by Tabatha Kiss
“Oh. I, uh...”
Paige performs a slow, cautious turn of her head. When she sees I’m covered up now from the waist down, she lets her eyes open, but maintains that full body tension as she presents the two ties for me to choose.
“Stripes or squares?” she asks.
I glance at the bed. She laid out one of my suits?
“How did you get in here?” I ask.
“I had them make two cards when we checked-in.”
She bounces the ties once, waiting for an answer.
“Uh...” I adjust my towel a little tighter. “Stripes. Stripes are fine.”
She flashes a tight smile and throws it over her own neck. I watch with blinking eyes as she quickly pre-assembles a knot for me and sets it down with the rest of my clothes.
“I know how to do that myself,” I say.
“Oh, I meant nothing by that!” She chuckles nervously. “It’s just habit. Graham has troubles with it, so I usually…”
I raise a brow. “Really?”
She places a finger over her mouth, realizing she slipped a juicy family secret. “He doesn’t like people to know that.”
“My lips are sealed,” I say, amused.
Paige stares at me, hard at me. Her eyes target mine like laser beams, refusing to move anywhere else. Lower, for instance.
I take a step toward her and she twitches.
Bad boy, I know.
But I can’t help it.
She’s just so cute.
“So, you’ve got some time to kill before any official on-the-clock things need to happen,” she says. “I’d recommend eating something since there’s still a lot to do before we leave for New York. The restaurants always hold a table while the Liaison is in town, so I’ll call down and let them know—”
“Perky,” I say, barely keeping up with her.
She pauses. “Excuse me?”
“You are very perky in the morning.”
“Oh.” She adjusts her glasses. “I’ve been up a few hours already. I like to hit the fitness center first thing. Get in a jog or a swim if the location has a pool.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Yeah, it’s—” Her big eyes drop for half a second. “It is.”
I smirk as memories invade my mind all over again.
Her on her knees.
My hand wrapped around her hair.
My finger smearing lipstick up her cheek…
Her throat clears. “Anyway, I’ll let you finish getting dressed,” she says as she spins toward the door.
“Do you do this every morning?” I ask with a quick gesture at the clothes laid out on the bed.
“Yes,” she answers. “If you want, I mean. If not, we can just meet in the lobby. Graham likes to hit the ground running. But I get it if that’s not your style. I’m sorry. I should have cleared this with you before. It’s just...”
“Habit,” I say with a nod.
“Right.”
“Well, I think I can handle dressing myself from here on out,” I say. “Thank you, though.”
“Okay. You’re the boss.” She folds her hands in front. “Would you like me to tell the restaurant you’re coming down?”
“Oh. Uh, no. No. I’ll take breakfast up here. Still waking up.”
“All right. I’ll call room service for you—”
“Paige.”
She snaps her mouth closed. “Or I’ll just… meet you in the lobby.”
“Thank you.”
Paige nods once and quickly makes her escape into the hallway.
This was not what I expected when Graham made me bring her along. Having an assistant to help me count stock faster is one thing, but pre-tying my ties is another thing entirely.
I eye the suit she left for me on the bed, along with the red striped tie — the same shade of red as her shoes, just like Graham warned me about.
I scoff, amused.
“Corporate,” I mutter to myself.
“Graham wants to do things a little differently this year,” I say from the chair in front of Ian’s desk. “This year’s convention will mostly be the same format as previous years, except we’ll be starting with a day of presentations from building managers, and we’d like to invite you to go first.”
Ian feigns some beauty queen-level surprise from behind his desk, his bearded chin partially obscured by his steepled hands in front of him.
“Moi?” he asks.
I smile. “Putting our best foot forward means a show of strength right out the gate. You’re a Botsford, you know what that’s like.”
He rolls his playful eyes. “Don’t remind me,” he quips. “But I humbly accept. What do I have to do?”
I slide a page out of my folder and push it toward him on the desk. “Each building manager will prepare a presentation. Just five-to-ten minutes of ideas for what they think can make this company better.”
“That’s it?”
“It sounds simple, but simple ideas lead to massive improvements. Graham wants to foster an atmosphere of teamwork and cooperation. It’s not just his company. It’s our company.”
“How democratic,” he mutters.
“It’s in his blood.”
“Yes. I saw Aunt Fiona’s big announcement.” Ian chuckles with doubt. “You’re a Nevadan, Oli. You think she has a chance?”
“I think if you’re going to place a bet in Vegas, you place it on gold.” I nod. “She’ll win.”
He tilts his head and hums softly in response. “What if I have no ideas?” he asks, shifting the conversation right back to the convention. “What if I believe this place is already practically perfect in every way?”
“Ask your staff,” I suggest. “I’m sure you can find at least one person here with an idea on how to improve things.”
Ian passively shrugs. “All right.” He smirks, giving me a dry chuckle. “Look at you go, Mr. Black. The boss with a capital B.”
I sit back. “I’m doing my best.”
“No, I mean it.” He casually gestures at me. “Seeing you in action like this almost makes me feel better about Uncle Kingston choosing you for the Liaison job over me.” He winks. “Almost.”
I laugh. “Maybe next time.”
“Maybe next time,” he repeats.
“Now, there’s one last thing we’d like you to get on board with,” I say as I set my folder down on the edge of his desk. “And that’s the work-study program.”
Ian nods, his hands once again settling into a steepled grip in front of him. “Tell me more.”
“The Botsford Work-Study is a global program open to business students,” I explain. “They receive hands-on training in the hotels, usually starting at the front desk and working their way up from there. Fully paid, with benefits as decided by the building managers. Chicago’s the only location that doesn’t offer it to local students.”
He furrows his brow. “How come I’ve never heard of it before?”
“That’d be Drake, your dad,” I say. “He wasn’t a fan of it; thought the applicants couldn’t be trusted, especially since we give priority spots to low-income students.”
Ian laughs. “Yeah, that’s Dad all right.”
“Now that you’re in charge of Chicago and have, rather successfully, turned this place around, Graham won’t take no for an answer. We want you in.” I bob my head at the Chicago North University diploma on the wall. “I’m sure there are plenty of students at your alma mater champing at the bit to see the belly of the Botsford beast. You should really consider it.”
“And what about you?” he asks me. “What’s your take on the program?”
“I think it’s essential,” I answer, truthfully. “The talent found at local universities around the world has been invaluable. In the last four years, ten applicants have filled permanent positions with the company. Of those, two are now building managers, including the manager who replaced me in Vegas.”
“Ah, yes. Marla,” he says, his voice somewhere between admiration...
and disdain. “Jonah’s new wife.”
“That’s her,” I confirm.
“Beautiful wedding.”
“It was.”
“The career perks of banging a Botsford, I suppose.”
I furrow my brow. “I trained Marla myself,” I say, hitting the words hard. “She earned her position.”
Ian holds up his hands. “I’m only kidding, Oli,” he says, chuckling. “I’m sure she’s a wonderful hire. I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.”
You know, I’m seeing now why Paige hates this guy.
He’s kind of a dick.
“Anyway, you’ve convinced me,” Ian says, sitting forward. “I’d be more than happy to enter the Chicago Plaza into the program.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Graham will be glad to hear it.”
“And whatever makes Graham happy is fine by me! Have your girl give me the paperwork and I’ll send it right in to HR.”
“I will.”
Ian smirks at the door. “Speak of the temptress,” he says.
I twist around as someone knocks on the open doorframe.
Paige sticks her head in politely and smiles. “Sorry to interrupt, sir,” she says to me, “but our flight leaves in an hour.”
I nod, overcoming the instant jitter in my gut at the word flight. “We’re just finishing up here,” I say as I fish my room keycard out of my back pocket and hold it out to her. “Get us checked out, will you?”
She keeps a permanent business-friendly I-saw-you-naked-this-morning smile as she steps forward and takes it from me. “I’ll get your bags packed up right away.”
“They’re already packed,” I say. “Just need to be brought down.”
“Oh. Okay,” she says, totally not thinking about my penis. “Then, I’ll meet you in the lobby when you’re ready to go.”
“All right. Thank you, Paige.”
She looks at Ian. “We’ll see you again in Vegas in a few weeks,” she says to him.
“Looking forward to it, Ms. Landon. By the way—” Ian says, making her pause. “I looked into that issue in the gift shop you reported this morning.”
Paige stands tall in the doorway, piqued with interest.
“Already solved,” he says with a wide smirk. “Turns out, the new girl’s dyslexic and got a little… mixed up. No harm done. I’ve already sent the adjusted amounts to corporate.”
She nods. “That’s good to hear. I’ll update my report. Thank you.”
Ian winks at her.
As Paige turns again, her eyes drop to mine and that polite smile of hers dips ever so slightly with a hidden I told you so. Ian magically found the solution before we even left the grounds, just as she predicted he would.
Maybe there is something going on in Chicago that we don’t know about.
Paige retreats quickly, but not quick enough to stop Ian from getting a good, long look at her ass as she goes.
I furrow my brow with annoyance.
Quit gawking at her like that, you piece of shit.
Once she’s gone, Ian looks at me with the same devious smirk as always. “You dog,” he says.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re hitting that.”
I shake my head once. “No, I’m not.”
“If you’re not now, then you have before. I have a sense for these things,” he says. “Oliver Black, honorary Botsford boy, is nailing the CEO’s secretary.”
I scoff, barely even convincing myself. “That’s ridiculous,” I say. “And she’s not a secretary. She’s an assistant.”
Ian laughs. “Oh, my god.”
“Ian—”
“Tell me everything.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I say.
“Does she like it rough?” he drills. “Please tell me she likes it rough.”
“I really wouldn’t know.”
“Clock off and give me the deets. Now. Before I explode.”
“You’re being inappropriate,” I say. “Again.”
He snorts. “Oh, who cares?”
“I do.”
“You never did before.”
“It’s like you said. I’m the boss now, and you’d best learn how to show some respect.” I rise from my chair and Ian goes quiet with a hard, wrinkled brow. “I won’t say this again, Mr. Botsford,” I say, purposefully invoking the name. “Leave Paige alone.”
Ian glares at me for a few long, lingering moments before the edges of his lips curl.
“Goddamn, Oli! You told me.” He stands up as he raps his knuckles twice on the desk, laughing it off as a simple joke. “You’re right! Of course, I know better. I’ll keep a civil tongue from now on. I just get carried away amongst friends, that’s all.”
“See that you don’t from now on.”
“Botsford’s Honor!” he says, throwing up three sly fingers.
I grab my folder off the desk, keeping a firm stare on him as I move. “We’ll see you in Vegas.”
Ian smiles. “See you in Vegas,” he repeats.
Chapter 11
Paige
Penis penis penis.
Penis? Penis.
Penis penis—
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
I close my eyes, briefly shaking them to dislodge the incredibly detailed image of Oliver’s dick from my consciousness.
Truthfully, I’d forgotten what he looked like naked. It has been four years, after all, and it spent most of our interaction… well, inside of me, so I didn’t get that good of a look at it to begin with.
But this morning? With that fresh shower glow? Dripping water on shimmering skin?
Gulp.
Oh, yeah. I remember now.
Penis penis penis—
Stop it.
It was just a penis. A humorous anecdote between co-workers. I’m sure it happens to most people who travel together at least once. Although… okay, I never once saw Graham’s appendage in the… five years we’ve traveled the world together. Wait, is that right?
I do the quick math in my head.
Yeah, that’s right.
Focus, Paige.
Another quick shake of the head and I turn back to my book. Once again, I skim up to re-read the paragraphs I missed during my penis frenzy.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking.”
I glance up, happily acknowledging the omnipotent voice and embracing the dickstraction.
Distraction.
The hell is wrong with me?
“We’re about an hour out of New York City right now and might run into a little turbulence between here and there, so please remain seated with your seatbelts on. Don’t hesitate to hit that call button with any concerns, and a flight attendant will be right with you. Thank you.”
I exhale at the dark clouds through the small window. Turbulence. Oh, goody. As I reach for my seatbelt, I notice Oliver’s white-knuckle grip on his armrest in the chair next to mine. Come to think of it, I’ve hardly seen him move a muscle since the plane took off. He’s had his seatbelt on this entire time, too...
I study him for another minute. Board-stiff posture. Wide-open eyes. The not-so-subtle flinch as a flight attendant suddenly passes him.
Oliver hates flying, obviously, but could it be more than that?
Is Oliver afraid of flying?
I look back at my book, but guilt stabs my gut before I can read another sentence.
Come on, girl.
Be a friend.
I set my book down on the tray in front of me. “So, Oliver,” I say, clearing my throat. He turns his head in my direction, but that grip on the seat doesn’t loosen. “We have a lotto get through today, so I’ll start on room checks if you want to touch base with Miranda first.”
Oliver nods. “Sounds good.”
“Then, maybe a quick lunch?” I keep talking. “Greg, the chef in New York, makes an amazing Sicilian sandwich.”
“All right.”
“It’s way too big for me to eat alone, though. Graham and I us
ually split one.”
He gives a nod, his face dull and pale.
On second thought, maybe food isn’t what Oliver wants to talk about right now.
“Have you ever been to New York before?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he answers. “Once or twice for the, uh...”
“Oh, the building manager retreats!”
“Uh-huh.”
The plane hits a slight bump and Oliver closes his eyes.
“I bet those are fun,” I say as I slide my window closed.
The noise gets Oliver’s attention.
“They’re not bad,” he says.
“We never went to those,” I say. “Me and Graham, obviously. I mean... we’re corporate and those are for, uh...” I nod, repeated. “Well, the building managers.”
“Right.”
I discreetly exhale every ounce of air from my lungs.
Man, I suck at this friend thing. No wonder I can’t keep a man.
“What are you reading?”
I look at Oliver again as he gestures at my book with interest. “Oh, it’s just, uh...” I turn it over to obscure the cover. “It’s just an old book.”
“What’s it called?” he asks.
“It’s...” I hesitate, “nothing.”
“Well, what’s it about?”
I realize that with the window now closed, he’s turning his focus to me. His shoulders are more relaxed. His knuckles aren’t nearly as white. The plane bounces slightly again, and he holds his breath, but he’s not nearly as freaked out now that he has a worthy distraction.
With a sigh, I reluctantly hand the book over.
Oliver inspects the cover. “Soulmates in Sixty Seconds by Melanie Rose,” he reads. “You can’t fall in love in sixty seconds, Melissa thought. Then, she met Richard…” His face screws up. “Wait, wait. Is this a kissing book?”
“No!” I try to snatch it back, but he pulls it away. “It’s not—”
“It has a half-naked man on the cover,” he argues.
“It’s a romance!”
“So, it’s a kissing book.”
I extend my hand. “Okay, fine. It’s a kissing book, but it’s my favorite kissing book and I would appreciate it if you kept your snooty opinions about it to yourself and give it back.”
“No. I’m not done.” He pulls it away once more when I try to retrieve it. “And I’m not snooty.”
