saying see, I told you so.
But this internship is different. She knows that as well as I do. Rather than taking the safety net of a steady job when we graduated last month, I held out hope that I would win one of the coveted spots at Aspen Hotels.
And now that I have, the butterflies inside my stomach are kicking around like crazed ninjas.
At my pause, she rises and grips my shoulders, giving them a comforting squeeze. “Tell me you’re not worried.”
“About the internship? No.”
But I’m lying. I am a teensy bit worried. It’s only human, right? This is the biggest opportunity I’ve ever had, and I don’t want to blow it. And there’s the not-so-little issue of money. The internship is unpaid.
I let out a slow exhale. “It’s just . . . what the heck am I going to do for money, B?”
I’ve just signed on for three months of unpaid work in the hopes of landing my dream job. But hope doesn’t pay the bills. I do. Or rather, I did.
Bianca doesn’t try to sugarcoat things or blow off my concern as something trivial. She knows me well enough to know I wouldn’t be stressed unless there was truly something to worry about. And she knows the tuition at my brother’s school is astronomical.
She just scratches her chin, looking concerned. Trying to assure me, she says, “It’ll all be fine.”
I nod in agreement, but the truth i
s, she can’t know that. I’m already behind on all my bills, and I’ve been supporting Michael since my dad disowned him last year. Knowing I’ve just agreed to take an unpaid internship doesn’t exactly sit well with me. If I don’t land the executive position at the end of this highly competitive internship, I’ll be truly screwed.
Four of the country’s top college graduates were accepted into the accelerated program, but I need to be the one to rise to the top—no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
Bianca fidgets. “You can stay here as long as you need to.”
I nod at her offer, but the truth is I disagree. I don’t want to overstay my welcome or take advantage of my best friend. Plus, crashing on her couch isn’t exactly how I pictured living my best life post-graduation. I’m in my twenties now. It’s time to get my shit together.
“I need to finish getting ready,” I say to Bianca as I carry my mug to the sink and rinse it out.
“Knock ’em dead, girlfriend,” she calls.
I head into the bathroom and grab a tube of lipstick from inside my makeup bag.
It only takes eight seconds to make a lasting first impression. These are the words I repeat to myself as I look in the mirror, fussing with my long, wavy brown hair. I arrange the dark tresses over one shoulder and purse my lips at my reflection.
I hate that I look younger than my twenty-two years. My friends tease that it will become an advantage later in life, but for now, having a baby face is annoying, to say the least. Especially when I want nothing more than to be seen as a professional businesswoman.
Actually, scratch that. I want to be seen as a confident business mogul. That’s what it will take to win the job of my dreams. Coming across as flaky or too young will only hurt my chances.
For the next three months, I’ll be competing for an executive position at the most prestigious hotel chain in the world. Working at Aspen Hotels has been my dream job forever. You don’t grow up in Seattle and not know the Aspen brand. It’s a coveted spot, and one I’ll have to work hard for.
Drawing in a deep breath, I give myself a silent pep talk. You’ve got this, Presley. My inner voice sounds a lot like my mother, and that makes me break into a smile. Honoring her memory by busting my ass is pretty much my only pastime these days.
