by Tabatha Kiss
I smirk. “A friend of a friend nudged me in the right direction.”
“Fine,” he says, still holding the doors. “Be a vague bitch. Won’t matter. You have no proof of anything.”
“I don’t need proof,” I say. “All I need is a candid photo of you standing next to some barely legal girls in cages with your Chicago mob buddies. Then, I just have to put together a half-assed Powerpoint presentation, add in a dash of charisma mimicked from a bad TED talk, and throw around words like immoral and obscene. Add on a few well-documented instances of missing money at your location and... I can probably convince just about anyone how much of a sleaze-ball you really are.”
He softens his glare. “Okay, look...” he says, clearing his throat. “Maybe we can work something out here.”
“Go home quietly and I won’t disrupt whatever disgusting operation you’re running out of your hotel,” I say. “I’m sure your friends known for breaking people’s legs when they don’t pay their debts will prefer that, too.”
Ian shifts out of the way as a trio of suits board the elevator. “You wouldn’t dare,” he hisses, his teeth bared.
“Hm. I don’t know.” I smirk. “I think I would.”
He steps back, his dark eyes locked on me until the last possible moment before the doors close.
I exhale with satisfaction as the car rises to the 2nd floor.
Okay, that was more fun than I thought it’d be.
I step off the elevator with a smile and walk down the hall toward room 201. With a quick swipe of the keycard, I step inside and toss the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the outer knob.
Penis.
Penis penis penis.
Oliver stands by the bed, naked and wet from head-to-toe. He looks at me and grins, his damp hair clinging to his forehead.
“Good morning,” he says.
“Good morning,” I say.
“You have impeccable timing.”
“One of my many...” I happily look down, “talents.”
He chuckles as he walks into the bathroom. After a moment, he returns with a towel draped across his waist. “To be honest, I expected you days ago,” he says.
“I’ve been busy,” I say.
“Freaked me out a little.”
I smile. “Sorry.”
“Did you finish all those things you had to take care of?” he asks.
I picture the delicious panic in Ian’s eyes again. “I did, actually.”
“Good.”
“Mom says hi, by the way.”
He places his hands on his waist. “She does, eh?”
“Yeah, you made quite the impression.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“She never likes anybody, so...” I shrug. “Her going on and on about you is impressive.”
“What can I say?” He flashes a cocky smirk. “I give good mom.”
“What’s your secret, oh, wise one?” I tease.
“It’s not that hard, actually,” he says. “All you have to do is walk in wearing a clean suit and tell her how much in love you are with her daughter and how you’ll always take care of her.”
I press my lips together. “That easy, huh?”
He nods.
My throat tightens. “I’m going to pay you back,” I say.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says as he steps toward me.
“No, I’m going to set up an account,” I begin. “I’m going to save every spare dollar I get from... whatever job I find next, and I am going to pay you back.”
He stops in front of me, still smirking. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. I’m looking forward to the day I’ll cash that check,” he says, though we both know it’s a lie.
I nod. “And I love you, too,” I add. “In case that... wasn’t already obvious.”
Oliver places his hand on my cheek. His warm touch draws a line on my skin as he pushes my hair back behind my ear. “I know,” he whispers.
He kisses me softly, his fingers gently curling behind my head. I push up onto the tips of my toes, forever drawn to him. With closed eyes, I kiss him back. His body becomes flush with mine as he wraps his thick arms around—
“Wait—” I shift backward. “You’re dripping wet—!”
He flexes and pulls me back to him.
I laugh. “Ew! Oli, no!”
He lifts me up and carries me toward the bed, my toes dangling above the floor the whole way there. We fall onto the bed together. He pins my hands above my head and kisses me, making me forget all about the damp spots on my clothing. I kiss him back, quivering with happiness and anticipation as he slides a hand down my body and plucks the button on my jeans.
“You’ve already showered,” I tease.
Oliver crushes his lips on mine. “Then, I’ll be dirty,” he says, smirking, “but happy...”
Chapter 50
Paige
“I’ve completely forgotten how annoying this is.”
Oliver peeks at me over the cover of his book. “What?” he asks from the reading chair by the bookshelf.
“Applying for jobs,” I answer from my spot on the floor nearby. I shake my head at the countless documents open on my laptop on the coffee table in front of me. My — very outdated — résumé. My work history. My transcript. Graham’s glowing letter of recommendation. “I haven’t done this in, like... six years.”
Oliver gently places his bookmark between the pristine pages of my copy of Deep Midnight by Melanie Rose. He sits up, plants his feet on the floor, and shuffles a close enough to me to bend down and wrap his arms around my shoulders. “Do you really need to do that now?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer. “I’m unemployed! I need to send this thing out ASAP.”
“Or... you could stay unemployed for a while,” he suggests. “Take some time off. Travel around with me.”
He kisses my neck; another strategic act to tempt me.
“I could. I might, actually. But I’ll feel better about it if I actually have some applications in people’s inboxes — stop that.”
He withdraws his tongue from my earlobe. “What?” he asks innocently.
“Stop purposefully distracting me with your lips.”
He pulls back an inch. “Okay...”
His hand travels downward and cups my breast over my shirt.
I laugh. “Excuse me. What did I say?”
“You said nothing about not distracting you with my hands...”
I grab his wrists to keep them from going lower.
He chuckles. “All right. Fine.” He sits back, for real this time. “Is there anything I can help with?”
“No,” I say with a sigh at my laptop. “Just need to update my résumé and put all of this together. Which reminds me, I need to find a good PDF creator. Maybe pick a new font. Does this font look professional to you?”
Oliver scoops me off the floor. I yelp in surprise as he perches me on his lap and holds me against him.
“Oliver,” I scold with a smile.
He kisses me anyway. “Sorry, not sorry,” he says. “You’re just so cute when you start listing off your to-do list.”
I kiss him back. I can’t help it. “Oli, I love you, but I really need to get this done...”
“You’ll be just as unemployed in five minutes,” he teases with a kiss along my jaw.
I tremble as his hand inches beneath my shirt. “Well, when you put it that way, it seems... logical.”
Another kiss on the lips. Another caress of his hands.
And I’m his.
“I guess I can spare five little minutes...” I say, succumbing to his kiss again.
A knock taps the door.
Oliver groans and pulls me closer.
I chuckle. “I should get that.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Fine,” he says with a heavy, amused sigh. “But this doesn’t count in my five minutes.”
I roll off his lap and straighten my T-shirt as I walk acro
ss my apartment.
I open the door and instinctively stand a little taller. I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. I bask in the eternal glow and grace and elegance as I try not to freak out.
Fiona Botsford stands in the hallway. She wears a black dress with long sleeves and a bright pink sash around her tiny waist, the same color as her handbag and shoes.
I learned from the best, after all.
“Fiona,” I say, surprised to see him. “Hello.”
“Hello, Paige,” she greets with a warm smile. “May I come in?”
“Uh...” I slide backward. “Of course. Please.”
She glides inside, her sharp eyes instantly targeting Oliver as he sits up on the chair.
“Oliver,” she says. “How are you?”
He stands up quickly, looking as confused as I am. “I’m great, Fiona. How are you?”
“I’m doing just fine,” she says. “Thank you.”
“Good.” He shifts uncomfortably. “Good.”
Fiona stands tall, as always. “Would you mind giving us a minute?” she asks him. “If you don’t mind. I’d like to talk to Paige alone.”
“I don’t mind at all,” he says as he picks up his book. “I’ll just...” he glances around my cramped studio apartment, “go read in the bathroom,” he says.
She smiles. “Thank you, Oliver.”
He bows and bolts into the bathroom.
I swallow hard. “Can I get you something, Fiona?” I ask with a shuffle toward the kitchenette.
She sets her handbag on the counter. “Oh, no,” she says. “No, thank you. I won’t be here long.”
I pause. I nod. I nod again. “It’s good to see you,” I say.
“You, too.” She glances around. “You have an adorable place.”
“Oh.” My cheeks burn. “It’s nothing.”
“Sharp sense of style, I like that.”
“Thank you.” I clear my throat. “So, is everything okay?”
“Oh, everything is fine!” she says. “I actually stopped by to check on you. I... well, I heard about what happened at the convention.”
“Yeah, it...” I pause, embarrassed. “It wasn’t my finest hour.”
“I can imagine,” she says, her face lacking any harsh judgment.
“But I’m doing all right,” I say. “Really. I’m taking a break and figuring things out.” I gesture at the bathroom door. “We’re figuring things out.”
“That’s good to hear. I’m not surprised that Oliver stood by you. He’s always had a good heart.”
“Yeah.” I bite my cheek. “He really does.”
“And your mother? She’s doing well?”
“She’s doing great,” I say. “Really great, actually.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” Fiona shifts on her elegant heels. “If you don’t mind me prying a bit, how much have you figured out so far?” she asks. “Where will you go from here?”
I awkwardly scratch behind my ear. “I’m not sure. I’ll probably find another assistant gig somewhere. Not really trained for much else...” I feign a chuckle. “Though, I’m not sure how long it’ll take for me to shake off my new reputation as the whore of Botsford Plaza.”
“From my experience, it takes a few years,” Fiona jokes.
“Ah. That’s great.”
“Luckily, people nowadays have shorter memories and even shorter attention spans, so I think you’ll find yourself back of your feet in no time.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“In fact,” she smiles, “how would you like to come work for me?”
I blink twice. “For you?”
“I’ve announced my candidacy for senate, as you know. Turns out, it’s a lot of work.”
“I can imagine,” I say, my throat going dry.
“I need someone to help me manage it.”
“You mean, like… a campaign manager?” I ask.
“That’s exactly what I mean. I hope you don’t mind, but I asked Graham for a copy of your recommendation letter. He’s rather confident in your abilities, and he reiterated just that last night when I spoke to him.”
“But...” I exhale hard. “With all due respect, Fiona, I know nothing about politics.”
“But you are quite adept at herding cats,” she quips. “Believe me when I say the difference is negligible.”
I laugh at the joke, but it doesn’t help the tightness in my chest.
“What do you say, Paige?” she asks, eager and kind. “I’d be honored if you joined my team.”
“I honestly don’t know what to say,” I answer.
“Just don’t say no. At least, not until you’ve looked over this.” She opens her handbag and withdraws a blue folder. “This should answer most of your questions. Benefits. Travel requirements. Salary, which is negotiable.”
I take the folder, desperately hoping the shaking in my fingers isn’t too noticeable. “Travel requirements?” I ask.
“We’re going to hit Nevada from top-to-bottom before November,” she says. “If we win, you might find yourself in Washington a lot. Especially if you accept a position on my staff, which I sincerely hope you do, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”
“Wow.” I blink, too stunned to do anything else. “Okay.”
She steps forward and places her hand on my shoulder. “You have my number. Please, let me know what you decide. I won’t start looking for anyone else until you do.”
I nod, my tongue heavy with nervous excitement. “I will,” I say. “Thank you, Fiona. For thinking of me.”
She slides her handbag up her arm. “I’ve always liked you, Paige. I see a bit of myself in you, truth be told.”
I chortle. “If you say so.”
“No, I mean it.” She smiles. “The Botsford family wouldn’t be the same without you behind the scenes somewhere.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I say.
“I usually am. Just ask Kingston.” Her eyes flick toward the bathroom door again. “I’ll be on my way now. Give Oli my best.”
“I will.” I bow my head to the fucking queen. “Thank you again, Fiona.”
She glides to the door and offers me one last smile before stepping out into the hall. “Call me,” she says as she closes the door.
The bathroom door opens the moment she’s gone. I turn around as Oliver sticks his head out, his eyes wide with intrigue.
“I could be wrong,” he says. “The voices were muffled, but... did Fiona Botsford just offer you a job?”
I exhale a quivering breath. “Fiona Botsford just offered me a job.” I stare at the folder in my hand. “She wants me on her campaign. Me.”
“You.” Oliver steps forward, happy and proud. “Of course, you.”
“Why me, though?”
He cups my face, easily pulling me back from the downward spiral I’m about to plummet into. “Because you are beautiful and smart and you’ve completely stolen my heart,” he says.
I scoff. “That’s why you want me.”
“Sorry,” he teases as he pulls me closer. “I misunderstood the question.” He kisses the edge of my mouth once. Twice. And again. “Congratulations, Paige.”
I take a step away from his hands with my folder. “I need to read over this.”
Oliver cants his head as I beeline toward my spot on the floor again. “Paige...”
I lower down to my laptop. “No time to celebrate yet,” I say. “Not until I know exactly what I’m getting into here.”
“Paige.”
“What?”
“I still get five minutes.”
I gawk at him. “Oliver, a candidate for the United States Senate just offered me a job on her campaign and you want to have sex right now?”
“Yes,” he answers.
I pause. “You know what? I do, too, actually...”
Oliver extends his hand to me. I take it and he yanks me off the floor.
“I’m proud of you,” he says as he wraps an arm around my waist. He bri
ngs my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles before laying my open palm on his chest. “I didn’t think I’d ever find someone like you. I love that I did.”
I smile. “I love that you did, too.”
“I love you.”
I feel his heart beating beneath my palm. The gentle tap warms my fingertips, traveling all the way to my chest.
“I love you, too,” I whisper.
Oliver takes my lips with a kiss. Firm and sweet.
I tremble, my nerves dancing all over as he caresses my cheek. His lips hop from mine to my chin to the tip of my nose, planting even sweeter kisses. Oliver puts his forehead against mine as we walk toward my bed across the room. He looks deep into my eyes and I struggle to come up with the right words to express how grateful I am to have found someone like him, too.
Someone kind and generous. Fierce and protective.
Someone to read books with on a quiet Sunday afternoon.
Someone to seize the day with in a hotel bar.
Carpe diem.
Isn’t that what people say?
Epilogue
Oliver
one year later
If I could go back in time and tell my childhood self anything, it’d be to wait just a little bit longer. Work just a little bit harder. Go just a little bit further every single time I felt like giving up.
Because you never know who is watching.
Even if they see you amid your worst failures, you’ll earn their respect by getting right back up again. And who knows? Someday, that person might be the one to offer you a job. Or gift you with a box of clean clothes.
Or steal your heart.
“You still there, Oli?”
I look up from my plate. The Botsford Plaza restaurant surges with life. Servers and hostesses glide around us, seating guests and bussing tables. It’s a busy day in Las Vegas. It’s a good day, too.
And it’s only going to get better.
I glance across our table into the eyes of two of my closest friends: Marla Botsford, the building manager, and Graham Botsford, the CEO. They’re both gawking at me with amused smiles, eagerly awaiting my response.
“What?” I ask.
“I said,” Graham repeats, “are you still there, Oli?”
