The Two-Week Arrangement

by Kendall Ryan

As we work, my initial bad impression of Jordan fades. Sure, he lacks rigor—his habit of not double-checking the company style guide drives me nuts—but his observations are insightful and his suggestions creative.

  Around eleven, my stomach growls so loudly, I swear it echoes off the walls. Blushing, I say, “Sorry, I missed breakfast.”

  Jordan laughs, not unkindly. “You wanna take an early lunch?”

  “I guess we’re at a good spot for a break.”

  Still chatting about our joint project, we head to the employee cafeteria, load up our trays, and find seats. In between thoughts, I scarf down my chicken salad sandwich and barbecue chips, feeling very grateful that this internship includes a free lunch.

  The way Jordan tips his chair back while he eats makes me nervous; I get the feeling that if we weren’t at work, he’d prop his feet on the table. I’m not nearly as comfortable here.

  Out of nowhere, he says, “So, Dominic, huh? What’s it like working directly with the big bad CEO himself?”

  I finish chewing and consider his question. “His approach to business seems pretty bold. He also has really high standards. Which I respect, because he holds himself to those standards, too. I saw his calendar once, and he’s scheduled within an inch of his life. But it’s hard work to keep up with how demanding he is, and sometimes he can be a little too blunt.”

  Don’t forget hotter than sin, my libido nags.

  “Man, that sounds intense.” Jordan sucks his teeth in sympathy. “I wonder why we got assigned the way we did. Like you and Dominic—you think maybe he picked you to mentor because you’re hot?”

  Excuse me? Hell no, I did not just hear that.

  “What the hell kind of question is that?” I just barely stop myself from shouting at him, and the words come out as a strangled hiss. I can’t believe this guy was starting to grow on me.

  Jordan’s eyes go huge. “Oh shit, I didn’t mean it like that! I’m sure you got this internship fair and square. You definitely know your stuff. Dominic’s the one I wonder about. Y’know, with his . . . quirk.”

  I throw my hands up in exasperation. “What are you talking about?”

  “Huh? You didn’t know? Haven’t heard the rumors yet?”

  “What rumors?” I ask, lowering my voice and leaning in close.

  Jordan grins crookedly at the knowledge he knows something I don’t. “That he pays for sex,” he whispers back.

  My mouth drops open. “S-seriously?”

  “I know, right? He doesn’t seem like the type. But I heard it straight from Oliver, so I don’t think it’s just an empty rumor.” Jordan tosses back a few fries and chews noisily.

  “You heard that straight from Oliver?” It seems highly unlikely for the vice president to be gossiping about his own boss. Or unprofessional at the very least.

  Jordan just shrugs. “Well, overheard, I guess you could say. He was taking a personal phone call when I happened to walk into his office for our meeting.”

  I stare down at my food like it can provide me with answers. But holy hell, am I supposed to act normal around my very hot boss with this indecent knowledge rattling around in my head? I’m not supposed to know this much about his private business.

  I grab the rest of my lunch, mumbling, “I just remembered some emails I have to send. I’m going to finish eating at my desk.” My cheeks burn as I stalk off.

  Chapter Five

  Dominic

  I can’t focus. My fingers drum an unsteady beat on my desk as I listen to Oliver rattle off our executive task list for this quarter. One task requires me to go to a dinner with this potential investor of ours tonight.

  If I’m being frank, I couldn’t care less about impressing this man today. The only thing that’s leaving any impression on me is my zipper on my permanent hard-on. All week, I’ve been at the end of my goddamn rope. Seeing Presley’s tight little body, smelling her vanilla shampoo, hearing her warm-honey voice, watching her knock every assignment out of the ballpark. . .

  It’s been insanely distracting, and I’m not proud of myself for it. All I need right now is a good hard fuck to flush out all of these unneeded impulses.

  “. . . and after we build the spaceship and fly it around the world at least twice, we can go get our assholes waxed.”

  “What?” I finally break out of my reverie, staring blankly at my best friend, but Oliver only raises his eyebrows. “Oh, sorry. Shit.”

  “Hey, Dom. Didn’t know you were still here.” Oliver tosses his folder onto my desk. “Look, man, if you don’t want to talk work, let’s not talk work. That’s the last thing I want to talk about anyway.”

  “All right. What do you want to talk about?”

  “How about we talk about how uptight you’ve been ever since you took on your hot little intern?”

  Shit. “My stress level has nothing to do with Presley.”

  “Right, just like my dad’s late nights had nothing to do with his smoking-hot consultant. Come on, Dom. You like her, just admit it.” He smiles, his eyebrows waggling.

  “I like her? What are we, twelve?”

  “You know what I mean.” He sighs and props his feet on the edge of my desk.

  I hate it when he does this. I frown at the prospect of scrubbing those scuff marks away again.

  “I really don’t,” I grumble, using his folder to swat his feet off my desk. “Don’t feel obliged to elaborate.”

  “Don’t feel obliged to elaborate.” He mimics me like the little prick he can be. “Oh, I’ll elaborate all right. You wanna fuck her. You want to turn her over on this very desk, spread her legs, and ram it home. You want to fill her with your—”

  “Okay, Jesus, do you have to be so . . .” I can’t find any word that won’t make me sound like my father. Crass? Inappropriate? Childish? But, fuck, I am a father now, strange as that still seems to me.

  Oliver laughs, then lets out a sigh as he suddenly sobers. “You can’t fuck her, though.”

  “I know that. I’m not going to.” This isn’t a college frat party.

  The look on his face tells me he’s not buying any of my bullshit.

  “I’m not,” I say. “I’m just fucking horny. But I’ve got it covered. I’ve got a date lined up.”

  “A date?” Oliver’s eyes widen with hope.

  “No, not a date.” Damn. I shouldn’t have used that word. Oliver wants me to seriously commit myself to someone. It was cruel of me to dangle that bone in front of him. “I have an arrangement.”

  “Oh, one of those arrangements. Like, you’re-fucking-a-hooker arrangement.”

  “They aren’t hookers, they’re escorts. ‘Hooker’ has a very negative connotation. And sex isn’t part of the arrangement, it’s—”

  “It’s just an added benefit,” Oliver says, finishing my sentence for me.

  Right, he’s heard all of this before. No need to try to enlighten a friend who isn’t capable of understanding my survival mechanisms. But it’s my life, not his, and I get to live it however I see fit. I’d like to see him try to keep two toddlers alive, and run a corporation. Paying for sex is the least of my worries.

  “I don’t get it.” Shaking his head, Oliver studies me like he’s reading my mind. “But I accept you.”

  Finally. I chuckle. My vice president may be the only person left in my life that I trust, despite our differences. I barely trust myself like this. But tonight, I’ll get that unpredictable side of me under control.

  Tonight, I’ll fuck any thoughts of Presley right out of my system.

  And I can’t fucking wait.

  • • •

  In the car on the way home from the gym, I’m still tense. My fingers squeeze the wheel, my knuckles whitening. Even my chest feels tight.

  Seriously?

  I doubled my usual reps and tripled my usual mileage. Still, I couldn’t shake this feeling. I have too much energy. Too much gas in the tank, as my mother would say. A smile quirks my lips at the memory of Mom watching Teddy and me run l
aps around the kitchen table, shaking her head in dismay. When we were young, I was always chasing my brother, my hero—

  Teddy.

  No time for that train of thought. I speed down the road, eyeing the clock. If I make it home in the next five minutes, I may catch the girls before they’re tucked in bed for the night.

  I’m only minutes too late, it turns out. When I open the door to my penthouse apartment, I don’t hear the familiar sound of tiny feet pitter-pattering down the hall. Instead, I hear the soft thud of Fran’s steady footfalls on the wood floor.

  “Just put them to bed,” she whispers. “They were tuckered out from the park.”

  “Thank you for taking them. I wish I could have gone instead.”

  Fran says nothing to that, only hums thoughtfully to herself. I can tell she’s biting her tongue, wanting to say something about my work schedule conflicting with my child rearing.

  I clench my jaw, accepting that she has a right to judge. I could be better. That much is true. And I’ll always try to be a better version of myself. I may not be perfect now—not at work, or at home—but I won’t let that keep me from striving for it.

  I may not be able to be in two places at the same time, but I can absolutely be two different men—the tough and decisive CEO during the day, and the good father at night. I have to be. There’s really no other choice.

  After Fran has waddled into the living room to sit with her knitting, I take off my shoes and head into my daughters’ room to find them curled up together in Lacey’s bed. My heart squeezes as I watch them. It’s sweet how they can’t bear to be apart, even when sleeping.

  I step closer and gaze down at their little faces. They’re already sound asleep, little eyelashes fluttering with dreams. Good ones, I hope. I lean down and press a kiss onto each of their foreheads.

  God, I wish I could just crawl into bed with them and curl up under these cashmere blankets. Let myself rest for even a moment and indulge in the simplicity of childhood bliss.

  But I can’t. I have to get dressed. I have to put on my game face and impress this client.

  I slowly stand and walk toward the door. After peering at them once more through the crack, I pull the door closed behind me.

  Daddy’s got work to do.

  Chapter Six

  Presley

  I spoil myself, ordering a fourteen-dollar glass of champagne. When it’s placed before me in a glass flute, I take a slow sip, letting the bubbles dance over my tongue as I silently congratulate myself on a great first week of work. In a few years, I’ll be able to order bottles of this stuff and not bat an eyelash at the cost, and I’ll be able to make sure Michael has what he needs. I just have to keep working hard.

  Since Bianca has a date tonight, and I didn’t feel like going home alone to an apartment that’s not even mine, I’ve stationed myself at a bar around the corner from the hotel. I slowly sip my drink, savoring it since I probably won’t be able to order myself something so extravagant for the foreseeable future.

  A deep voice rumbles a curse, and something about the sound of the man’s voice makes me turn. Seated to my left, about six bar stools down, is Dominic Aspen.

  Heat floods my cheeks at the sight of him. Even if this is one of the closest bars to the hotel where we both work, I never expected to see him here.

  Correction: I work there. He owns it. It’s crazy to think that this man employs close to forty-thousand people around the globe.

  He’s clearly upset about something, and I watch in fascination as he stabs at the screen of his phone, typing out a hurried message.

  Dominic pushes one hand through his hair and then finishes his whiskey neat in a single gulp. He looks up and our eyes meet, and my cheeks flush with heat when I realize I’ve been watching him.

  “Presley?” His deep voice is raspy and sends goose bumps skittering down my spine.

  I take a healthy gulp of my champagne and then carry my glass down to join him. “Hello, Mr. Aspen.”

  “Call me Dominic.”

  I nod. “Are you enjoying happy hour?” I ask, and then instantly curse myself for how childish that sounded. I’m sure he already sees me as some know-nothing coed, and that little remark probably just reinforced that idea. Idiot.

  “What? No.” He shakes his head. “I have a business dinner starting in thirty minutes around the corner, and I was supposed to meet my date here.”

  “Oh.” My hands fall into my lap. Of course he has a date, a beautiful man like him. After all, it’s Friday night. I’m the only weirdo with no plans. I tip my head, looking down at my scuffed shoes. “Have fun, then. I won’t keep you.”

  I finish the last of my champagne and rise to my feet, fishing around inside my purse until I locate my wallet.

  Dominic frowns at me. “Sit down, Presley.”

  Before I can even process his request, my body is obeying, and I lower myself back onto the bar stool.

  Dominic catches the bartender’s attention to order me a second glass of bubbly, and requests my check be given to him. “My date canceled tonight,” he says at my obvious confusion.

  “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” My heart pumps faster.

  “So am I.”

  He seems a little annoyed by this and looks down into his now-empty glass. I can’t help but notice he didn’t order himself another drink. Maybe because he needs to be clearheaded at his business dinner.

  When my second drink arrives, it tastes even better than the first. Maybe because there’s a gorgeous man sitting next to me. Or maybe it’s because he’s one of the most powerful men in the world; his net worth has many zeroes behind it.

  The sight of my polished, hypercompetent boss admitting he was stood up makes my heart squeeze. “I can’t imagine what kind of woman would cancel on you,” I say, and then immediately wish I could shove the words back inside my mouth.

  Dominic’s eyes are bright with curiosity as he appraises me. “I’ve never met her before, actually. It was a setup.”

  Jordan’s words about Dominic Aspen “paying for it” ring in my head.

  “So the rumors about you are true?” Apparently, my tongue has been loosened by the alcohol, because I really have no excuse for my boldness right now.

  Dominic’s dark eyebrows raise. “Rumors?”

  I clear my throat, my posture straightening. “That you acquire your dates.”

  His lips twitch, and he smiles. “I have an agency that supplies me with dates. Don’t look so scandalized, it’s the era of dating apps and swiping left, after all”

  I nod. “I see. Well, I’m sorry that you were stood up.”

  He nods once, watching me take another sip of my champagne. “Why are you sorry? Are you offering to fill in and help me?”

  “M-me?” I stutter. “I couldn’t.”

  Dominic turns to face me, giving me a pleading look, and something twists inside of me. “I’ve been trying to court this investor for months now, and I finally managed to snag a dinner meeting with him.”

  Which means we wouldn’t have to be alone together. There’s a third wheel in the mix—probably some old guy, but still, a chaperone. A confusing mix of relief and disappointment rushes over me.

  “I’m going to be honest,” he says. “I really need to show up to this dinner with a beautiful woman on my arm. I’ve already made the reservation for three, so if I show up alone, it’ll look like I’ve been ditched. Not very impressive on first impressions and all.”

  “For the sake of appearances,” I say slowly, still trying to wrap my head around the idea of me acting as someone’s trophy date. The idea is pretty absurd.

  “Exactly. And if we can impress this guy, Aspen stands to gain a lot. Fifty million dollars, to be precise.” He sighs, then presses his lips into a tight line. “I promise I won’t let it affect our work relationship if you say no . . . but please, at least consider it.”

  As if our work relationship isn’t already “affected.” Dear God, things at the office have gotten
ten thousand times more complicated than I ever imagined.

  Part of me is flattered that he said we instead of I, as if we both have an equal role in impressing this important investor. But I can’t help wondering if Dominic would expect something more of me . . . assuming his date was also someone he planned to sleep with.

  No, it couldn’t be. Right? And even on the off chance he does, I would never sleep with my boss. No matter how smoking hot he looks in that custom-tailored suit.

  I drop my gaze, chewing my lip. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s one client dinner, Presley. And I’ll pay you for your time. There’s nothing improper about it.”

  He’s right. It’s not like he’s not asking me out. It’s a work event, one I would have readily agreed to if he’d asked me during business hours.

  “Five hundred dollars for your evening. What do you say?”

  Five hundred dollars is a lot of money, money that would really help with the bill Michael just gave me.

  Briefly, I wonder what the other interns would say if they knew I was out with Dominic. Then again, I suppose it would be no different than if Jordan went to dinner, or say, golfing with Oliver. It’s all part of business, right? I could think of it like working overtime. Plus, the benefit of spending more time with the CEO himself, and the chance to see how business deals are made, would be a huge advantage to my long-term goals with Aspen.

  I have to say yes. And it has nothing to do with how gorgeously attractive the man seated next to me is. Or how his deep voice washes over me, making my stomach twist with nerves.

  “Well, I have to leave in three minutes to make the reservation, so I’m afraid I need a quick decision.”

  I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself. This could be a huge opportunity. I’ll have a front-row seat to the details that could affect the whole business. It’s a chance to observe and learn from two of the biggest players around. If I manage not to put my foot in my mouth, I might even be able to have some small effect on their decisions.

  On top of that, I can’t help feeling a little sad for Dominic. He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place right now.