Positively Pricked: A Billionaire Loathing-to-Love Romance

by Sabrina Stark

  I just didn't know how to explain it. After all, I didn't want to cause any more friction between the two cousins.

  I was still trying to come up with a diplomatic response when Zane moved a fraction closer and said, "Or did he want something else?"

  I stared up at him. "Like what?"

  In a tight voice, he said, "You know what."

  Oh. That. My face grew uncomfortably warm. "Even if he did, why would you care?"

  Something about his look made me want to step back, or maybe step forward. Stupidly, I couldn’t decide which. He looked raw and dangerous, and maybe even on the verge of losing it.

  But that wasn't going to happen. I knew this, because Zane never lost it. Over the last few months, I'd seen this dynamic firsthand.

  No, I reminded myself, what he did was make other people lose it. In fact, I felt dangerously close to losing it now.

  And he still hadn't answered my question. It almost made me wonder. If Teddy was interested, would Zane care? I stiffened. If so, he had no right.

  Again, he moved closer. "What do you think?"

  I lifted my chin. "I think you had dinner plans of your own."

  "You're right. I did. And they went to shit. So, let me ask you again." Speaking more slowly and deliberately, he said, "Did he want something else?"

  Yes. He did. He wanted me to spy on Zane. Oh sure, he hadn't put it quite that way, but I'd received the message loud and clear.

  Still, I knew what Zane really wanted to know, and I wasn't one to play games. I said, "Well, he didn't want to sleep with me if that's what you're getting at."

  Zane studied my face, as if he wasn't so sure. Finally, after a long, tense moment, he said, "Good to know."

  "Oh yeah? Why's that?"

  "Because he's not the guy for you."

  Like I needed Zane to tell me that. But I was in no mood to be agreeable. "And why not?"

  "Because he's a pussy."

  I might've laughed if I weren't so angry. But I was angry. And on top of that, I was getting more confused with every passing minute.

  Why were we discussing Teddy at all? I'd joined the guy for a slice of pizza. Big deal. In contrast, Zane had dined in luxury with someone who made me feel like chopped liver.

  Stupidly, I couldn't help but wonder if she'd eaten my dinner – or whatever it was that Zane had ordered. I looked away and tried not to think about it.

  Zane's voice, softer now, reclaimed my attention. "I’m not gonna fire you."

  I turned to look at him. "And why not?"

  "Does it matter?"

  "Of course it matters," I said. "For all I know, you just want to torment me."

  His eyebrows lifted. "Torment you."

  "Yes. Torment me," I repeated. "Speaking of which, I've just gotta ask…" I stared straight into his eyes. "Why'd you drag me to dinner in the first place?"

  He didn't look away. "Because I wanted to."

  "Why? To grill me about Tiffany?"

  "Fuck Tiffany."

  I gave a bitter laugh. "Did you?"

  His gaze darkened. "Did I what?"

  Once again, heat rushed to my face. I heard myself mumble, "Fuck Tiffany."

  "No."

  It was my turn to study his face. Was he lying? I didn't think so, but could I really be sure? And why did it matter, anyway?

  Zane said, "You're forgetting she's engaged."

  I wasn't forgetting anything. From what I'd seen so far, this wasn't always a deal-breaker. I gave a loose shrug but said nothing in reply.

  "And," Zane added, "she's not my type."

  I wasn't sure I believed that either. As much as I hated to dwell on it, Tiffany was undeniably beautiful. Probably, she could be a model if she weren't so busy seeking a career as a trophy wife.

  I wasn't sure why, but it seemed very important to know the whole story. "So, you didn't meet up at a hotel a couple months ago?"

  "No." But then, he paused, as if recollecting something long-forgotten. "Wait. You mean my hotel?"

  "Apparently."

  "Then the answer's yes."

  Shit. The answer stung, although for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. After all, I'd known this for weeks, months even. So why did it hurt, now?

  Zane continued. "Yeah, I met her, but not in a room, if that's what you were told."

  I tried to remember. Tiffany hadn't said it outright, but her implication had been pretty clear. I asked, "So, where did you meet?"

  "In my office. With the senator."

  Hearing this, I was stupidly pleased. "Really?"

  Zane nodded. "And you wanna know what they wanted?"

  "What?"

  "Money for his campaign."

  Now, I was even more curious. "Did you give it to him?"

  "Hell no. The guy's an asshole."

  Since Zane was an expert in that department, I didn't bother arguing. "So you declined on what? Some sort of moral grounds?"

  "No. I declined, because he's a shitstorm waiting to happen. It would be a piss-poor investment, don't you think?"

  I didn't know what to think. But it gave me a pretty good idea why Tiffany and the senator were here at all. Probably, he was still trolling for money.

  And as far as Tiffany? Well, I knew what she was trolling for. And to my extreme annoyance, I discovered that I didn't like it.

  When I said nothing in response, Zane said, "Satisfied?"

  Was I? I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I felt at least a little better, but it didn't change anything. Not really.

  And in truth, I couldn't help but wonder why I'd asked about Tiffany at all. After all, she wasn't the one who'd eaten my proverbial dinner.

  And yet, in a crazy, twisted way, it did reinforce what I'd known all along. There were way too many women in Zane's life. If I couldn’t keep track, how on Earth could he?

  I still hadn't answered his question. Was I satisfied? No. But he had answered all of my questions, and he'd been a pretty good sport about it too.

  Finally, I managed to say, "I guess so."

  "Good. Now it's your turn to answer."

  "Answer what?"

  "My question. Did you quit?"

  It was a simple question. But for the life of me, I couldn’t come up with a simple answer. My own crazy mixed-up feelings aside, I had no idea how I'd get home if I decided to cut and run.

  Oh sure, I could book a flight, but how much would that cost? If I were smart, I'd save my pennies, especially if I was soon to be unemployed.

  When I made no response, Zane looked away and muttered, "Fucking Teddy."

  "Wait, what does he have to do with this?"

  Zane returned to his gaze to mine. "Lemme ask you something. Who do you think sent Maven?"

  "No one."

  He gave me a look. "You sure about that?"

  "Well, you two obviously had dinner plans."

  "Which I canceled."

  "Oh sure," I said. "Last-minute."

  "Wrong," he said. "Last night."

  That made me pause. "What?"

  "Last night," he repeated. "That's when I canceled."

  "So then why'd she show up like that?"

  His jaw tightened. "Guess."

  I tried to put myself in Maven's shoes. Her reason for showing up was pretty obvious. Zane was rich, famous, and unbearably hot.

  But I didn't say it. It was shallow and stupid, especially because Zane would surely assume that I was speaking for myself, and not Maven the Terrible.

  I said, "I don't feel like guessing."

  Zane looked away and was quiet for a long moment. Under his breath, he said, "Fuck."

  On this, I could agree. "Yeah. No kidding."

  He looked back to me and said, "You're not fired. And you can't quit. So forget it."

  "Wait, why can't I quit?"

  "Because I said so."

  Talk about bossy. I reminded him, "I don't need your permission to quit."

  "You do if you want a good reference."

  My mouth
fell open. "What are you saying?"

  "You're smart. You'll figure it out."

  "You wouldn’t seriously sabotage me?"

  "Wouldn't I?"

  But I knew the answer to that question. He totally would. After all, I'd seen firsthand how he dealt with people who gave him grief.

  I made a scoffing sound. "And how long do you expect that to work?"

  "What to work?"

  "Threats."

  His expression softened. "I'm not threatening you."

  "Are you sure? Because it sure sounded like it."

  "If I were threatening you, you'd know it. Now, tell me."

  "Tell you what?"

  "Tomorrow. You're still gonna be here, right?"

  I shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know."

  "I'll take that as a yes."

  Probably, I was lucky. After all, if I were going to quit, I'd be ten times smarter to do it after we returned back home. I just prayed that when that day came, I'd have a clearer idea of what was going on.

  In the end, I didn't bother arguing. Instead, I looked toward the door to my hotel room. "Fine. Whatever. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got plans."

  "Yeah?" He frowned. "With who?"

  Myself, that's who. But employer or not, that was none of his business, so all I said was, "No one you know."

  It wasn't even a lie. The way I saw it, Zane didn't know me at all. And I sure as heck didn't know him. But I did know one thing. He wasn't thrilled with my answer. It was written all over his face.

  Yeah? Well, so what?

  Deliberately, I stepped around him and tried not take any satisfaction from the fact that nearly a minute later, he was still standing in the same spot, watching me as I opened my hotel room door and slipped inside without so much as a wave.

  When I poked my head out five minutes later, he was gone.

  Good.

  Chapter 44

  By unspoken agreement, we spent the next couple of days pretending that nothing had happened. As usual, I accompanied him to all of his media interviews, where things went surprisingly okay – at least while the cameras were rolling.

  On the rare occasions we were alone, he was even colder than usual, which was fine by me – or at least, that's what I kept telling myself, even as he haunted my thoughts like the nightmare he was.

  By midnight on the second night, I was so distracted that I found myself heading toward the hotel bar, looking for a nightcap or, cripes, even a distraction – anything to push Zane Bennington out of my thoughts.

  I never did get the nightcap, but I did find one heck of a distraction in the form of Tiffany and the senator, who were arguing near the bar's entrance.

  I stopped several paces away and tried not to stare as Tiffany practically yelled, "Hey, it was your idea!"

  The senator was red-faced and disheveled, with his tie askew and his bald head shining with perspiration. He said, "I wanted you to get close to him. Not hump him in the damn elevator!"

  Woah.

  Him? Meaning Zane?

  That was my guess.

  I only prayed I was wrong. My own conflicted feelings aside, I was tired of explaining away Zane's bad behavior. Just within the past two days, I'd received nearly a dozen inquiries from reporters wanting to know why Zane and Maven had gotten into a screaming match in the Skyroom restaurant.

  My answer? "No comment."

  Normally, I used that phrase when I knew the information, but for whatever reason, couldn't reveal it. This time, however, I truly didn't know.

  Obviously, the so-called screaming match had occurred sometime after I'd stormed off, leaving the two of them to enjoy each other's dubious company.

  Other than that, I knew nothing. Why? Because Zane wasn't talking, and I wasn't asking.

  But I did know one thing. Zane wasn't the screaming type, which led me to believe that Maven had been the one who lost her temper.

  Good.

  If nothing else, it was heartening to know that I wasn't the only one who'd had a crappy time that night.

  Yes, I was that petty.

  In front of me, Tiffany and the senator were still arguing, even as a small crowd began to form around them. Tiffany thrust out her chest and said, "Hey, I can't help it if men find me attractive."

  The senator was looking a little unsteady, even as he told her, "You were half-naked for Christ's stake."

  "I was not," she insisted. "It was a wardrobe malfunction, just like I said."

  Oh, brother. This again?

  It was the same excuse she'd used at Zane's party, when they'd been caught in the alcove, doing who-knows-what.

  The senator said, "Wardrobe malfunction, my ass."

  In that particular moment, I felt a strange sense of kinship with the guy. The statement was, oddly enough, the exact same thing I always thought when hearing that ridiculous excuse.

  Tiffany said, "Yeah? Well, your ass is covered in fur, so I'll thank you not to mention it."

  The senator looked ready to pop. "What?"

  "I'm just saying, it's hairy. You ever think of waxing it?"

  As the senator sputtered out some incoherent reply, I glanced around. It was a weekday night, which meant that the place wasn't nearly as crowded as it could've been.

  This was good for the lovebirds, but bad for me, because the longer I stood here, the more conspicuous I felt, even in my jeans and dark long-sleeved shirt.

  I so didn't want to get involved. And yet, I did want that drink. I gazed past them toward the bar. Maybe if I snuck off to the side, they wouldn’t notice me?

  No such luck.

  I was just sidling past them when Tiffany said, "Jane knows. She'll tell you."

  I froze in mid-step. Reluctantly, I turned to look. "Huh?"

  Tiffany said, "A hairy ass. Hot or not?"

  Oh, God. I looked toward the bar and wondered if they sold wine by the bottle, because I was pretty sure I'd be needing more than one glass.

  Tiffany urged, "Go on. Tell him."

  I looked to the senator and felt myself frown. The guy wasn't just unsteady. He looked almost ready to throw up. But why? Because he'd had too much to drink? Or because the topic of conversation was just that nauseating?

  Tiffany gave me a look of impatience. "Well?"

  I glanced around. "Uh, no comment?"

  Tiffany beamed like I'd just given her the best participation trophy ever. She turned to the senator and said, "See! She totally agrees."

  I made a sound of frustration. "That's not what I said."

  But already, they'd moved on, yelling back and forth about her wardrobe allowance, even as the crowd around them grew.

  Wanting no part of it, I hurried to the bar and ordered the first thing that came to mind. Surprisingly, it wasn't wine. It was a mimosa of all things.

  A few paces away, the argument ended with Tiffany ripping off her engagement ring and hurling it onto the floor. I couldn't help but wince, even as she turned and flounced away, leaving the senator staring, unsteadily, after her.

  I hadn't voted for the guy, but I still felt bad for him. While waiting for my drink, I watched as the crowd drifted away, leaving him standing alone, looking at the fallen ring.

  He made no move to pick it up, and for some reason, that made the scene even more pathetic.

  Unable to stop myself, I left the bar and returned to where he was standing. Silently, I picked up the ring and held it out in his direction.

  But he didn't take it. Instead, he staggered forward, straight into my arms. He was a big guy – a pro football player back in the day, and I nearly fell backward under the weight of him.

  He pulled back to mumble, "Sorry, guess I had one too many." He gave me a sad smile. "Walk me to the elevator?"

  I glanced toward the bar, where my mimosa was now waiting on the counter. And then, I glanced toward the nearest bank of elevators.

  Selfishly, I wanted to say no. But he looked so darned pathetic that I didn't have the heart. So I gave him a nod, and let him tak
e my arm as we moved awkwardly in that direction.

  As we walked, he muttered, "Fucking Zane Bennington."

  My steps faltered, and I gave him a sideways glance. I wasn't even sure what he meant. Was it a description of what he thought Tiffany had done? Or was it merely a general observation on Zane himself? If that one was the case, I could definitely relate.

  The senator slurred, "He's the reason we're here, you know."

  This wasn't a surprise. And yet, part of me wanted to ask for details.

  But I didn't. Gossiping aside, I hadn't sunk so low that I'd take advantage of a drunk guy.

  Turns out, I was way too scrupulous, because less than ten minutes later, it was him, trying to take advantage of me.

  Chapter 45

  When we reached the elevators, he kept on going, like a sleepwalker in his jammies. I stopped and gave his arm a gentle tug. "Woah there. I think you missed your stop."

  He turned to look. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry 'bout that."

  And then, he turned in the opposite direction, as if preparing to head back to the bar – or into traffic for all I knew.

  With a sigh, I gripped his arm and turned him toward the nearest elevator, which thankfully was already open. When he made no move, I gripped his elbow and practically dragged him into the elevator myself.

  I asked, "What floor?"

  He gave me a blank look. "Uh-huh."

  Damn it. Speaking more slowly now, I said, "What floor are you staying on?"

  His brow furrowed. "Fourteen-ninety-nine." He hesitated. "Or ninety-eight."

  Obviously, he was giving me a room number, not the floor. But it was easy enough to figure out. I hit the button for the fourteenth floor and prayed for the best.

  As the elevator carried us upward, he fumbled inside his jacket and pulled out the card key to his room. It slipped from his fingers onto the elevator floor. He stared, silently, down at the thing, as if he couldn’t figure out where it had come from.

  With a sigh, I reached down and plucked it up. But when I held it out in front of him, he made no move to take it. Instead, he only frowned as he slurred, "I hate those things. Used to be, you'd get a real key."

  That was before my time, but I nodded anyway and held it out a little closer. And yet, he still made no move to take it. His bottom lip gave a quiver as he said, "Normally, Tiffany does that."