He doesn’t seem worried about it, either, as he keeps me intimately close to his side.
The grand lobby is flooded with Chicago’s society, mingling and perusing displays set up along the walls. Dominic heads to the middle of the room, but I pull back as something catches my eye.
“Look at this.”
A series of blown up canvases are artfully lined up on the wall, each displaying handwritten book entries from famous guests. I sourced them all after hours spent combing the old guest books Dominic loaned me.
The Rexford is my second favorite palace. -Grace Kelly.
That one is my favorite, followed by Al Capone’s scribbled signature taking up an entire page.
“The event is a hit!” Sheila from the PR company greets me with a socialite hug and an air kiss on each cheek. “These guest book entries and the blueprints from the original hotel were incredible ideas, Juliet.”
I’m elated and feel like I’m floating. “I can’t take all the credit. The team did great work.”
“We did. I hope we get to work together again soon.” She raises her champagne glass in a toast and moves away to speak with someone else. I know I should be humble, and I am. But I’ve never had such a sense of accomplishment before and yeah, I did do a great job. I’m proud of me.
When I see the appreciative way Dominic is looking at me, I know he’s proud of me, too.
He puts a hand on my lower back and guides me to a quiet alcove. “Sheila is right. You did a great job. Your ideas are fresh and you’ve shown me that you’re not afraid to work hard.”
I flush under the compliment. “Thank you.”
“There’s an opening in the corporate office,” he continues. “You’re a perfect fit.”
I blink because I’m sure I heard him wrong. Just to be sure, I eye my champagne glass. Nope, still full, so I can’t blame it on a buzz.
“Dominic, are you offering me a job?”
“Yes.”
I make a disbelieving sound and hold my glass tighter to keep from dropping it. I’m two seconds away from throwing my arms around him, or busting out The Carlton happy dance. This is incredible! “I don’t know what to say.” I stammer.
He doesn’t move toward me or touch me in any way, and I realize he’s giving me space to make my choice. It’s not much of a choice at all.
Everything I’ve dreamed about since starting college is coming true. A job at The Rexford is my ultimate goal, and he’s giving it to me weeks before my internship is even over. Sure, I nailed ideas for the gala, but is that really enough to earn a coveted position here? Or is there another reason?
I look down, not sure how to ask. “Are you doing this because of us?”
He gives me a look. “I would never risk the company over personal feelings, Juliet. You’ve earned this.”
“Okay,” I say, finally starting to believe him. “Yes. Yes, I accept!”
I step into him, needing the searing heat of his kiss.
“There you are, big brother,” Xander interrupts us. He’s dressed in a flashy navy pinstripe suit, his white shirt open over his tanned skin. “Am I interrupting?”
“Seriously?” Dom growls. “What do you think?”
I know the brothers have a complex relationship, but I can’t help but feel sorry for the younger Rexford. He seems lost, disconnected, yet he has a spark of interest that might flame if Dominic would give it a chance.
If Xander is hurt by Dom’s attitude, he doesn’t show it. “I just wanted you to know, Blaine Prescott is here.” He nods to the ballroom, where Prescott is sauntering over to greet us.
“I gotta hand it to you, Rexford. You put on a good show.” Blaine’s words are a little slurred. He puts an arm around Dominic’s shoulders and smiles big for the photographer lurking nearby.
Dom looks icy. “I might take that a compliment if you weren’t drunk.”
“You’re right. It is the alcohol talking.” Blaine’s smile gets bigger as another photographer joins in. Dominic’s carefully schooled expression is at least believable, not to mention that he looks model-perfect. “This is a lovely attempt, but you have to realize that nothing can save you now,” Blaine continues. “This place is a dead man walking.”
“Can you gentlemen shake hands, please?” Another photographer has joined in. Jesus, it’s like a school of sharks over here.
“No,” Dominic says firmly. “We’re done. Thank you, gentlemen.” He breaks away from Blaine, who drains his glass and looks around, presumably for a waiter. He’s a bit unsteady.
“Actually,” Dominic calls out to one of the photographers, “you may want to follow Mr. Prescott this evening. You never know when he’ll give you that perfect, front-page ready shot.”
The orchestra begins to play as servers in crisp white coats begin weaving through the room to escort people to their seats.
Ah, dinner time. Thank God, because I’m starving.
People mill around us to find their tables. It’s a flurry of gorgeous gowns and handsomely dressed men, but I barely see any of them. Dominic’s profile is to me and he’s striking, tall and in command. He really does take my breath away.
I take his arm, and when he looks at me, I feel a surge of tenderness and warmth like never before. I was falling for him in Paris, but this is stronger, more complete. It’s not falling anymore; I’m all the way there.
I’m completely.
Undeniably.
In love with Dominic Andrew Freaking Rexford.
“I’m liking this look on your face.” Dominic finally cracks a smile. “Do we need to go somewhere private?”
Yes! I think he’s teasing, but the heat in his eyes sways me toward not teasing. Suddenly, he scowls and looks over my head.
“What the fuck is she doing here?”
I glance behind me to see Lillian coming toward us, stunning in floor-length white silk. There’s a man behind her wearing a business suit and a scowl, briefcase tucked under one arm. Lillian stops in front of Dominic.
“You always did dress up nice.” She touches the lapel on his tux and his eyes turn dark. “We need to talk, Dom. Alone.”
Nerves start to creep through my body. The room is beginning to hush and I’m aware that people are looking at us. I don’t hear the click of cameras, but I’m sure photos are being taken. Her very presence is threatening to overshadow the event. Who wants elegance when they can have gossip?
“Whatever it is, you can say it right here and then go,” Dominic almost growls.
“You really want to do this here?” she retorts. “Air your dirty laundry in front of everyone?”
Dom clearly thinks better of it. He looks to me. “Go ahead and start dinner without me. I’ll be right back.”
“No,” Lillian says, with a strangely satisfied smile. “She should come, too.”
What’s going on? I follow them out of the ballroom, and down a hallway to a side room. Tension edges every line of Dom’s body, but he doesn’t even look at me.
“Well?” he demands, the minute Lillian’s lawyer closes the door. “What the hell is it that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
Lillian drops her friendly smile. “You violated the pre-nup. Our settlement is off.”
“What the fuck do you mean?” Dominic looks furious. “That’s bullshit, and you know it!”
Lillian sighs. “Temper, Dominic. Really. We can be civil about this, at least.” She nods to her lawyer. He opens his briefcase and takes out a small laptop and a manila folder.
“You may recall we had an infidelity clause in the contract,” Lillian continues. “If you cheated on me, the pre-nup would be void. Remember?”
Dom glares. “As much as I grew to dislike you, Lillian, I never once cheated on you.”
“I beg to disagree. And I think a judge will be on my side.” She opens the folder and dumps it upside down. A stack of black and white pictures flutter onto the table.
I catch a glimpse of a hotel bar. A woman, leaning in close to Dominic.
Me.
In an instant, I know what’s going on, why I’m here in the middle of it all.
It’s because of me.
The night we met. The job to flirt with him and get incriminating photos. It’s all been leading to this! The honeytrap…the reason the photographer was following him that night. He was still married.
I grab the edge of the table to keep myself upright as Dom reaches for the photos and slowly spreads them across the table.
My face is everywhere.
Dominic and I at the whiskey bar. Him kissing me, leaning in close. My flirty smile.
“How did you get these?” Dom’s voice is tight, pained.
“Someone was in the right place at the right time,” Lillian shrugs. “Conveniently.”
“This was a fucking set up?” Dom growls, looking at me in disbelief. “You set this up?”
I can’t answer. I’m frozen in place, hugging my arms around myself. Tears sting my eyes. I want to deny it, but I can’t. And it’s not just that I betrayed Dominic. He betrayed me, too. I didn’t realize when we met that he was a married man. He’d told me no one was waiting at home for him! He’d lied to me. And he’d kissed me. And that wasn’t all we’d done that night. My stomach clenches at the memory.
“It’s safe to assume this didn’t just end in the bar,” Lillian smirks. “I’m right, aren’t I?” she asks me. “You slept with him, before our divorce was final. Bye bye, pre-nup. Hello, division of assets.”
“Get out.” Dominic points to the door.
Lillian’s still smiling, gloating at her ill-won victory. “We still have to discuss—”
“I said, GET OUT!” His voice roars with anger. Lillian backs off.
“We’ll be in touch,” she says, gesturing for her lawyer to follow her out. The door slams behind them. We’re alone.
Oh God.
I force myself to look at him, but the furious betrayal on his face is worse than I ever imagined.
“Were you sent to set me up?” he demands. “That night at the Drake, is that why you were there?”
I swallow, then whisper my guilty confession.
“Yes.”
“Fuck!” Dom slams his fist into the wall, cracking the plasterboard. Blood runs from the cut on his knuckles, and I want to go to him, comfort him, but he’s shaking with rage. I’m frantic with the need to tell him everything, to make him understand that what started as a trap turned into something more. I’m even willing to forgive his trespasses against me, because I understand everything so much better now—his unhappiness, his loneliness, his secrets. But I need an apology, too. We have to talk this over.
“Dominic, please, I can explain. It’s not like that.”
“You mean, I didn’t just get fooled by a whore?”
The word is a slap in the face, and I’m rendered speechless.
He turns and storms out of the room. I’m frozen for another moment, but then I rush after him. “Wait!” I grab his arm, pulling him back to me.
“For what?” he demands. “So you can tell me more lies? Fuck, after everything that’s happened…I trusted you!”
“I’m sorry,” I say, keeping my voice even. “I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. Just like you couldn’t tell me that—”
“Do you know what you just cost me?” he interrupts. He rakes a hand through his hair. “To think I fucking cared about you.”
A loud hum goes through my head and gets louder as all the anguish in his expression turns cold and ruthless. He looks at me like I’m nothing.
“Get out.”
I can’t believe this is happening. It can’t be over, not when I love him like this.
“Dominic—” I start.
“Just stop. It’s over, Juliet.” He turns away from me. “We’re done.”
“But—”
“Go. Get the fuck out of my hotel and don’t come back.”
# # #
TO BE CONTINUED…
What happens next? Juliet and Dom’s sizzling story concludes in THE HOTEL: PART THREE. Coming 7/29.
Order now!
Do you enjoy sexy books? Read on for a sneak peek at new books by J.D Hawkins and Eve Jagger!
Discover the sex and secrets of Hollywood in the hot new novel by J.D Hawkins!
BOOTYCALL: PART ONE
Chapter 1
Dylan
Movie reviews are bullshit, but I like to think the one that said I have the ‘eyes of a man before the kill and the smile of one who enjoys it’ got it right.
At least tonight, anyway.
I’ve spent almost the entire day working out, and though there’s a dull ache flowing through my body, there’s also that tingle of electricity I get whenever I stand still for too long. A twinge in my muscles that makes me want to move, to find some action. Luckily I know all the right places to find it.
I step out of the shower and towel myself off as I walk into the bedroom, grabbing the beer I left on the desk and downing all of it. It’ll take a lot more than beer to cool off the energy that’s gathering momentum inside of me though. There’s a song with a slow beat and a growling guitar playing, and the dusty light of a dying LA sun highlighting parts of my room through the blinds. I grab my phone as I settle on the edge of the bed and spin through the contacts.
I pause before hitting dial on a friend. I could dress sharp and head out to the bars of Los Angeles, get plenty drunk, and see where my instincts lead me – most likely my place or hers – but that’s not what I want tonight. I love the thrill of the chase, but I’m ready for action right now.
Then there’s ‘Hot Ass,’ ‘Kinky Blonde,’ ‘Finger Sucker,’ ‘Leggy Redhead,’ and all the other girls with talents memorable enough to give them a special place in my contacts, but even that won’t cut it.
Tonight I want something dirty. Something new. Something a little dangerous. My body’s thirsting for a new taste.
I walk through the long hallway and down the staircase that runs to the gigantic den of the mansion, big and empty but for the expensive toys and random beer bottles lying around. I open the BootyCall app on my phone and it presents me with a big green button, the word ‘chat’ written across it like a big understatement. I swipe it with my thumb and hold the phone to my ear.
“Hey,” comes a dark, husky voice on the other end. Now this is more like it. I pour myself some of the whiskey I keep on the coffee table and stretch out on the couch.
“Hello there.”
“So. What you looking for?” she says, making it clear what she’s looking for herself.
“I’m not sure. But I’ll know when I find it.”
She laughs, and it sounds like she’s making love to the phone.
“I like your accent,” she says. “Where you from?”
“I’m Irish.”
“Ooh,” she coos appreciatively. “You got money?”
It’s not my favorite question, but hey, this is Hollywood after all. If I didn’t fuck girls who said stuff like this I’d be a monk here.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling, “I’m fucking loaded. You got a nice rack? Since we’re asking personal questions and all.”
“Thirty-four double-dees. As good as money can buy.”
Again, it’s a weird turn of phrase, but I’ve heard worse.
“So what are you offering?” I ask.
She laughs a little, and I can hear her tongue rolling around her lips as she does so. The combination of a husky voice and my imagination is pretty cock-pulling, and I’m pressing the cold whiskey glass against my boxers to keep my dick from bursting out like something in a monster movie.
“I’m offering a whole night of the dirtiest, nastiest stuff you could ever imagine,” she says, breathing into each word like her body’s so hot even she can’t handle it. My imagination is running wild. “We can do it slow…or we can do it fast…I’ll be like hot chocolate in your mouth…”
“How can I refuse…”
“…for only three grand.”
>
A cold shower could not have crippled my hard-on more. “What?! Are you fucking kidding me?”
Her voice is all innocence now. “What’s the matter, honey?”
“I thought this was a hook-up app, not a hooker app.” That’s one thing I don’t do.
She giggles. “It’s worth it, sugar. If I like you, I’ll even give you a discount.”
“Yeah, thanks, but no thanks. Paying for sex kinda kills it for me, you know? Good luck.”
I cancel the call and let it show me the big ‘chat’ button again. I take a healthy swig of the whiskey in my glass and decide to give it one more go.
I push the big button, bringing the phone to my ear. Someone picks up on the other end, but for a few moments all I hear is silence.
“Hello?” I say. Another quiet beat. I’m about to hang up when—
“Um…hello?”
The voice sounds quiet, feminine, definitely over the age of consent, and too nervous to be a hooker. So far so good.
“Well hello there.” It’s not my best line, but her hesitation tells me she’s new at using the app, which means I’ll have to take it slow so she doesn’t hang up before the fun even gets started.
“Hi,” she finally replies back. There’s an awkward silence.
Wow, we’re off to a great start.
“So…” I say, trying to sound friendly. “What’s your sign?”
She laughs, and it sounds nice. Genuine, soft, real – the kind of laugh that you don’t get in Hollywood too often. I laugh a bit too.
“Truthfully?” she says. “I’m…a Scorpio.”
“Oh really,” I reply, drawing out the word, insinuating this actually means something.
“Why does everyone always say it like that? I don’t even know what it means! It’s the sign of revenge, right? And jealousy? But that’s not me at all.”
“It’s also the sign of sex, death, and reinvention,” I tell her. “You know, like rising from the ashes. Big emphasis on the sex part, as it were.”
“Oh.” She giggles nervously, and I can practically hear her blushing over the phone. “That explains a lot, I guess.”
The Hotel 2 (The Billionaire Seduction) Page 7
