Having it All - Holly Dodd - PDF Free Download (2025)

HAVING IT ALL

HOLLY DODD

Copyright © 2017 Holly Dodd http://www.hollydodd.com All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. For permission requests please contact mailto:[emailprotected] This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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CHAPTER 1

here was a naked woman at the dining room table. The average person would likely be a little off-put or alarmed at the sight of a gorgeous, completely nude brunette casually sipping coffee when they arrived at work. The woman sat at the head of a fifteen-person table, completely oblivious that her naked ass was perched on a vintage Louis XV chair. But my life was far from average. For me, this was just another day on the job. Most people didn’t work for Leo Hughes. My employer was many things—billionaire, collector, adventurer—but Playboy was right up there at the top of the list. In his definition, Playboy meant getting his dick wet as often as possible with a wide variety of women. Honestly, at this point, I’d be more surprised if there wasn’t a woman in some state of undress first thing in the morning. Sending his newest conquest on their way was part of my morning routine, third after getting coffee and reading E-mail. I nodded crisply at the brunette and she stared back at me, unim‐ pressed, as she sipped her coffee. By the aroma, she’d gotten into the good stuff that Leo favors. The coffee cost more than my car payment per pound. But I couldn’t scold her for it. The women that Leo collects tend to be variations of the same type: models, actresses, Page

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Six socialites. Women groomed on the finer things in life, who wouldn’t think twice about helping themselves. Judging by the brunette’s height and bone structure, I was guessing that she was in the model category. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d seen her on a billboard in Times Square. I mentally upgraded her to a supermodel. “Good morning,” I said, reaching past her to the French press and pouring a steaming cup. “Dobré ráno,” she drawled in response. Czech? I didn’t think Leo spoke Czech, but maybe he did. He was constantly surprising me. Although it probably didn’t matter if he wasn’t fluent in this woman’s language. I sincerely doubt that they did much talking last night. My stomach tightened in response to my thoughts, and I shoved it down rudely. I left the brunette to her liquid breakfast and made my way upstairs to Leo’s bedroom, making a brief stop in his home office to collect his tablet. His morning ritual involved reading his email, texts and the daily headlines while drinking coffee in his bedroom. I had no doubt he would be there. I’d stumbled upon hundreds of women going through various morning rituals at Leo’s residences, but he was never with them in the light of day. And I never saw the same face twice. My heels clicked sharply on the marble stairs that led to the lofted second floor of the penthouse. Leo had purchased this property at a ridiculous price, gutted it and redesigned the entire thing in a sleek, nouveau-industrial style that was all the rage in Europe. He’d moved in only six months ago, after abandoning a different luxury penthouse on the Upper East Side. That one, he’d complained, had been nice for a while, but he’d grown weary of the exposed brick and hardwood floors. He longed for something new and modern. Sometimes I wondered which Leo Hughes went through faster: women or real estate. I balanced the full coffee cup and the tablet in one hand and rapped lightly on the dark wood of Leo’s bedroom door with the other. He was free to enter any room as he pleased, it was his home

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after all, but demanded that his household staff treat him with the utmost privacy. I suppose I fell under the category of household staff. He has a housekeeper, a cook, a driver. And me. I was hired three years ago to be the personal assistant to Leo Hughes, and every moment has been an adventure. There was no answer to my knock. “Mr. Hughes?” I cautioned to ask through the door. Finally, a groggy voice answered. “Who’sit?” Leo’s voice was thick with sleep. “Don’t worry, Mr. Hughes,” I replied, pushing the door open. “It’s just me.” “Good morning, Bree,” Leo greeted me from his bed. I had to stop for a moment and steady myself. No matter how often I was greeted with this view, I was never prepared. Leo was splayed out on his back across his enormous bed, tanned limbs tangled in white sheets. I’ve seen my boss naked before. I’ve seen him naked so many times that I could probably sculpt a perfect likeness of his body just from memory; each detail of his form was burned into my brain. There was nothing new here, but every time I saw him, it was like having the air knocked out of my lungs. The damn man was a scourge to womankind, and I could never fault those who wound up in his bed. Normally Leo looked like an erotic fantasy put into human form, a whimsical artists rendition of an incubus. And this morning was no exception. His black curls hung over his brow. Dark eyelashes framed startling green eyes. A strong jaw and sharp cheekbones stood in stark contrast to his wide, generous mouth, a little red and kiss-stung this morning. Normally he didn’t look this wrecked after a romantic engage‐ ment. The brunette supermodel downstairs must have had some new tricks up her sleeve. Or some tricks hidden somewhere, as she didn’t look like the type to wear sleeves. “Did you have a nice time last night, Mr. Hughes?” I asked with just a hint of false sweetness. He groaned and pushed himself up on his elbows. The white cotton bed sheet slid down his torso. Although the temptation to peek

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was overwhelming, I kept my eyes locked on his face, ignoring the naked flesh that hovered at the bottom of my peripheral vision. I’d made the mistake once early during my employment, and I never forgot the view. That way lies madness. I know that Leo has a set of sculpted abdominal muscles, I know that his legs are taut and lean from his various athletic pursuits and I know that his cock is perfectly formed, and tempting, and far too big. I really, really couldn’t blame the brunette downstairs. But I also had an intimate look into his life, and I know that Leo Hughes does not bring a lover into his bed for a repeat. I faced a hard truth every morning. Once I fall into his bed, if I fall into his bed, my days at my job are over. I’m not willing to give up my hard-earned position in exchange for a one night stand… even if that one night would be an evening of erotic bliss with a sculpted demi-god of a man. Still, my throat was dry, and it took every ounce of mental strength not to give in. “I had an exquisite time, Bree, thank you for asking,” he said. He rolled over onto his back and threw one forearm over his eyes. “Is my guest still here?” I nodded. “She’s enjoying a cup of coffee before Alonzo drives her home, Mr. Hughes.” “Ah. Did she happen to say what time that would be?” I rolled my eyes, something I would never do if he’d been looking at me. But his face was still covered, so I risked it. “I don’t know, Mr. Hughes, I don’t speak Czech.” “Czech?” He sat up abruptly, knocking the sheet away completely, and my hand tightened on the coffee cup. Do not look. Lord. Do not look. “Is that what she was speaking?” I forced myself to breathe before I dared answer. I didn’t know what had flitted through his mind in the moments since I’d entered, but I would have to be blind not to notice his cock had grown half-hard. He looked at me with one eyebrow raised. How he could manage

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to sit there, naked and partially aroused, casually chatting foreign languages with me, I’ll never understand. I can’t understand him, but I can try to match him. I brushed a strand of my sandy blonde hair behind an ear and raised my own eyebrow in response, praying that my voice didn’t sound as wispy to him as it did to me. “Mr. Hughes, are you telling me that you didn’t realize that your companion last night didn’t speak English?” “Of course not,” he said. “I knew she didn’t speak English, but I thought she was speaking, I don’t know…Romanian?” “Perhaps we should take a trip to Eastern Europe and expand your knowledge of foreign languages,” I offered, handing him the cup of coffee and tablet. “Maybe we should. Look into booking us a trip after we get back from Monte Carlo, will you?” Ah, yes. Monte Carlo. I hadn’t forgotten about Leo’s birthday vacation—in fact, my primary duty on that day was to make sure his belongings were packed and the airport had the jet ready—but I was trying not to think about it. Traveling with Leo was always a pleasure, but his social circle in Europe was a pain in my ass. Each one of them was aristo‐ cratic and awful, either trying to sleep with Leo or sabotage him. I was expected to travel with him, but I wasn’t excited about it. “I’ll see what I can do, Mr. Hughes,” I responded. “You know you don’t have to call me ‘Mr. Hughes,’ Bree,” he said, sipping his black coffee. “I’m not comfortable calling you Leo, Mr. Hughes.” “You could call me ‘sir,’” he grinned, his sly smile managing to look both charming and predatory. I’ve spent enough time in his employ to know how he likes to spend his nocturnal playtime, and what he likes to be called. “I’ll see what I can do about that, sir,” I replied. God, I’m going to lose this job. Leo’s grin widened and I had to turn away, pretending to be absorbed by the window coverings.

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“Would you like me to draw the curtains, sir?” I knew I should stop playing along, but it was too enticing… even if it was foolish. Fortunately, the thought of daylight put him off the game. “No,” he groaned, setting down his coffee and flopping back on his expansive bed. “I’m not ready for daylight yet, Bree.” He extended the tablet toward me. “Or reading. Do it for me.” I had no idea how Leo could swing so quickly and wildly between being an enticing cad and a petulant child. I plucked the tablet from his outstretched hand and opened a few of his favorite news apps. “Do you want foreign or domestic news first, Mr. Hughes?” I asked. “Or would you prefer to start with the gossip sites?” “Neither,” he said, pulling the sheet up and nesting back into a pile of white pillows. I was both sad and grateful to have him cover himself up. “Check my texts.” That was new. Leo was typically very private with his text messages and emails. “You have several new text messages, Mr. Hughes,” I told him. He had over a dozen from me, one from his brother in Ibiza (“Send him money and tell him to get back here and check himself back into rehab immediately,” Leo grumbled at that one), and several unread messages from someone labeled as “Museum Blonde.” “I met her at a museum benefit and she was blonde,” Leo said, by way of explanation. “What does she say?” I opened the text thread and was greeted by a full-body nude photograph of a busty woman wearing too much make-up. It seems that the “blonde” description only applied to this museum benefit woman's head. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but I was pretty sure a nude only translates to two: “fuck me.” I said as much to Leo as I showed him the photo. He didn’t look terribly impressed. “They all want that, Bree,” he informed me, blasé. “What else does she say?” I scanned the thread. “It’s all fairly explicit, Mr. Hughes. Perhaps you should read it on your own when you’re a little more awake?” “Perhaps you should read it for me, Bree,” he said. I looked up, star‐

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tled and he smirked. I was not easily startled. He knew exactly what he was doing. Maybe I did, too. “I would be happy to, sir,” I replied, and began reading. “’I’m so horny’,” I read, but stopped when Leo burst out laughing. “Sorry, Bree,” he apologized, biting down hard on his lip to keep from laughing again. “Keep going.” I sighed in mock consternation, but read on. “I’m so wet right now.’ ‘I’m so hungry for your thick cock.’ ‘All I can think about is pulling off ur pants n swallowing you down.’ ‘I know ur cock tastes soooo good.’ ‘Then, when u cum, I want u to pull out and— ‘Oh!” I stopped abruptly, glancing up at Leo to see if he was as amused and horrified as I was. He was still biting down on his lip, but it wasn’t to hold back his laughter. His green eyes were intent on my face, pupils blown and dark. “Keep reading, Miss Ashford,” he said, using my last name. He never did that, unless he was angry. And he didn’t look angry. Not at all. I glanced down at the tablet, memorizing the next message, then looked back up at him, unwavering as I repeated it to his face. “’Then, when u cum, I want u to pull out and mark me,’” I recited. “’Cum all over me, claim me as yours.’” The spelling was appalling, but the senti‐ ment was understandable. The tablet screen burst to life as a phone call rang in. I was saved, although I wasn’t sure I wanted to be. “It’s the airport, Mr. Hughes, I should take this.” He exhaled, perhaps somewhat shakily. Or maybe I only imagined that. “Go right ahead. Please ask them if we can please leave on time this afternoon, can you? The last time we flew out of JFK we were delayed for hours and I don’t want to start off my own birthday week with a late flight.” I nodded. “Of course. Will there be anything else, Mr. Hughes?” “No,” he replied, rolling over to catch another hour or two of sleep. “Don’t forget to get me a birthday present,” he muttered, muffled by one of the many pillows on his bed.

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“Don’t worry, Mr. Hughes,” I replied, starting to pull the bedroom door closed behind me. “I’m working on something spectacular.” His birthday gift. I know exactly what I want to give him, but that is not an option. Luckily, I’ve got a backup plan.

CHAPTER 2

eo’s closet was bigger than my entire apartment. I knew that by now. I mean, I’ve packed for my employer on dozens, if not hundreds, of trips. But every time I enter his spacious walk-in closet, I’m daunted by the enormity of the task. It was never easy to pack for him. Leo was a man of particular tastes and got extremely vexed if I packed the wrong suit or forgot his favorite linen shirt. I used to thrill at his disdain, the frustrated glare he would send my way when he discovered that I neglected to pack some random piece of clothing that seemed unimportant to me, but apparently priceless to him. I disliked making mistakes, but secretly loved the dark attention he gave me when I slipped up. Leo Hughes’s praise was nice, but being on the receiving end of his scorn was oddly tantalizing. Unfortunately for me, it had been over a year since I’d made an error in packing and hadn’t suffered his disapproval in ages. I’m amazing at my job. How disappointing. I moved swiftly to the closet, grabbing the necessary items almost on autopilot and neatly packing them away in his suitcase. The closet was full of his scent, a rich musk that rose from his clothes and knocked me senseless.

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It might be a bit obvious to point this out, but I’ve been in love with Leo Hughes since the moment I’d laid eyes on him. The temp agency had sent me out on several jobs before referring me to the Hughes Group. They were all dull things—secretarial work, data entry, receptionist duties—and they bored me senseless. When the call came in for a personal assistant to a “high-level client,” I was expecting more of the same. I wasn’t expecting Leo’s green eyes undressing me as I sat down to be interviewed. I hadn’t anticipated the way his elegant fingers caressed my hand as he shook it in greeting. I wasn’t prepared for the gleaming white teeth that he bared in a smile when he told me that I got the job. And I certainly didn’t expect him to stay on my mind, dominating my thoughts and desires for the next several years. There wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t think about Leo fucking me, but I knew that could never happen. Instead, I found substitutes. I picked up tall, dark haired men in dimly lit bars and took them home, let them have their way with me while I imagined Leo riding me instead. Sometimes these men hit the spot. There was Tyler, a handsome entrepreneur from Chicago who liked to pull my hair as he did me from behind. Alek, an artist from Brooklyn who demanded that I get on my knees and suck him off in a hotel bathroom. Desmond, who never kissed me on the mouth, but had no qualms about spending hours with his dark head buried between my thighs. Not all of them were winners, though. I’d picked up an older man at a club who got me home to his apartment and then lay there like a cold fish while I tried to eke some pleasure out of his lackluster cock. A college boy, who looked so much like a young version of Leo that, if I squinted my eyes just right, could have passed for him in a line-up. Unfortunately, his technique was clumsy and he cried when he came, utterly shattering the perfect fantasy I’d concocted. No, there was no substitute for Leo Hughes. I’d finished packing and was just zipping the suitcase closed when my phone chimed. It was a new alert from Willoughby’s, an online

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auction house that I’d been haunting for the last several weeks. I snatched my phone and read the alert. You have been outbid, the message read. Outbid? Unacceptable. I opened the app and raised my maximum bid to twenty-four thousand dollars. It was a high price, but the gift was worth it. There was a poster that hung in almost every studio apartment or low-end wine bar: an art nouveau image of a woman draped in a toga, on her knees and looking upward, hands clasped as if in prayer. Above her head were the words “Monaco, Monte Carlo.” This print, an image created by Alphonse Mucha Monaco-Monte Carlo in 1897, was a staple of the young bohemian class and copies of it were plas‐ tered on walls across the western world. But I was bidding on the real thing. Leo had a taste for art nouveau, and although the price was steep and getting steeper with every competing bid, I knew he would love it. It was an expensive gift, but that didn’t really matter: he was paying for it himself. Every member of the Hughes household staff is expected to give their boss extravagant gifts on his birthday and at Christmas, but Leo was more than happy to foot the bill. It was a bizarre combination of selfishness and generosity, much like Leo himself. The phone pinged again and I frowned down at it. The same bidder had just outbid me for the second time. The name on the account wasn’t real—Money_Talks2000—but that was okay. Neither was mine. I’d adopted an online persona when I visited these auction sites. “Bree Ashford” was strictly middle class, but when Francesca_LeFleur01 logged on, she was a high-class billionaire. There was very little chance that anyone on Willoughbys.com knew who Bree Ashford was, but there was always the possibility that one of Leo’s friends was in the mood for some expensive on-line shopping. I didn’t want to run the risk of being recognized. Especially since this gift was going to be a surprise.

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Being Francesca LaFleur was a whole lot of fun. She was feisty when she was outbid, sending messages to the bidders who beat her out. Francesca wasn’t cowed by the presence of billionaires, she was bold and brave and sexy as hell. Sometimes I really wished I were Francesca. Her carefree, expensive fictional life would probably be a lot more fun than my current existence. Francesca LaFleur could take Leo Hughes to bed and it would be perfectly okay. He wouldn’t call her back, of course, that wasn’t Leo’s style, but at least she would have had the pleasure of spending one night basking in the scorching heat of his desire. That’s a pleasure that Bree Ashford would never be allowed. Frustrated, I opened the message function on the Willoughby’s app and typed out a quick message to the opposing bidder. From Francesca_LaFleur01: Nice try, but this poster is mine. Surprisingly, he answered only a few minutes later. From Money_Talks2000: That’s what you think, kitten. I play to win. I cocked one shapely eyebrow at his saucy reply. The vintage poster wasn’t the only on the line now. I was going to show this anonymous asshole that Francesca La Fleur always came out on top. From Francesca_LaFleur01: We’ll see, sweetheart. From Money_Talks2000: Oh, we’ll see. In fact, we’ll be SEEING that poster on my bedroom wall. You can come visit it if you want. Every instinct inside me wanted to increase my bid now, show him that I could throw money around, too, but common sense won out. He would just drive the price up past my twenty-five-thousand-dollar gift allowance, and then the poster would be as good as his. No, I had a play a long game on this one. If I waited it out and slipped in a bid at the last possible second, I could walk away a winner and still be within my budget. I quickly did the mental math. The auction would end in less than four hours. Leo’s jet was scheduled to take off at almost that exact time. As long as I paid attention and kept track of time, I should be able to place a final bid before we had to turn our phone off for liftoff. I totally had this.

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y some divine miracle, John F. Kennedy Airport’s private airfield was running exactly on time. The Hughes party was ushered through security with minimal hassle and we were loading onto the luxury jet almost thirty minutes before our sched‐ uled departure. I knew I should be glad that the airport was getting us off the ground in a timely manner for once, but I would hate if I lost cell service before the auction closed. By the time I could connect my phone to the jet’s Wi-Fi, it might be too late. A jet took off overhead, buffeting us with blowing gusts of wind as we dashed across the tarmac. I covered my head with my hand, trying to preserve my hairstyle as best I could. The flight crew on the jet were all impeccably attractive and I didn’t want to look embarrass‐ ingly disheveled on the whole flight over. I have enough of a complex about that. The first time I’d accompanied Leo to a white-tie fundraiser, I’d been floored by the dazzling beauty of the couples there: tall, hand‐ some billionaires with slender women on their arms. “Wow,” I’d said to Leo as we walked into the Met. “Everyone has such a beautiful wife.” I’d been so sweet and naïve then. Leo had looked at me sideways, frowning slightly. “Guess again, Bree,” he’d said to me, leaning back slightly to check his reflection in a mirrored wall just off to our left. “The wives and girlfriends are all in St. Bart’s for the season. These are personal assistants.” Excuse me? Every single woman in the room was a gorgeous, it was like a casting call for an upscale underwear ad. I looked down at my own figure. I looked okay, I guessed. I’d put on a few pounds while I was job searching, and I guess my hair was a bit unkempt. I didn’t even want to think about my gown, which I’d borrowed from an old college friend with a rich father. When I put myself together for the benefit, I’d left the house

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feeling confident and lovely. Now I was the unwitting ugly duckling, surrounded by an entire ballroom full of swans. Leo spent the evening glad-handing his billionaire buddies and surveying the roomful of women for potential playmates. I spent the night sitting awkwardly at a cocktail table, clutching a glass of chardonnay and trying not to make eye-contact with the dozens of women glaring at me, jealous of my place at Leo’s side, even though I was clearly not a threat to them. They were magical princesses and I was an ugly step-personal-assistant. At the end of the gala, Leo took home a matching set of blondes and I took a cab back to my apartment through the drizzling New York night. When I arrived at work the next week, there was a present waiting for me: a gym membership, business card for a salon and account information for my new clothing allowance. “What is this?” I’d demanded, practically storming into Leo’s home office. I had only been at my job for a few months and really needed to check my attitude, but I was livid. I knew that I was a flop at the gala, but it was beyond arrogant of Leo Hughes to assume that I needed a makeover. He didn’t really blanche as a vented at him that morning. Leo just sat at his sleek steel desk and regarded me, one black eyebrow cocked curiously. When I’d finished telling him exactly how inappropriate and presumptuous his actions were, he just smiled and leaned forward, elbows resting on the smooth surface of the desk. “Miss Ashford,” he said. “When you have a job, you have a uniform. Waiters wear aprons, mechanics wear jumpsuits, strippers wear thongs. You are the personal assistant to one of the wealthiest men in the world and I expect you to look like it. Your uniform, however, is not a polo shirt or a green apron. It is your body, your hair, your clothing. If you want to play with the big kids, you need to play the part.” I sputtered, but couldn’t come up with a reply. Leo leaned even closer, emerald eyes burning into me. “It’s a suit of

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armor, Bree: present a perfect façade, never let them find the cracks. It’s the only way to survive in this world.” Something clicked into place just then: Leo’s perfectly coiffed hair, his personal trainer and private stylist. He didn’t just want to look this good, he needed to. I deflated a bit, embarrassed about my rant. I excused myself and backed out the door. “Bree?” Leo had called. “There’s a hot yoga class this afternoon. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off and take advantage of the gifts I left you?” I wasn’t sure if I should be grateful for the day off or insulted by the gesture, but, nevertheless, I skipped the rest of the day and went to hot yoga. I’ve gone almost every day since. Now, just over three years later, I’ve put together my suit of armor: stylishly cut ash blond hair, dyed monthly at a chic uptown salon; a toned figure that slid perfectly into a size four designer dresses that I would rent for galas. I had my own closet full of upscale clothing and shelves after shelves of ridiculously expensive shoes, stored in their boxes and meticulously maintained. Leo had never commented on my appearance since, but I’d seen his eyes flicker over me appreciatively. I knew he approved. The flight attendants sprung to attention as I entered the jet; two beautiful young women practically poured into vintage-inspired flight attendant uniforms. I handed one of them Mr. Hughes’s brief‐ case and laptop and instructed her to set up his workspace in the main cabin. The other girl took my coat and smiled deferentially. I was in charge now, a coolly competent, perfectly polished personal assistant, Leo Hughes’s right-hand woman. I’d come a long way in three years. Speaking of Leo, what was taking so long? He was being awfully slow for a man who claimed to be desperate to arrive in Monaco, and we had a long flight in front of us. I peered out the round cabin window and spotted my boss engaged in conversation with the captain, speaking animatedly while the window played havoc with his dark hair. I pulled the shade shut and rolled my eyes. Leo was asking the pilot if he could fly the plane, he did this on every trip, begging like an

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excited little boy. Leo flew his helicopter and his small Cessna, so he had no need to fly the jet, but he still begged every single time. Despite myself, I smiled. I liked when Leo Hughes, human being, was visible through the cracks in his billionaire armor. An alarm sounded and I snatched my phone from my Birkin hand‐ bag. One minute until the auction ended. I opened the app, then sat patiently with my new bid—and even twenty-five thousand dollars-entered and my manicured finger poised just about the “bid” button. “Hello, ladies,” Leo had entered the plane. The flight attendants giggled in return, unable to form coherent words. I disapproved, but I totally understood. That was me when I first started working for him. I counted down the seconds until the auction ended. “Ten, nine, eight…” When there were just three seconds left, I jabbed at the “bid” button and it was accepted with a perky little ding! The auction alert sounded just a few seconds later. Congratulations! You are the highest bidder on Item: ALPHONSE MUCHA MONACO-MONTE CARLO 1897 ORIGINAL ART NOUVEAU POSTER. Smiling to myself, I tucked my phone away and walked up to find Leo at the front of the plane. He always wanted champagne at takeoff and, this time, I did, too: I had something to celebrate.

CHAPTER 3

eo was in a sour mood as the flight attendants poured out the Moët & Chandon champagne. He still drank it, of course, but he didn’t look happy about it. “Is everything all right, Mr. Hughes?” I asked. I didn’t want to pry, but it was literally my job to provide assistance if he needed anything. “You look displeased.” “No, it’s fine, Bree,” he pouted, swigging back the champagne and holding out his glass for a refill. “I just had some disappointing news and you know how much I hate disappointment.” I did. Leo was used to getting his own way, and he was always in a bitter mood on the rare occasions when he did not. I wondered what had happened this time. Did he just find out that one of his potential playthings wouldn’t be joining the party in Monaco? Leo had a list of women he’d like to sleep with, and it was my sad duty to maintain it. “Is Sofia Saphirretti unable to join us this week, Mr. Hughes?” I asked. Sofia had been at the top of Leo’s list for almost six months and he’d gone to great pains to ensure she’d be joining us for his birthday week. “What? No,” Leo shook his head, but his eyes were on his phone. “She’ll be there. Oh! That reminds me. Bree, did you confirm that

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there will be a gift from Agent Provocateur waiting at her villa when she arrives?” I nodded. Ordering expensive lingerie from the exclusive retailer had become one of my weekly tasks. That’s how I knew Leo was getting close to a conquest. I’d send a box of lingerie, he’d take the woman out for an extravagant evening, and then we would never see her again. I might have also gotten into the habit of placing an order for myself every time I put together a gift box for Leo’s latest target. I had quite a collection of flimsy silk panties and delicate lace bras. In fact, I was wearing a pair—black lace with ribbon ties at the side —right now. The jet cut through the twilight sky, we would be in Monaco just before sunrise. I was alone in the front cabin, Leo had disappeared into the main cabin to pout. I should probably give him some space before barging in on his flirtations and putting him in an even darker mood. I pulled out my phone to check the weather in Monte Carlo and was surprised to see a message alert from Willoughby’s. From Money_Talks2000: You win this one, kitten, but I want a rematch. From Money_Talks2000: There’s a Klimt coming up next month. I’ll race you! I shook my head. I didn’t have money to spend on a new piece and Leo wouldn’t be due for another gift until the holidays. He might not love it if I started a random art collection on his dime. Although, honesty? He might not even notice. Spending all his money would be like trying to empty the ocean. It just wasn’t possible. But just because Bree Ashford couldn’t afford a Klimpt didn’t mean Francesca LaFleur couldn’t play along. From Francesca_LaFleur01: Thanks for the heads up! A Klimpt will go perfectly with my new Mucha! From Money_Talks2000: Ha. Not a chance, I know your tricks now. From Money_Talks2000: You can bring your Mucha over anytime to visit, though. Our art can have playdates. From Money_Talks2000: So can we xxx

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I puzzled over that message for a moment. Either I was reading that very wrong or things had escalated quickly. Bree would ignore it or laugh it off, but Bree wasn’t the person messaging this man. Francesca was, and she didn’t back down from a challenge. I rang the bell for a flight attendant. I needed a stiff drink if things were going the way I thought they were going to go. There was no answer. I rang it again. Where were those flight attendants? Oh well, Francesca would have to do this without any liquid courage. From Francesca_LaFleur01: Excuse you? Are you flirting with me? From Money_Talks2000: Depends. Do you want to be flirted with? From Francesca_LaFleur01: That depends, too. I’m a woman of sophisti‐ cated taste. From Francesca_LaFleur01: I don’t even know what you look like. From Money_Talks2000: Oh, please. I’m incredibly good-looking. Do you think I could be this charming if I wasn’t super handsome? He had a point. Every man I knew who was this bold and flirta‐ tious was also ridiculously attractive. I mean, look at my boss. His handsomeness and cockiness were in a race to see which could outdo the other. One of these days, I half-expected him to explode in a ball of self-absorption, suave pick-up lines, and expensive Italian suits. From Francesca_LaFleur01: You have a point. I’ll allow flirting. From Money_Talks2000: ExcBreent. I can’t wait to see what else you’ll allow. Jesus. This guy and Leo should get together and write a book on the art of the quick pick-up. They could make millions. Not that either of them needed it. From Francesca_LaFleur01: I’m very generous, but you’ll need to beg for it. I couldn’t believe I’d typed that. Francesca was on fire today, I would need to watch out for her. Not that it mattered, I’d never come face to face with this man in real life. What harm could come from a little sexting? From Francesca_LaFleur01: If you ask nicely enough, I’ll let you do anything you want.

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From Francesca_LaFleur01: I’m nice like that, as long as you’re very VERY polite. Money_Talks2000 didn’t reply. Great, I’d gone over the line. Some men couldn’t handle strong women, I supposed. Too bad, a little dirty texting would have been a welcome distraction from the gaudy glitz of Monte Carlo. Speaking of Monte Carlo, the caterer had emailed shortly after we took off with a question about Foie gras. Leo preferred the deli‐ cacy imported from France, but the caterer’s supplier had run out and only had Bulgarian pâté. I didn’t want to bother Leo with such trivial problems but he would notice. The man had the most sensi‐ tive palate I’d ever seen. There is no way he wouldn’t notice if we substituted Bulgarian Foie gras for French. It could ruin his whole birthday party. I made my way back to the main cabin, still disappointed that Money_Talks2000 hadn’t replied. All thoughts of hors d’ouvres and flirty text messages flew right out of my head, however, as I pushed open the door to the main cabin. I guess I found out where the flight attendants were. One of them, the redhead, was perched at Leo’s side, kissing him deeply as he played with one of her full breasts. The other had her blonde head in his lap, bobbing up and down as she swallowed his long, graceful cock. I knew I should leave. I’d seen my boss naked and met his partners before or after the act, but I’d never seen my him in the middle of foreplay, well on the way to a threesome. Taking a deep breath, I started to turn to leave, but Leo let out a deep groan, muffled by the woman he was kissing. The sound was so primal, so delectable that I knew that I wasn’t going anywhere. Leo removed one hand from the redhead’s tangled hair and placed it at the back of the neck of the blonde between his legs. She squeaked as his fist tightened in her hair, but that was the last sound she could make as Leo took control of the blowjob and guided her mouth on his cock, urging her deeper and faster. The redhead was undoing the buttons on Leo’s blue Egyptian

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cotton shirt, popping them open in her haste to get access to his broad chest. Somewhere, underneath my sudden onset of voyeuristic lust, I made a mental note to order him a new version of that shirt. It was one of his favorites. The shirt was a torn mess now and the redhead kissed down this throat and took one of his nipples between her teeth, rolling the other between her two fingers. “Oh, fuck yes,” Leo moaned, and I realized that my black silk panties were soaking wet. He bucked his hips and the blonde on his dick picked up her pace, lips sliding on and off his long shaft with wet, sloppy abandon. Leo’s hands clenched suddenly, holding her firmly at his base. He threw his head back and his face twisted in ecstasy as he found his release. The blonde’s throat worked frantically, swallowing him down. She swal‐ lowed and swallowed and swallowed some more. I’d never seen my boss cum before, but it was clear that he did it with excessive aban‐ don, just as he did everything else. I leaned up against the wall, trembling when Leo came back into himself and looked up, catching sight of me with those disarming green eyes. “Bree,” he smiled, voice thick with the remnants of pleasure. “You should have told me you were here! You could have joined us.” I pulled myself together; it would do me no good to have Leo find out how much watching him had turned me on. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Hughes, but I’ve got work to do.” I quickly rattled off the Foie gras conundrum but he just waved me away. “I’m sure you can make the right decision, Bree.” The blonde and the redhead were both curled around him now, idly stroking him and each other, and both glaring at me. It was clear that I’d worn out my welcome. “Call me if you need anything, Mr. Hughes,” I said as I retreated to the front cabin. “Although it looks like you’re already being wellserviced.” I could feel the two flight attendants glaring at me as I made my

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exit, but I didn’t care. They would never be on this plane again. I would. I heard Leo’s voice just before the cabin door slammed behind me. “I need to rest, girls. Why don’t you two take care of each other?” Great. Now I would definitely need to change my panties before I got back to work.

CHAPTER 4

e arrived at Leo’s cliff-side villa just after dawn. I was exhausted, having slept poorly on the flight over and waking up early to get us through customs as Leo and the flight atten‐ dants slumbered peacefully in his suite at the far back of the private jet. Monaco is known to be one of the wealthiest countries in the world and Monte Carlo was its crown jewel: a playground for the rich and famous. Luxury hotels lined the white sand beach, crystal clear water sparkling as far as the eye can see. Further into the city, the roads begin to twist and turn, snaking through the old buildings and winding up to the high cliffs over-looking the sea. That’s where Leo’s villa, Maison Hughes, sat: perched on a cliff high above the crashing waves and removed from the bustle of the upscale tourist town. Maison Hughes was old, rumored to have belonged to exiled Russian aristocrats, fleeing the unrest in their country. Leo’s father had purchased it, renovated it and made it into one of the most glamorous properties in Monte Carlo. Leo was barely through the front door before he declared that he was going down to the marina to say hello to the crew of his yacht. He

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hasn’t been to Monte Carlo in nearly a year and he wanted to make sure the yacht would be ready for the party that evening. The yacht, Hughes’s Pride, was Leo’s favorite toy and he insisted that the first party of his weeklong birthday celebration be held on the yacht. It was going to be incredibly lovely and no doubt a great time for the guests, but I was the one who had to arrange catering and other event services on a boat. Sometimes, I wished Leo’s flights of fancy were less… fanciful. “Don’t forget that guests will be arriving at the marina at seven, Mr. Hughes,” I shouted after him as he slid into the backseat of the town car. I wasn’t sure he heard me. Luckily our chauffeur, Alonzo, had heard and promised to get Mr. Hughes home with plenty of time to shower and return to the yacht before the guests arrived. I dragged myself back inside the villa and dumped my suitcase next to my bed. The caterers would be arriving at the marina some‐ time in the early afternoon and I really needed to be there to greet them. That wasn’t happening for a few hours, though, and I figured I would have enough time to catch a quick nap before getting back to work. The sea air was warm and soothing as I slipped off my rumpled, travel-worn clothing. It was nice to be back in temperate Monte Carlo after spending the last few months in chilly New York City. Working for Leo Hughes could be demanding and difficult, but it also had its perks. I’d just settled back onto the soft bed, enjoying the caress of the fine linen sheets against my naked body, when my phone pinged. If this was about Foie gras, I was going to strangle someone. It wasn’t. A message from Money_Talks2000 was waiting for me. I guess I hadn’t scared him off after all. From Money_Talks2000: Miss me? As a matter of fact, I had. From Francesca_LaFleur01: You’re a bad boy, abandoning me like that. I don’t know if I should give you any more attention. Money_Talks2000 sent back a volley of messages, describing

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exactly what he would do to beg my forgiveness. He was sweet. Francesa forgave him. From Francesca_LaFleur01: Apology accepted. But you’ll have to make good on all those promises. From Money_Talks2000: I want to send you a picture. Can I have your number? Uh oh. Now things were getting real. I couldn’t give him my real number, I didn’t want to make any connections between my real-life self and my flirty online persona. It would be rude. But I was curious to see what kind of picture he wanted to send. If it was a dick pick, we were going to be done. It was poor taste to send a lady an unsolicited picture of one’s penis, even if one was a filthy rich art aficionado. I had to think fast. Suddenly it came to me. From Francesca_LaFleur01: Sorry, I don’t give out my personal number to strangers, even sweet sexy ones like you. From Francesca_LaFleur01: BUT. Have you ever used TextTime? TextTime was a texting app that didn’t require your phone number, it let you choose a private username instead. Francesca La Fleur could move off the Willoughbys.com messenger but remain anonymous. Francesa LaFleur is getting quite the life, I thought, a bit jealous of my glamorous alter ego. There was a pause, then Money_Talks2000 replied. From Money_Talks2000: App downloaded. What’s your username? From Francesca_LaFleur01: Same as here. From Money_Talks2000: Oh. From Francesca_LaFleur01: What’s yours? There was no reply. From Francesca_LaFleur01: Can I get your username so I can message you? Still no reply on the Willoughbys.com messenger. A moment later, a new message pinged in, this time from the newly installed TextTime app. It wasn’t from Money_Talks2000, however. I burst out laughing, equally amused and delighted. This user was calling himself LaFleurs_Lover69. It was strangely sweet; strangely sweet and incredibly cocky.

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I leaned back against the soft pillows and ran my hand over my breasts, nipples hardening against my palm. I sighed with content‐ ment as my body finally started to unwind. My plans for a nap had been long abandoned, but I was looking forward to my new activity. I knew that this man wasn’t a real lover, I would never meet him, but that doesn’t mean I could have some fun while we chatted. And it would keep my mind off other things, name one Mr. Leo Hughes. From Franceca_LaFleur01: Nice username. A bit presumptuous, don’t you think? From LaFleurs_Lover69: Why be coy? I know what I want. From Francesca_LaFleur01: At least buy a girl dinner first. From LaFleur_Lover69: Why go out when we can eat in? I shuddered and slid one hand between my thighs, unsurprised to find the crotch of my silk panties completely soaked through. I was going to need to learn to control myself or else ask Leo to up my clothing allowance. Silk panties didn’t come cheap. Neither did Francesca LaFleur. From Francesca_LaFleur01: I’m not that easy. I need to be wooed before I consider letting you taste me. I worked a finger inside myself, my dampness providing easy access. I slipped another in and moaned. The app pinged, but it wasn’t a text message this time. It was a picture. I hesitated. If he sent a picture of his cock, as I was expecting, I would probably cum on my hand immediately. I’d get off, but I would lose all respect for my sexting partner. He’d been toeing the line perfectly between sweet and sexy and I worried that an unso‐ licited picture would push him over the edge into Creepyville. I couldn’t ignore it, though. I tapped the app and a picture sprang onto the screen, but it was not what I expected. A sea of red roses filled the picture, a green and white striped awning visible at the very top of the picture. A flower stand. From LaFleur_Lover69: None of these are as beautiful as you. Okay. He was perfect. He and Francesca LaFleur would make a divine couple. Too bad it was Bree Ashford on the other end of the app.

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From Francesca_LaFleur01: Well wooed. You’re a good boy. You earn one kiss. From LaFleur_Lover69: I’ll take it. Wait, a kiss WHERE? From Francesca_LaFleur01: On my mouth, silly boy. You need to woo me a little harder if you want to get into my panties. From Francesa_LaFleur01: That is if I’m even WEARING panties. From LaFleur_Lover69: I’d do so many things for the privilege of getting my hands on you, inside you. I bit my lip as my damp walls clenched around my fingers. A pair of ellipses had appeared at the bottom of the text app; he was typing. I slid another finger in and gently flicked my thumb up against my clit. I couldn’t wait to hear what he’d say. I was one filthy image away from exploding. My phone pinged, but it wasn’t the TextTime app. Instead, a normal text message alert appeared on my screen, this one from Leo. I had never once, not in the entire three years I’d spent in his employ, been disappointed to receive a text message from my boss. Not when he’d text me at two o’clock in the morning to demand I send Alonzo to pick him up at some charity gala that had gotten out of hand; not when he was telling me to bring his gym bag to the personal trainer all the way across town because he’d forgotten it at the penthouse; not even when he texted me a photo of an elaborate glass dildo and instructed me to visit every adult store in Manhattan until I’d found it. I’d always been thrilled to get a text from Leo Hughes, no matter how mundane, but not this time. Right now, with my nipples hard with excitement and half of my hand sliding in and out of my sopping pussy, the only person I wanted to hear from was LaFleur_Lover69. From Leo Hughes: Bree! I made new friends at the marina. Contact caterer to add extra ppl tonight! Oh, come ON, Leo, I cursed him. Now is not the best time. But it was not my job to question, only to contact the caterer. Which is what I would do as soon as I heard back from LaFleur_Lover69 and I was finally able to get myself off.

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I replied to Leo with a terse thumbs-up emoji and then waited. And waited and waited. LaFleur_Lover69 never responded. Eventually, I gave up and rolled over on my side but I was unable to fall completely asleep. My unsatisfied lust was rippling just under the surface and wouldn’t let me rest until I’d earned my release. But nothing, no amount of fondling or fingering could get me to cum. I needed my lover, Francesca’s lover, to guide me to orgasm through his words. But he’d abandoned me. I napped shallowly, dreaming of red rose petals and undelivered kisses, rolling out of bed hours later, poorly rested and in no mood for a party.

CHAPTER 5

he salt wind whipped through my hair as I stood at the railing of the yacht, gazing out on the black waters of the Mediterranean Sea. Behind me, the first party of Leo Hughes’s birthday week celebration glittered a complete success. Somehow, despite the Foie gras shortage and the last-minute guests, the thing had come together perfectly. The last time I saw Leo, he’d had a glass of champagne in one hand and Sofia Saphirretti in the other. The Italian heiress had slunk into the party fashionably late--her nipples poking against the paper-thin silk of her gown and diamonds dripping from her ears--and made a beeline straight for Leo. With the party in full swing and my boss happily entertained, I was free to take some time for myself. The bow of the yacht had always been my favorite place on the ship. It was far away from the galley and the observation deck on the stern, and I loved the way the yacht rose and fell as it pushed through the midnight black sea. The wind parted around me, the crack of sails and clang of metal-on-metal almost enough to drown out the sounds of the party. I was exhausted, but the party was sure to last long past midnight,

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perhaps even until the morning. I didn’t see any rest in my immediate future. At least I got a few moments to myself. “’Allo, Miss Ashford,” a voice came from my left. I looked over and saw the aquiline profile of one M. Julien Félix, a French aristocrat, and royal pain-in-the-ass. Leo couldn’t stand the man, but wouldn’t even consider not inviting him to his birthday week. The two were part of the same exclusive social circle and, although they mutually despised one another, they played a game of veiled disdain rather than open hostility. “Good evening, M. Félix,” I greeted him coolly, feeling disloyal to my boss by even speaking to the man. I hoped that my tone would induce him to leave me alone and find someone else to bother, but it wasn’t my lucky day. “Miss Ashford,” he drawled, his French accent hopelessly sexy. All French accents are sexy, even when they come out of the mouths of pretentious snobs like Julien Félix. He was attractive, I supposed if you were into that sort of thing. His features were delicately sculpted and he had light blonde hair that he styled to hang rakishly in his face. Many women found Julien Félix attractive, but I was not one of them “I was surprised not to find you on the dance floor,” Julien said, not picking up on my distaste. “I don’t care for dancing,” I replied. “Ah, that is more the shame, ma chere,” Julien said. “A woman, une femme, as lovely as you would melt hearts on the dance floor. You move with incredible grace.” Julien, bless his heart, was full of utter shit. I would never describe myself as graceful. I’d been kicked out of ballet class when I was a small child because my poor dancing abilities and lack of coordina‐ tion were becoming a detriment to the other little girls in the class. Dancing isn’t the only reason I was avoiding the back of the ship, but it played a part. I changed the subject. “Have you tried the Foie gras, M. Félix?” He grimaced. “Eh, Belgian, is it not? I’m appalled at Leo’s poor taste, but c’est la vie! He is an American, he cannot be expected to have such a sophisticated palate as Frenchman, n’est-ce pas?

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My eyes narrowed. I took a deep breath and was about to let him have it, but at that moment, Leo appeared around the corner, saving me from having to deliver a verbal smack-down to Julien. “Bree! Oh, thank God,” he said, rushing to my side. He looked flushed and flustered. “I need you.” Julien’s eyebrows shot up in response, his surprise so extreme that they almost touched the light blonde bangs that hung over his high forehead. “Oh!” he said. “Monsieur has finally noticed.” Leo glanced at him in surprise, noticing that I wasn’t alone. “Hello, Julien,” he growled. “I had thought for sure we left the marina without you.” “Fear not, Monsieur Hughes,” Julien said. “I would not miss a moment of your birthday celebration week. Neither, I believe, would Mademoiselle Saphirretti. I am noticing that you are enjoying her company on the dance floor… but that will not be the only place you are enjoying her tonight, n’est-ce pas? Leo’s jaw tensed. “The caterers are serving Foie gras, Julien. Why don’t you go have some?” “I shall go,” Julien said, “perhaps the flavor will have improved upon the second tasting.” He took a few steps toward the party then turned back to us, shaking his light blonde head. “I ask myself, ‘What is Monsieur Leo Hughes doing with Sofia Saphirretti when he has the most beautiful woman at the party—“ Julien gestured to me ”—right at his fingertips. But, pardonez-moi, it is none of my business.” With that, he was gone. Leo watched him go and then turned to me, scowling. “You don’t buy into any of that, right Bree?” I wanted to ask him what? Which part didn’t I buy into? The part where one of his wealthy peers found me attractive? That someone was willing to look past the glamorous girls that packed the party and notice that I existed? Instead, I simply said, “No, Mr. Hughes. Of course I don’t.” “Good, you’re a smart girl, Bree,” he said, then remembered what he came here for. “I need your help.”

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The awkwardness of the encounter with Julien faded immediately and things snapped back to normal. He was my boss, I was his effi‐ cient employee; I could operate like this. “What can I do for you, Mr. Hughes?” I asked, my voice crisp. Apparently, what I could do was run interference with an unwanted female admirer, Lady Carla Downes, who had been tailing Leo all night long. They’d spent one torrid night together in London last fall and she hasn’t left him alone since. “Why did you invite her?” I asked. “I know your policy on repeat lovers, Mr. Hughes.” Leo looked embarrassed. “I, uh, invited her sister, Jane. I thought she might be a fun option for one of the nights this week, but didn’t stop to consider that she’d bring Lady Carla along with her. Jane is already drunk on gin and tonics and is flirting with one of the waiters, and Carla keeps trying to insert herself between me and Sofia.” He paused for a moment, thoughtful. “I mean, I’d be up for a threesome, but not with her. She was dull enough on her own, I can’t imagine how boring she would be in a group.” “Leo!” shouted a tipsy British-accented voice. Leo looked alarmed. I laid one hand on his arm. “I’ve got this, Mr. Hughes. Go enjoy your party.” “Thanks, Bree,” he said, setting off toward the stern. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I shook my head—I don’t know what you’d do without me, either, sir— and set off to intercept Lady Carla Downes.

y the time I’d managed to pour Carla into a bed in one of the spare cabins, the party was winding down. A few guests lingering on deck, sipping the last bits of champagne, but most everyone had retired to their cabins. I shut the door on the gently snoring Duchess and slipped down the hall to my own cabin. To get there, however, I had to pass by Leo’s room. I had every intention of breezing by his door, paying no attention to whatever

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sounds might be coming through the thin metal walls, but when I got there, I paused. It was wrong to listen, it was creepy to listen, but I was dying to know if my boss had succeeded in seducing Sofia Saphirretti. Despite my instincts, I leaned in and listened. There was nothing. It was unlike Leo to end lovemaking so early; he usually went until dawn. I leaned in closer until my ear was almost touching the door. There it was, a small sound. It wasn’t really a moan or a rustle. It sounded more like… soft footsteps? I realized my mistake at the exact moment Leo yanked the door open and found me frozen there in front of his cabin door. I had bent over a bit to listen which, unfortunately, put me right at eye level with Leo’s sculpted abs. Thank God he was wearing underwear. I straightened up, smoothed my gown and let the mask of cool efficiency fall over my features. “Do you need anything before I go to bed, Mr. Hughes?” I asked. “Or does Miss Saphirretti?” He looked puzzled for a moment, then shook his head and gestured back into his cabin. It was dark, illuminated only by the lit screen of his cell phone resting on the empty king-sized bed. Leo was alone. I had underestimated Sofia Saphirretti. She must be playing a long game with this because I’d never seen Leo fail to bring a woman home if he wanted her. And he’d made it perfectly clear that he was after Sofia. I hoped she would relent soon. Leo was a nightmare when he didn’t get something he wanted. Leo scratched the back of his neck and yawned. “I can’t really sleep. I thought a quick nightcap up on deck might help.” “Do you want me to wake the galley, Mr. Hughes? They would be happy to make you a cockta—“ I lost my words in a wide yawn of my own. It was true what they said about yawning being contagious. But Leo shook his dark head. “No, get some sleep, Bree. I can make my own drink.” We both paused, remembering the last time he’d tried to pour himself a cocktail. It had resulted in a shattered crystal decanter, ruined Oriental rug, and a very expensive dry-cleaning bill.

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“Maybe I’ll just pour myself a scotch,” he said. “That should be safe enough.” “Don’t break anything, Mr. Hughes,” I told him. He wanted a drink. I wanted to go to bed. Neither of us moved. Instead, we stayed there a moment in the close quarters of the hall‐ way, his bare chest just inches from me. I could reach out and stroke him if I wanted to. I could kiss him. I pushed the thought from my mind and managed to make my way down the hall. After a moment, I heard Leo’s footsteps heading the other direction. It wasn’t until they had entirely disappeared that I released the breath I’d been holding. What was I doing?

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t took me a moment to realize why my cabin wasn’t dark. My cell phone, which I’d left charging on my nightstand, was aglow with alerts. Just as the screen went back to sleep mode, another one pinged in, lighting up the screen again. I picked up the phone and scrolled curiously through the alerts. There were a few text messages, a couple of social media notifications, but the majority were TextTime messages from the one and only LaFleurs_Lover69. I was tempted to delete all the messages and snub him for abandoning me while I was so hot and bothered, but I was too tempted to see what he had replied. When last we texted, he was about to tell me what he would do in exchange for access to my body and bed. He’d come up with some good ideas in the hours since. From LaFleur_Lover69: Where did I leave off? Oh, right. Fingering you. From LaFleur_Lover69: Dinner and dancing. Then, in the limo home, you’ll slip off your panties and let me slip a finger deep inside you. From LaFleur_Lover69: Just a warning: my hands are big. From LaFleur_Lover69: You like it so much that you let me add a second. I can make you cum with just my fingers, kitten, and I will.

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From LaFleur_Lover69: You’ll be begging me to fuck you, but all you get are my fingers. From LaFleur_Lover69: I promised to woo you and I will. From LaFleur_Lover69: I’ll buy you diamond earrings. That should earn me the chance to go down on you, taste you. From LaFleur_Lover69: You are going to be so wet. I could slide my cock in easily, you are so ready for me. From LaFleur_Lover69: But I’m not going to fuck you until I deserve you. Tell me what I can do to be worthy of that pussy, Francesca. From LaFleur_Lover69: I want to fuck you. I want to hear you scream my name. I want to hear you thank me as I fill you. From LaFleur_Lover69: Tell me what to do. I sat there, breathless, staring at my phone. The last message had come in less than an hour ago. Where the hell was LaFleur_Lover69 and why was he awake at this hour? A green dot was next to his user‐ name. He was still online. It took me a minute to compose myself, then I tapped out a quick message. From Francesca_LaFleur01: I thought you’d abandoned me, but no. From Francesca_LaFleur01: Turns out my good boy was just off thinking of ways to please me. I like that. From Francesca_LaFleur01: Do you want a reward for your good behavior? Where was this coming from? I hadn’t realized that I had such a domineering streak, but Francesca was bringing out something new in me. I wondered what Leo would do if I ever questioned his orders, demanded that he do things for me in return. He’d probably be terribly confused. I don’t think many people have said no to him in his entire, privileged life. From LaFleur_Lover69: O God, yes. Please. He was so sweet and attentive, even over text. I paused for a moment, considering. From Francesca_LaFleur01: Are you okay with nudes? I didn’t want to be that jerk who sent dirty pictures without

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consent, even if my online lover seemed ready and willing. The response was immediate and affirmative. From LaFleur_Lover69: YES From LaFleur_Lover69: yes yes yes From LaFleur_Lover69: please I quickly adjust the lighting in my cabin, lowering the dimmer for optimal exposure, and then positioned myself on the bed. He would get a view of my breasts and, in the background, my hand dipping into the top of my panties. Nothing too obscene, nothing that showed my face; it would be enough to tease him without giving too much away. I snapped the picture and then threw a quick filter on it. It looked phenomenal: my breasts were full in the foreground and my stomach caught the soft lighting beautifully. Somehow, in the contrasting shad‐ ows, it looked like I had a gentle six-pack. I guess working out all these years on Leo’s dime had finally paid off. After sending the picture, I sat there, waiting for a response. Some‐ where else in the ship, there was a crash and a muffled yell. Go to bed, Leo, I thought. I really didn’t need him stumbling around drunk and accidentally falling off the boat. It would interrupt my sexting, and I was thoroughly enjoying this naughty conversation. There was another cry, sharp and muffled, from the direction of Leo’s cabin. If he made a third noise, I’d feel obligated to go check on him. Luckily, he remained silent. LaFleur_Lover69 was typing out a message. From LaFleur_Lover69: Sorry for the delay. You looked so fucking sexy in that pic. From LaFleur_Lover69: I couldn’t control myself. I came. From LaFleur_Lover69: I hope you aren’t mad. Who was this guy? I don’t know how this happened, but I had found myself an obedient, sweet lover on the other end of this text string. From Francesca_LaFleur01: I’m not mad. You are so good. So sexy and so good.

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From Francesca_LaFleur01: I’m lucky to have such a good boy, cumming from just my photo. From Francesca_LaFleur01: You can get off to me anytime. Just text me when you do. From Francesca_LaFleur01: I want to know that you’re satisfied. There was a long pause, then finally a response. From LaFleur_Lover69: I will. Thank you. From LaFleur_Lover69: Goodnight, goddess. I threw my phone down and had to bury my face in a pillow to muffle my scream. I don’t know who this guy was, but he was good. He was very, very good and I was falling for him.

CHAPTER 7

t turns out that all my fears about Leo being in a bad mood because of Sofia’s rejection were unfounded. He was actu‐ ally whistling, whistling, as he debarked. True, it was tuneless and a little flat, but it was an unmistakable sign of happiness. I shook my head and smiled as we walked down the gang-plank toward the waiting town car. “I’m glad to see you in a good mood, sir,” I said, smiling over at him. His face lit up, and I got a glimpse of a younger version of Leo Hughes. A child who still had the potential for wonder and joy, rather than my cynical, sexy billionaire boss. “You called me ‘sir’! I love it when you call me ‘sir,’ Bree!” He scooped me up and whirled me around, in a move straight out of a 1950’s romantic comedy, most likely one starring Audrey Hepburn. I couldn’t help laughing. “I should try and get knighted by the British Empire so you have to call me ‘sir’ all the time,” he announced. “I’m sure Lady Carla Downes would happily put in a word with the Queen, Mr. Hughes,” I said, laughing into his neck. “She’d do anything to get back in your good graces.”

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“Yuck. I think that would be too big a sacrifice, even for a knight‐ hood. It’s a shame, though, I do like hearing you say ‘sir.’” “I promise I’ll do it on special occasions, Mr. Hughes,” I replied, sliding out of his arms. After he set me down, Leo still didn’t release me. Instead, he slung one arm over my shoulder and pulled me into a rough sideways hug. “It’s a great day, Bree,” he said into my ear. The sensation was odd, I wasn’t used to hearing Leo’s voice this close. “The sun is shining, we’re watching the Grand Prix today and tonight is my main birthday party!” His exuberance was contagious, and I couldn’t help returning his grin as we slid into the back seat and let Alonzo navigate the car through the winding streets of Monte Carlo. When we arrived back at the villa, Leo shut himself away in his room. I warned him that we needed to leave for the Grand Prix in just over three hours, but he waved me away. “I’ll be fine, Bree,” he said, nose in his phone. Whatever. I had the next three hours to kill, so I jumped in the shower, taking advantage of the extra time to truly luxuriate in the process of washing and grooming under the steamy water. I was washing in between my thighs, soap gathering in the small thatch of carefully trimmed hair between my legs when I had an idea. I wasn’t normally a bare bikini area kind of girl. I mean, I kept every‐ thing neat and clean, but the idea of shaving or waxing the entire area never appealed to me. But it appealed to Francesca. I’d been daring this weekend, and sexy. I’d said dozens of filthy things to a man online that I would never have dared to utter out loud. Maybe I should try other new things? I lathered myself up and gently slid the razor over my soft pink mound. The hair came away with a soft scrape and I reached down to stroke the newly bare area. It was like velvet, I didn’t know that a part of my body could even feel like that. I liked it. Swiftly but carefully, I drew the razor over the rest of me, enjoying the pull and scrape as the hair was shorn away. I rested my palm over

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my freshly shaved pussy and shuddered. It was so exposed, so new. I had no idea it would be so sensitive. It was difficult leaving the shower—the hot water and slick soap felt brilliant on my bare body—but eventually, I sucked it up and turned the water off, drying myself off with a plush white towel. There was a message waiting for me. From LaFleur_Lover69: Where are you? Well, that sounded demanding and creepy. Had my sweet lover transformed into a typical selfish thug in the harsh light of day? From Francesca_LaFleur01: I was in the shower, sorry. From LaFleur_Lover69: No! I didn’t mean like that. From LaFleur_Lover69: Although I love the idea of you in the shower? From LaFleur_Lover69: Another pic? From Francesca_LaFleur01: You’ll need to earn it… From LaFleur_Lover69: I think I can do that. Where are you? From Francesca_LaFleur01: I just said I was in the shower. From LaFleur_Lover69: I mean, where in the WORLD are you? Oh. That made sense. I told him where I lived. From Francesca_LaFleur01: I’m in New York. From LaFleur_Lover69: Any chance you could get away this weekend? From Francesca_LaFleur01: I don’t think so… I’m working. Oh, no. Would he be disappointed to find out that I was one of those people who had to work for their money? That I wasn’t inde‐ pendently wealthy enough to be casually buying expensive art in online auctions. He didn’t seem to notice my gaffe. From LaFleur_Lover69: Any chance you could get a few days off? From LaFleur_Lover69: I’d love to fly you out to meet me. From LaFleur_Lover69: I’m in Monte Carlo. I practically dropped the phone. He’s in freaking Monte Carlo?! I took a couple of breaths to steady myself. He was here, my auction house lover, my sweet little sexting partner, was in the same city as me. I didn’t know what to do. I could meet him if I wanted. I could arrange a rendezvous, meet him in person and see if the chemistry we had online translated to

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real life. No. That was too risky. What if he didn’t like me, what if he was disappointed that I was a personal assistant to a billionaire, rather than an actual billionaire myself. From LaFleur_Lover69: Are you still there? Want to come? I tapped out a reply, coming up with an alternate scheme on the fly. From Francesca_LaFleur01: I can’t get away from work. I’m so sad. From Francesca_LaFleur01: Monte Carlo is one of my favorite places, though. Francesca_LaFleur01: I try to get there at least once a year. That wasn’t a lie exactly, but I didn’t mention that I didn’t pay my own way, that I was there as an employee of Mr. Leo Hughes. I wondered if LaFleur_Lover69 knew Leo. Probably. If you were the kind of person rich enough to drop 25k on a piece of vintage art and made a habit of traveling to Monte Carlo, you were probably wealthy enough to be in Leo’s social circle. I wondered who he was. I wondered if I’d ever met him. It was time for the next part of my impromptu plan. From Francesca_LaFleur01: Tell me what you are doing today. Let me live vicariously through you! From LaFleur_Lover69: Today I’m watching the Grand Prix. I have a private box, you would love it. From LaFleur_Lover69: And then tonight, I’ve got a birthday party at a villa overlooking the sea. From LaFleur_Lover69: Are you sure you can’t come? I bet we could get you here in time for the party? Now it was time to panic. He was here, LaFleur_Lover69 was here, in Monte Carlo and he’s obviously part of Leo’s social circle. I mean, there are only so many boxes along the Grand Prix route, and how many birthday parties are being thrown on seaside villas? Only one. Leo’s party. I didn’t have to be a genius detective to figure this one out: my online lover is going to be at Leo’s party tonight and I have no idea who he is.

CHAPTER 8

eo’s private box was large enough to accommodate dozens of people but, in true Leo Hughes fashion, he’d invited far too many friends. We were packed in there like a can of the fanciest sardines you’ve ever seen. The room was teeming with wealth. I spotted an Academy Awardwinning American actress chatting with an oil tycoon. In the corner, a former governor was laughing at a joke told to him by a massively popular inspirational speaker. I wasn’t quite positive, but I had suspi‐ cions that a thin blonde woman in the corner—fully made up and draped in fur even in the hot Monaco spring—was a member of the British Royal family. I was perched on the edge of a high stool, trying to balance a glass of pinot gris in one hand while messaging LaFleur_Lover69 with the other. I thought that if I spotted someone using their phone during the race, it would probably be him. I had forgotten one simple fact: rich people love their phones. I think there were more people filming or photographing the race than actually watching the event unfold right in front of their eyes. Selfies were being snapped and sent all around me. If this kept up, there was

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no way that I’d be able to identify my anonymous lover by his cell‐ phone use. I needed to see if I could find out his exact location. I formulated yet another brilliant plan. From Francesca_LaFleur01: How’s the GP? Take a pic for me? Now, I would just wait and see what he sent me. If the angle was right, I would know he was in the box. All around me, people continued to snap photos with their phones. Leo was alternating between taking pictures of all his guests and the racetrack right out the window. Just next to him, Julien was in the corner, being forced into a selfie by the Downes sisters. Sofia Saphirretti was posing in front of the observation window, shaping her full lips into a duck-like pout. I didn’t see anyone looking particularly sneaky while snapping their pictures. Of course, why would LaFleur_Lover69 need to look suspicious? No one knew that he was taking a photo to send to me and he had no idea he was being watched. He could be anybody. A message finally rang in. A photo! He’d sent a photo! I tapped it and then stared at the enlarged image. Oh, LaFleur_Lover69 was definitely here, definitely in this box. Because there, crammed into the left side of the photo, almost out of frame was… me. My heart was racing. I scanned the room but didn’t see any sign that would indicate the identity of LaFleur_Lover69. Based on the angle of the photo, he would have been standing over in the corner, near the observation window. But that area had the best view in the room and everyone was taking turns jostling in there for photo ops of the race and to wish Leo a happy birthday. Leo was the only person who remained consistently in that area, but I didn’t want to ask him if he’d noticed a person taking the photo that was currently on my phone. He’d want to know why I was asking and I really, really, didn’t feel like explaining myself just now. “’Allo, Bree,” a heavily-accented voice spoke directly next to my ear. Julien. I jumped a mile and hastily shoved my phone in my purse.

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“You are on your phone instead of enjoying the most famous car race in Europe, mon chaton?” I glared. “You were on your own phone, like, two seconds ago, Monsieur Félix. I literally just saw you.” He ignored my pointed comment. “You are as smart as you are lovely, Mademoiselle Ashford. Monsieur Hughes is lucky indeed to have you in his employ, mon chaton.” That was the second time he’d used that phrase. I only knew a handful of French terms and they were mainly for asking directions or speaking to customs officials. I had no idea what Julien meant by “mon chaton.” “What does that mean, Monsieur Félix? Mon chaton?” Julien smiled, revealing a pair of pointed eyeteeth. “You are a curious girl, Mademoi‐ selle Ashford. To say “mon chaton,” is to say, in English, a… uh, a very small cat. A kitten.” “Do not look so surprised, Mademoiselle Ashford. I am not saying that you are an actual, small cat. It is a, how do you say it? A terme d’amour, a term of endearment.” He looked at me with his pale blue eyes and then winked. Kitten. Mon chaton. Kitten. LaFleur_Lover69 had used that term twice during our conversa‐ tions. But Julien couldn’t be LaFleur_Lover69, he couldn’t be. Why would he be texting in English, not French? Wait. I had sent him the first message on Willoughbys.com, I had initiated the conversation in English, ergo he replied in English. Julien’s English was impeccable, and I’d never know that he had an accent over text. It made perfect sense. I gaped at him for a moment, and he stared down at me, smirking. Could this smug, handsome Frenchmen actually be my anonymous online lover? “Julien!” A drunken shout rang through the noisy room. Lady Carla Downes was pushing her way through the crowd, her quintes‐ sentially British hat visible over the heads over the other guests. She reminded me of a tiny, tipsy British shark, circling the crowd in search of her prey. Poor Julien.

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He looked at me, pale blue eyes wide in desperation. “Please, Mademoiselle, you will distract her for me? I will--how do you Amer‐ icans say it?—‘owe you one.’” I nodded and waved him away, still flustered by the idea that he might be LaFleur_Lover69. “I’ve got this, go.” He started to escape through the crowd. “Julien, wait!” I shouted after him. He turned. “I’ll see you tonight at the party?” He smiled. “I would not miss it, Mademoiselle.” He disappeared into the sea of people, escaping only seconds before Lady Carla came into view. She was a curvy little brunette, with a pretty round face that was only marred by an unfortunate set of prominent front teeth. “Excuse me, sorry, hello” she breathed, rushing up to me. “You’re Leo’s girl, aren’t you?” I knew there were many cultural differences between Britain and America, but I despised being called “girl.” I nodded, a tense smile on my lips. She sipped her drink and continued. “I’m hoping you can help me. Have you seen Julien Félix around anywhere? Do you know him? Handsome fellow, for a Frenchman, I mean.” “He stepped outside,” I lied. “He said he was going down to the Hôtel de Paris for a drink. It was too crowded in here for him.” Her eyes, only a little bit bloodshot, widened. “Thank you!” she said, downing the remainder of her drink in one quick swallow. “Jane! Jane! We need to go…” Julien owed me one. And, if he was who I thought he was, I had some great ideas about possible ways to pay me back. I checked my phone. No new messages on TextTime. It would make sense, I’d had eyes on Julien since the picture had been deliv‐ ered. A new message pinged in. From LaFleur_Lover69: What do you think? From Francesca_LaFleur01: Looks fun! I decided to make a bold move. From Francesca_LaFleur01: Are you still going to be at that party tonight?

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From LaFleur_Lover69: Yes! From LaFleur_Lover69: Wait, can you come?! From Francesca_LaFleur01: I might be able to swing something, mon chaton. From LaFleur_Lover69: Oh, kitten! You speak French! How delightful. From LaFleur_Lover69: Do I need to send a car? Do you need directions? From Francesca_LaFleur01: Nope. The party is at Chateau Hughes, isn’t it? From LaFleur_Lover69: Yes. From LaFleur_Lover69: How do you know that? From Francesca_LaFleur01: I’m very smart. There was a pause. The ellipses danced in the lower corner of the screen, indicating that he was typing a reply. The stayed there for several minutes as if he couldn’t come up with a suitable reply. Finally, a response came. From LaFleur_Lover69: … do you know who I am? From Francesca_LaFleur01: I think so. From LaFleur_Lover69: And that doesn’t bother you. From Francesca_LaFleur01: No. I’m delighted. From LaFleur_Lover69: Can you tell me who you are? From Francesca_LaFleur01: I think I’ll let it be a surprise. From LaFleur_Lover69: But how will I find you? From Francesca_LaFleur01: I’ll find you, mon chaton. From LaFleur_Lover69: I can’t wait, kitten. From LaFleur_Lover69: Will you stay with me tonight? From Francesca_LaFleur01: Yes, if you’re very very nice to me. From LaFleur_Lover69: I promise I will. I can’t wait to see you. From Francesca_LaFleur01: See you tonight. <3 A shoved my phone in my purse and smiled, the big, stupid grin of an infatuated fool. I was falling in love with Julien Félix and tonight, if everything went according to plan, I would have my way with him. The only problem was Leo. He was going to be so mad about this, about his assistant running off with his rival, but I found that I didn’t actually care. Leo Hughes got more than his fair share of women, he didn’t get to expect to have me, too, his faithful assistant always at his

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side, especially now that there was someone out there who was sweet and loving, someone who appreciated me. Tonight was going to be a night to remember.

CHAPTER 9

he event planners had been hard at work back at the villa while Leo and I were at the Grand Prix, and we returned home to a magically transformed house. White fairy lights twinkled outside on the patio, shimmering over a newly installed dance floor. A string quartet was setting up just outside the patio door. Elaborate flower arrangements, white lilies, and fresh red roses, decorated every available surface. We were expecting over three hundred guests tonight, and every‐ thing had to be perfect. Not just because I wanted to do a good job for my employer, but because I wanted to do a good job for Leo. I stopped in briefly to check with the event planner, Christine, who assured me that she and her staff had everything under control. I knew I should relax, find some way to burn off this nervous energy before the party tonight, but I was much too tightly wound. Leo was upstairs getting a massage before the party and I was tempted to ask his massage therapist if she could fit me in after she was done with him. Except that she would probably never be done with Leo. Most of his massages ended up with him taking the masseuse to bed with him. It worked out well for Leo, but it was a pain in the ass for me to continue finding new massage therapists.

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Instead, I strapped on my running shoes and set out along the twisting cliff-side roads. My feet pounded the pavement as I tried to sort out my head. Step, step, step. I had been in love with Leo Hughes since the moment I laid eyes on him. Step, step, step. I could never have him. Step, step, step. He didn’t see me as anything more than an employee, there for his convenience. Step, step, step. Now I have a man in my life who is sweet, and appreciative and kind. Step, step, step. Is it weird that he doesn’t even know what I look like? Step, step, step. Is it weird that he’s probably my boss’ nemesis? Step, step, step. I picked up the pace as the path began to slant uphill. STEP, STEP, STEP. My thoughts were too much, there was too much in my head, I couldn’t sort it out. STEP, STEP, STEP. I turned up the volume on my music and pushed myself to maximum speed all the way home. There was nothing that I could control right now except my body, my running feet, my breath. That would have to do until tonight when my entire world might change.

’d chosen a simple red silk gown for the soiree, but it was only simple in design; it was extremely extravagant in price. Oh well, it came from Leo’s clothing fund. I wonder if he would

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be upset if he knew I was going to seduce Julien wearing a dress that he himself had paid for? Speaking of Leo, he was having his own issues with clothing. He called down for me to come up and help him dress and, when I arrived in his suite, saw that he was completely naked. He hadn’t even made it so far as underwear yet. “Bree!” he exclaimed. “Thank God. Help.” “All right, Mr. Hughes,” I said. “First things first, let’s get you some underwear.” His face fell in a mock pout. “Come one, Bree, that’s no fun. What if you got naked and joined me? Then we’d both be naked and every‐ thing would be equal?” “Mr. Hughes,” I sighed, “The entire purpose of me being up here is to help you put on clothes, not to have fewer clothes on the both of us. Let’s see what we can do, all right?” He begrudgingly pulled on a pair of black boxer briefs. I must admit, I was sorry to lose the view of his cock and butt. I may have accepted the fact that I need to keep my distance from my employer, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the beauty of him. The way his hips taper into v’s just above the waistband of his briefs. The way his abdominals flatten out when he stands up straight. The way his ass curves into his muscular thighs. No, I pushed those thoughts out of my mind. You are never going to be able to give anyone else a chance if you stay fixated on Leo. Knock it off, lady. I unzipped the garment bag from the tailor's shop and helped Leo into his new gray silk suit. He zipped the trousers and pulled on the coat, while I tied his tie. After I’d finished dressing him, I took a step back to admire our handiwork. I had thought that my simple red silk dress was lovely, but Leo had one-upped me: he’d chosen a suit that had apparently been made by the gods. He was tugging at the bottom of the jacket, pulling it even. When he was satisfied, Leo turned to me and flashed me a cocky grin. “What do you think, Bree?”

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I could only answer honestly. “You look amazing, Mr. Hughes.” “Thanks, Bree,” he replied, pulling me into another impulsive sidehug. He looked down at me, a quizzical look in his green eyes, and then released me with a sad smile. “Bree, things might be a little… different after tonight. I hope that, even if things change, you know how much you mean to me.” Who was this oddly sincere man and what had he done with my employer? I really hope this didn’t mean Sofia Saphirretti’s long con had worked. He wasn’t proposing to her, right? Had the thrill of the chase made him so desperate to get laid that he would stoop to a proposal? No, that was out of the question. First, Leo Hughes isn’t the marrying kind. Secondly, if he were the marrying kind, he’s still not the shopping kind, so he would have asked me to go buy a ring for him. It wasn’t a proposal, but it was something. “Is everything okay, Mr. Hughes?” I gently pried. It was none of my business, but I did want to help. “I think so, Bree. I think so,” he said, looking both excited and fear‐ ful. “Let’s hope that this party goes off without a hitch, huh?” “I’m sure it will, Mr. Hughes.” “Of course it will, Bree, because you planned it,” he said, and then he disappeared downstairs. How very like Leo Hughes, drawing me in, confusing my heart and head and then leaving without a second thought. Typical.

CHAPTER 10

had hostess duties to attend to, but that didn’t stop me from lurking by the door of the villa, waiting for Julien to

arrive. He was fashionably late, as per usual, and the party was in full swing by the time he arrived. Sofia Saphirretti was late, too, and Leo’s eyes kept flicking to the door, eager for her arrival. There was a minor emergency involving a dropped case of cham‐ pagne and, when I emerged from the wine cellar, I discovered Julien in the kitchen, lounging idly against the granite countertop and looking for all the world like the cat who just ate the canary. One side of his mouth pulled up in a smug smile when he spotted me. “Ah, Mademoiselle Ashford,” he drawled. “I was worried you had forgotten me amidst all the--how do you say?—excitement of Monsieur Hughes’s party.” I smiled, dropping my eyes coyly. “Don’t be ridiculous, Julien,” I said, appreciating the way his eyes widened at my use of his first name. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day.” A cater-waiter burst into the kitchen, her black tie askew and eyes wide. “Are you Bree Ashford?” the waiter panted. I said I was.

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“Oh, thank god,” she said. “There’s something wrong with the dinner seating chart and Mr. Hughes is asking for you. He said that you’d know how to fix it.” I sighed and told the cater-waiter to inform Mr. Hughes that I would be there in just a moment. “This won’t take long,” I said to Julien, running my finger up his arm and enjoying the way his eyes glittered in anticipation. “Meet me on the veranda in just a few minutes?” He nodded and I made my way through the party to solve whatever new crisis was plaguing Leo. “Bree, thank god!” The birthday boy ran up to me, looking strangely concerned. “I need you to help me with the seating arrange‐ ments. Sofia—“ “Is seated right next to you, Mr. Hughes, as we decided when we drafted Seating Plan B.” Seating Plan A assumed that Leo had already seduced Sofia Saphiretti, therefore she was placed all the way across the dining room, far from Leo. Seating Plan B, however, was the contingency plan built in case the seduction of Sofia didn’t go as smoothly as planned. “I need her to move, Bree. Can we put her somewhere else?” It was impossible to navigate Leo’s ever-changing whims, but I was used to just going with it, no questions asked. “Consider it done, Mr. Hughes.” I walked to the head of the table and removed Sofia’s name card, placing it at a spare setting at the far end of the table, which had been left empty for just such an occurrence. I placed my own name card next to Leo’s. “There, Mr. Hughes,” I said. “If you want to discourage others from joining you, I’ll be right there. But if you want someone else to sit in my place, I’d be more than happy to move.” “Bree,” he said, voice tight. I didn’t know if it was the warm Monaco climate, the beauty of the spring night or the strange sense of mortality that come along in the wake of a birthday, but Leo was strangely sentimental tonight. “You’re one in a million. You know that, right?”

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I looked up at him, moved by the emotion in his emerald eyes. “Yes, Mr. Hughes. I know that. And you are one in a billion. Now stop talking to your employee and go enjoy your party.” I swatted him on the arm and he moved away, looking back at me one last time before disappearing into the crowded dance floor. I stood there a moment, watching my employer, then went to go find Julien. I found him at the very end of the veranda, facing away from the party and gazing out over the rocky cliffs. I slid up beside him, an inversion of our encounter on the yacht the night before. “Hello,” I whispered, placing my hand on his. “Miss Ashford,” he said, turning to face me, both hands grasping my shoulders. “I think it’s time you called me Bree, Julien.” “Bree, then.” And then he kissed me. He was not as tall as Leo, but he was still much taller than I was, so I had to stand up on my tiptoes to press into his waiting mouth. The kiss was… fine. His lips were a bit thin and he held me tepidly in his arms, but that seemed to fit his shy, eager-to-please persona from the TextTime app. He probably just wanted me to take charge. I pulled away for a moment, looking up at him and decided to be bold. “You’ve been very good so far, Julien.” “Merci, Mademoiselle,” he replied and tried to move back in with to the kiss. “I mean it, you’ve been a very good boy,” I repeated. “Yes, you have said.” One of his hands moved up to fondle my silkcovered breast, my nipple hardening under the caress of his palm. His hands were not big, but they were graceful. I pressed into it, to show him how much I enjoyed his attentions. “Do you want your reward now?” “A reward?” He looked puzzled, but maybe that was because I’d never told him what exactly he could expect from me at the party. He probably didn’t know if I was offering to let him finger me, go down on me, or fuck me. At this point, I wasn’t entirely sure which I was

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willing to do tonight. I didn’t want to create a spectacle at Leo’s party, but I’d been on fire ever since we’d started messaging one another. I need to be quenched and soon. Taking him by the hand, we slipped onto the far end of the veranda, where the stone steps melted into a wide grassy lawn. A thick oak tree stood nearby, and I yanked Julien behind it and pressed him up against the trunk. “Oh, oui, Mademoiselle,” Julien said, breathless. “I like the way you think.” He pulled me to him, letting my slender weight trap him between my own body and the tree trunk. “Now,” I whispered into his ear. “What do you think your reward should be?” I waited, positive that this would be when he would beg me to let him finger me, or stick his head up under my skirt and explore every inch of my freshly shaven pussy. “I think, Mademoiselle,” he answered finally, beginning to undo his fly. “I would like very much for you to suck mon zob.” “What?” I wasn’t actually sure what that word meant, but it did not sound like anything we’d discussed on TextTime. Julien cocked his head, looking at me like I was a confused child. “Pardon me, Mademoiselle. I forget sometimes that you are not fluent en Francais. Mon zob is, uh, ma pine, that is to say, my cock.” Okay, this was definitely not what we’d discussed. I started to argue, but Julien put both his hands on my shoulders and shoved me to the ground. He bent over and whispered into my ear, keeping one hand tangled in my ash-blonde hair to keep my head still. “You will be so good for me, ma chere,” he hissed. “Ever since I met you, I have wanted to take you. Tonight, I will. And after we make love, I will send photographs to your boss. He will be so mad that I took something that belonged to him. That someone so dear to him came on to me, practically begging.” I’d made a huge mistake. Julien was just… Julien. The person I’d always known, the man Leo

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had rightfully despised. He was not LaFleur_Lover69. I was alone with a sadistic bastard and it was my own fault. “Julien,” I begged, “I’ve made an error, I’m so sorry…” He wrenched my head back and shut me up with a kiss. I tried to nip at his lips, make him get off me, but he just pressed harder. My own lips mashed against my sharp teeth, the iron taste of blood filling my mouth. In a last-ditch effort to free myself, I put both of my hands up against his shoulders and shoved. Hard. He flew off me, crashing back against the trunk of the tree. I’m stronger than I thought, my brain spun wildly, before realizing that my savior was standing directly to my right, fists clenched and panting with rage. Leo. “Get off her, you son of a bitch,” Leo growled. “How dare you touch her?” “She came on to me, monsieur, she dragged me out here.” “She’s mine, Julien, do you understand? Mine.” “Monsieur Hughes!” he pleaded, still cowering against the tree trunk. “You do not understand. She was asking for it…” Leo’s fist crashed into his face and Julien crumpled to the ground, unconscious. I turned to him, needing to thank him, needing to apologize. “Leo…” I began, but he cut me off. “Is what he said true, Bree?” His emerald eyes were burning now. I’d never seen him look so angry. “Did you come onto him?” “Yes, but that isn’t entirely true,” I said, but he refused to hear me. He grabbed me by the arm, pulling me into the house via the servants’ entrance, and dragged me up the stairs and into my bedroom. Leo tossed me on the bed and locked the door behind us. When he turned to me, his face was lined with anger. “What the hell did you do, Bree?” “I didn’t do anything, Leo,” I screamed, using his first name in a rare outburst. “I made a mistake, okay?” “With Julien? Are you trying to hurt me?” “No.”

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“Because that’s the only reason I can think for you to try and fuck the person I hate most in this world.” Leo was still shouting, his eyes still burning. “You are mine, Bree. Do you understand me? Mine.” “I didn’t know it was Julien,” I explained, but the moment the words were out of my mouth, I knew how stupid they sounded. The fire in Leo’s eyes was instantly replaced by an icy calm. “You didn’t know it was Julien,” he repeated and I dropped my head in shame. “You didn’t know that the man who you dragged off into the corner to have a little tryst with was Julien Félix? A man you’ve met dozens of times? A world-famous member of the French aristocracy and an internationally renowned douchebag? A vile, awful man that I loathe with every inch of my soul?” Well, when he put it that way. I tried to explain again, but a knock sounded against the door. Leo strode over and yanked it open. A security guard was waiting patiently outside, arms clasped behind his back. “Sir?” asked the guard, looking curiously at me. “Officer Bouchard, there is a man lying outside near a tree just off the veranda. Would you please have one of your men throw him out.” “Of course, Mr. Hughes.” The security guard turned to leave by Leo stopped him. “And please station one of your men outside this door, Officer. Miss Ashford is not permitted to leave her room tonight.” “Leo—“ “Good night, Bree.” “Leo, wait!” The slam of the door shook the entire room. I was alone.

CHAPTER 11

had no idea where Leo went and I didn’t care. He was probably spending the night in Sofia Saphirretti’s hotel suite, finally able to make love to the woman he’d spent the last days pursuing, finally able to get back to having some fun now that his troublesome personal assistant was safely locked away. All this drama could go down, and Leo could still just go out into the night and screw some random woman, for whom he cares noth‐ ing? He was such a callous, heartless, self-centered bastard. I kicked the bedframe in frustration and howled in pain. That had been a stupid choice, but that kind of my modus operandi these past few days. Stupid Monaco, stupid Leo, stupid Bree. I flopped on the bed and stared at the ceiling. What was I supposed to do now? What was going to happen tomorrow? I had no doubt that I’d be fired. Leo was so mad at me. I’d never seen him this angry, not even when a bunch of college kids rear-ended his Lamborghini Veneno Roadster. Very few people had ever seen Leo Hughes lose his temper and, now that I was one of those select few, I knew that my days in his employ were numbered. Would he have the decency to let me fly home with him on the jet? Surely, he wouldn’t strand me in Monaco, with nowhere to stay and

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no way to get back to the United States. Everyone I knew here was connected to Leo, no one cared at all about me. Wait. I snatched my phone off the bedside table and checked TextTime. LaFleur_Lover69 wasn’t logged in, but I could still send him messages. From Francesca_LaFleur01: I’m sorry I missed you at the party tonight. Something happened. There was no reply, but I didn’t expect there to be one. He was probably here, probably searching for me at the party. If he got this tonight, he could come up and get me, but if he didn’t get this until tomorrow, that would be okay. He could still help me get back to the U.S. From Francesca_LaFleur01: I need your help. Are you there? From Francesca_LaFleur01:If you get this tonight, come upstairs at Maison Hughes, last room on the right. There is a security guard at the door, but you need to get past him. From Francesca_LaFleur01: I’m Leo Hughes’s assistant and he has me locked in my bedroom. Help. Nothing. No reply. What if he found out who I was and decided that his loyalty lay with Leo, not some anonymous poseur he’d met online? I had to try a different tactic. From Francesca_LaFleur01: You asked what you needed to do to get the privilege of fucking me? This is it. From Francesca_LaFleur01: Come save me. From Francesca_LaFleur01: If you do that, I’ll be completely yours. From Francesca_LaFleur01: I want to thank you with my hands, my mouth, my pussy. From Francesca_LaFleur01: Everything I have is yours for the taking, just come get me. Please. Still no answer. I hiked up my dress, exposing the flimsy white lace panties I’d chosen for the occasion. When I’d put them on, I had been positive that they’d be ripped to shreds in my lover’s haste to get his hands on me, inside me. I didn’t think I’d be sliding them low, just low enough

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that the top my newly shaved skin could peek out of the top of the panties, to pose for a picture. From Francesca_LaFleur01: I’m waiting for you. From Francesca_LaFleur01: Come and get me. Rescue me and carry me off. From Francesca_LaFleur01: Take me home and ravage me. From Francesca_LaFleur01: I can’t wait to taste your cock, swallow you down until I can’t possibly fit any more of you in my throat. But I’ll figure out a way to take more. From Francesca_LaFleur01: After you’ve grown tired of my mouth, I want you to throw me on your bed and fuck me until I forget my own name. Until I forget Leo Hughes’s name, I wanted to type but thought better of it. I set the phone on the bedside table and waited for a reply. When I awoke the next morning, I was still waiting. Where was he?

here were no new messages the next morning. I lay on top of my bed, gazing at my cell phone on the nightstand, willing the screen to light up with a notification but nothing ever came. Shortly after eight a.m., Bouchard gently knocked on the door and then, after a few moments with no reply from me, he unlocked the door and entered. I glared at him and he had the decency to look embarrassed at the part he’d played in keeping me captive. “Mr. Hughes has requested that you come see him immediately, Miss Ashford,” he informed me, clutching his hat in his hands. “I request that Mr. Hughes go and fuck himself,” I snapped, then flipped over to my other side, turning my back to Bouchard. There was only a sigh in return, then footsteps and the door closed and locked once again. I immediately checked my phone. No new messages.

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Bouchard returned a few minutes later, this time with Alonso, Leo’s chauffeur, in tow. Alonso was an older Italian man and had always been so kind to me, I couldn’t say no to him. I reluctantly agreed to go meet Leo. When Bouchard had informed me that Leo had wanted to see me immediately, he hadn’t been joking. They’d barely given me time to pull on a pair of jogging bottoms and a t-shirt before guiding me to the car and setting off into downtown Monte Carlo. “Alonso, where are we going?” I asked, unsure if I wanted to hear the answer. If we were heading to Sofia Saphirretti’s hotel, I would refuse to enter. I’d flop down on the pavement like a spoiled child and they’d have to carry me up there. “The marina, miss,” was Alonso’s reply and I breathed a sigh of relief. I could handle the marina. As I got out of the car, Alonso handed me Leo’s tablet. “Make sure Mr. Hughes gets this. He asked for it at the same time he told me to bring you.” I took it and Alonso climbed back into the town car and waved goodbye. “Wait, you’re not going to stay?” I asked, panicking a little. I’d been counting on Alonso’s kindness to get me out of here if things went poorly, as I was sure they inevitably would. He shook his head. “Mr. Hughes said no, I am to drive you here and then drive off again. Those were his instructions.” The sleek black town car pulled away and I waved sadly at Alonso, unsure if I would ever see him again. I carefully made my way up the gangplank and onto the deck of the yacht. Cleaning crews had been here and the boat showed no evidence of a party. One half-full glass of scotch sat on the ground next to a deck chair. I wondered how the cleaners had missed it. The interior of the yacht was still dark as I descended. As I passed the galley, I half expected to see Sofia Sapphirretti sitting naked at the table, drinking an espresso and looking smug. But the galley was empty and the ship was quiet. I knocked lightly on the door to Leo’s cabin. There was no answer. I knocked again, louder.

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“Mr. Hughes?” I called. Leo sounded groggy when he answered. “Who’sit?” “It’s me, Mr. Hughes,” I replied, pushing the cabin door open. “It’s just me.” “Good morning, Bree,” Leo said me from his bed. He looked as if he hadn’t slept much. There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair was standing up at all angles. I stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure if I was truly welcome in his room. “Come in, Bree,” he said, voice flat. I entered. Leo regarded me for a long moment, then flipped over to face the wall. “I need you to read me my texts and emails.” Same old Leo, I thought, shaking my head. My world could come crashing down around me, but he’d still need me to assist with the most basic of correspondence. “Where is your phone, Mr. Hughes?” Without turning around, he waved one hand in the direction of the corner. I didn’t understand at first, but then I spotted the phone on the ground, shattered and broken. There was a small dent in the cabin’s metal wall. “Did you throw your phone, Mr. Hughes?” I asked, walking over to pick it up. I tried to power it on, but the little machine was too badly damaged. “I can’t read your messages on this.” He flipped over for a moment to glare at me. “Use the tablet, that’s why I made Alonso bring it,” he growled, then snapped back to face the wall. “Emails first,” he demanded. Anger flared up, part of me wishing that he would fire me. At least that would mean that I wouldn’t have to suffer through his temper tantrums anymore. But until he fired me or I mustered up the courage to quit, I was his still his employee and I had a duty to follow his instructions. So, I read his emails to him. And then I read his texts. It was the same stuff as usual—business proposals, work questions, requests for charitable donations, with a few birthday messages thrown in—and I quickly made my way through all the new emails and text messages. “News?” I asked. His habit was to catch up on correspondence first and then have me read him his favorite news sites.

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But today he shook his head and said nothing. I took that as my cue to leave, but he stopped me. “Bree, can you read one more thing?” “Of course, Mr. Hughes.” He instructed me to flip over to his second home screen and open a folder simply titled Etc. “Open that up and you’ll find an app called…” I knew what he was going to say a second before he said it. The app icon was right there, glaring up at me. TextTime. This was a coincidence, just a crazy random happenstance that occurred. There is no way that Leo was LaFluer_Lover69, that would be impossible. My anonymous friend was sweet and humble and loving, and Leo was… none of those things. I opened the app and was greeted with an alert for fourteen new messages, the exact same number of messages the Francesca had sent to LaFleur_Lover69 last night. Oh no. I tapped New Messages and found myself staring at my own words. “What does she say, Bree?” Leo asked softly from the other side of the bed. “Does she say why she didn’t come?” Oh my god, I thought last night was the worst moment of my life, but it paled in comparison to this. I couldn’t read those messages to Leo and I couldn’t lie and say there were no messages. He’d demand to look at the tablet and I’d be so busted. I needed to improvise. “Uh, yeah, Mr. Hughes,” I began hesitantly. “There are a couple messages from someone named ‘Francesca LaFleur.’ Is that who you were looking for?” He nodded, still turned away. Okay, I could do this. I opened the first message. From Francesca_LaFleur01: I’m sorry I missed you at the party tonight. Something happened. I swiped left and deleted the message. “She writes, ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to Monaco,’” I lied. “’I hope the party was fun.’” “Is that all?” Leo asked.

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I should have told him yes, that was all she wrote and then walked off that boat and away from Leo Hughes forever. But I’m not that strong. Instead, I kept deleting Francesca’s messages and I kept lying. “She also wrote, ‘I’ve been thinking and maybe it is a bad idea to flirt with a stranger on an app.’” “She said that?” Leo said. “Uh-huh,” I lied again. “And then she said, ‘I thought I knew who you were but I was wrong. This is my mistake, not yours. We need to stop communicating, for both of our sakes. I wish I’d gotten the chance to meet you face to face, to tell you how sweet and wonderful I think you are. But I feel strongly that, although a relationship based on online flirting and flattering words sounds like a nice idea, it isn’t practical.” My throat tightened and a felt my eyes start to well up with tears. What was I doing? I should stop, I should leave. Instead, I kept “read‐ ing,” not even bothering to look at the tablet anymore, simply staring into the distance as I spun these false text messages out of thin air and grief. “I know that if we come together in person, we will find that we are incompatible and I don’t want to face that heartbreak. I would rather hang onto the idea of you and treasure that forever, rather than risk it being destroyed. I wish I could have said goodbye in person, kissed you, just once. But it would be such a long way to come for something so small. Just know this: for a few glorious days, I thought I was in love with you.” Tears were pouring down my cheeks and I set the tablet down. At some point in the recitation, Leo had turned to face me and I hadn’t even noticed. He was staring at me now, puzzled. “Bree? Are you okay?” “I’m fine, Leo,” I said, unable to stop lying today. “I’m fine, I just need to… I just need to go.” And with that, I ran off the yacht, out of the marina and away from Leo Hughes forever.

CHAPTER 12

f New York City was happy to see me, it sure didn’t show it. My plane touched down at LaGuardia Airport amidst a steady drizzle and heavy fog. I awkwardly navigated the busy termi‐ nal, jostled by the crowds and constantly getting turned in the wrong direction. Fortunately, I hadn’t brought anything with me but my purse, wallet, phone, and passport, so I wouldn’t need to worry about finding baggage claim. I already missed the luxury of flying in Leo’s private jet, but that was a small sacrifice to make in order to keep my dignity intact. He would be horribly embarrassed if he ever found out that I was Francesca LaFleur. He’d been so open with her, so vulnerable. If he discovered that he’d shown that side to a mere employee, he would be mortified and I’d have to quit. I still hadn’t made up my mind about the job. I know how stupid that sounds, but I loved my job. It was a well-paying, high-status posi‐ tion and, while my employer was a bit of a man-child, I still genuinely liked him. No. I loved him. I genuinely loved him I stopped abruptly in the middle of LaGuardia airport, people angrily bumping me with their shoulders as they pushed past my

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frozen form. I was in love with Leo Hughes, the person, not just in lust with Leo Hughes, sexy billionaire playboy. He was more real now, he’d shown me a side of himself that I’d never dreamed existed. Leo and LaFleur_Lover69 were the same person, and I was horribly in love with him. Well, that settled things. I would definitely have to quit my job.

he cab ride home was uneventful, the usual shouting and honking and screeching of brakes. My apartment was just the same as I’d left it: neat, clean and sterile. I’d barely spent any time at all in my own home after starting work for Leo. Most of my waking hours, and many of my sleeping hours were spent at his penthouse. I had no idea what I was going to do here on my own, or how I could even afford it without a paycheck from Leo. I briefly wondered if any of his friends were looking to hire a personal assistant, then banished the thought from my mind. How could I possibly assist another billionaire after having worked for Leo Hughes? How could I ever find love again after knowing that someone like Leo--the real man and the online persona--actually exists. It seemed pretty clear that my future involved a nunnery. My poor phone had died on the flight over from Monte Carlo, and I’d forgotten to pack a charger as I fled the marina. I plugged it in as soon as I arrived back at my apartment, eager to get on there and delete the TextTime app. The sooner Francesca LaFleur was in her grave, the better. The phone came to life and instantly pinged with a new TextTime alert. I should delete the message immediately, without even reading it, then delete the app. Then I should probably throw my phone in the river, just to make sure all evidence of this horrible catastrophe was well and truly destroyed. Instead of doing the smart thing, I read the message. It was not a series of short texts this time, instead, it was one long

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message from Leo that read: “Please don’t leave me. I know that you are only a name on a screen, but to me, you are real. Maybe you were just flirting, just play‐ ing, but I felt a connection and I know you did, too. I don’t know why you didn’t come to Monte Carlo, but I don’t believe you didn’t want to. “I think you got scared. Scared of your feelings, scared of the unknown. Be brave. I’m scared, too, but I think this risk is worth the reward. I’m in Monte Carlo for a few more days, then back to NYC. I want to meet you face-to-face, I want to give us a chance to know each other instead of just ending this before it even starts. “Please write me back. Please don’t disappear. –D” He signed his initial. He’d never done that before. I stared at the message for several minutes, lost in thought. Then I deleted the app.

n day three of being back in New York with no job and nothing to do but wait for Leo to come home and fire me, I had an epiphany. It wasn’t the good kind of epiphany, more like an evil, conniving epiphany. I had always refrained for sleeping with Leo because I knew that the moment I did give in to him, I’d be out of a job. But now, since I’m going to be fired anyway, that option was back on the table with a vengeance. It was a solid plan for two reasons. 1) I’d get the chance to sleep with Leo and 2) he would have a good excuse to want me gone and I wouldn’t have to explain to anyone, or to him, what really happened. It might hurt a little bit, having a taste of a man I’d desired for so long and was newly in love with, but, as Leo said to Francesca LaFleur, isn’t the risk worth the reward? I was risking my feelings and that would only hurt me in the end. At this point, I’d been hurt so many times, I had quite the emotional callus built up. I didn’t even know if I was still capable of being hurt.

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I thought about this, thought about it hard. Was it worth partaking in something that you know you’ll never be able to have a second time? Would you visit Paris if you knew that you’d never be able to come back, never again be able to wander the twisting streets, that the first time you would be there would be your last? This seemed like something out Greek myth like the gods are dangling my desire in my face, ready to pull it away after I’d had the tiniest nibble of my heart’s desire. I gave up overthinking everything and collapsed on the sofa, binge-watching insipid medical dramas I waited for my boss to come home and decide my fate.

n day four—a bright, sunny spring day--Leo returned to New York City. I knew this because I had set a Google alert for his name and it started going off like crazy the second he stepped off his jet. Just to be clear, I set the alert while I was working for him, I didn’t do it after Monte Carlo. I’m not a stalker. I’d been wondering how long it would take him to call me, ask me to come see him at the penthouse. The answer was fifty-seven minutes. Exactly fifty-seven minutes after Leo Hughes set foot back in the United States, a text from him pinged in on my phone. From Leo Hughes: I’m back. We should talk, Miss Ashford. From Bree Ashford: Of course. When would you like to meet, Mr. Hughes? From Leo Hughes: Now. Okay, I was in so much trouble. I responded that I would be there within the hour, then jumped into the shower and began to mentally prepare for our meeting. There was no need to make myself too presentable for this afternoon. I didn’t feel like a firing required busi‐ ness casual attire, but I still dressed neatly in a clean yellow sundress and took a little time to blow dry my hair. I didn’t want to show up at Leo’s penthouse looking like a grubby street orphan. I’d been planning to catch a cab uptown to Leo’s but when I exited

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my building, I found the town car waiting for me with Alonso behind the wheel. He came around and opened the door for me and I caught him up in a fierce hug. The old man seemed surprised for a moment, then gave in and hugged me back. When we pulled up in front of Leo’s building, Alonso again came around the side of the car again to open my door, but this time he stopped me with a gentle hand on my arm. “Be kind, Miss Ashford,” he asked, blue eyes watery. I had no idea what to say to this. I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t the person he needed to worry about when it came to kindness but now didn’t feel like the right time to challenge the concerned old man. “I will, Alonso,” I replied, and then set off to face the music. Leo was seated on the low, black leather sofa and he barely glanced up when I entered. I’d never seen him look like this, casually dressed in a pair of pajama pants and a thin gray t-shirt. To be honest, I’d only ever seen him completely put-together in an impeccable ensemble or completely naked. This was a whole new side to my boss. There seemed to be a lot of that going around lately. I hesitated in the doorway, unsure how to proceed. “Sit down, Miss Ashford,” Leo commanded, and suddenly the whole thing was easier. Leo would tell me what to do; he’d say what he intended to say and then I could leave. The ball was entirely in his court. I found that thought comforting. I sat down across from him, perching gingerly on the edge of a matching black sofa and waited. He didn’t speak, just looked sadly down at his hands. I toyed with the hem of my yellow dress, seeking some sort of distraction from the tension. Finally, Leo spoke. “I need to apologize to you, Bree,” he said, uttering a set of words that I never thought I’d hear coming from his lips. “I behaved poorly in Monte Carlo and I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what to say. I’d expected anger, I’d expected to be dismissed from my position, but I certainly didn’t expect an actual apology.

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“You didn’t do anything wrong, Leo,” I began, but he cut me off. “I did, Bree. I was… going through some stuff, personal stuff, and I took it out on you. You saw the texts, hell, you read me the texts, you know exactly what was going on. I was disappointed and hurt and I took it out on you and Julien.” He paused. “Not that I minded taking it out on Julien, I’ve been wanting to punch that guy in the face for years, but you… it was wrong of me to take it out on you. I behaved like a cretin and a bully and you have my most sincere apology.” There were no words for this. I simply stared at Leo. He looked up at me for the first time, and I was shocked to see that his eyes were red and swollen. Who knew that Leo Hughes was capable of crying? “Bree?” he asked, and I realized that it was my turn to say something. “Apology accepted, Mr. Hughes,” I replied. It was frightening how easily I slipped back into my old persona of the cool, competent personal assistant. “Now let’s discuss my position here if you don’t mind.” He shook his head, flustered. “Of course, Miss Ashford. If you are comfortable staying in my employment, I would like to offer you a raise of—“ The doorbell rang. Leo scowled. “I told the doorman that I wasn’t to be disturbed.” The bell chimed again and I got up to go answer the door, a task that was usually left to me or another member of the household staff. Leo stood up and grabbed my arm. “You’re not on the clock, Bree. I’ll get it.” He went to go answer the door and I sank back onto the leather sofa, baffled by the fact that Leo Hughes just went and did something for himself. It wasn’t the doorman or a visitor, not really. Instead, two men in coveralls were hauling in a large wooden crate, tall and thin. After Leo had signed for his delivery, one of them pulled out a small crowbar from one of his deep pockets and began prying the crate open. I wished he’d hurry. I had no doubt that whatever piece of art Leo

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had purchased in Monte Carlo was very important, but I wanted to wrap up this conversation, go back home and sleep for days. I was too exhausted to appreciate a new painting. “What is this?” I heard Leo ask one of the deliverymen. The man just grunted in reply and him and his partner exited the apartment, each one clutching a generous tip from Leo. “I'll be right back, Bree,” Leo said. I could hear him digging through the crate, tossing around packing peanuts and searching for a packing slip. “Ah ha!” I guess that meant he found it. There was the rustle of paper and Leo read aloud, “’Happy birth‐ day, Mister Hughes. From your devoted assistant, Bree Ashford.’ What? Bree? What is this?” Oh no. On no no no. In all the excitement since the auction, I’d completely forgotten about the Mucha poster. I leaped off the couch and dashed over to Leo, frantically trying to come up with some cover story, some lie to justify why Bree Ashford had just gifted him a piece of art that had been sold to Francesca LaFleur. I didn’t make it in time. Leo had pulled the poster, bound carefully to a wooden backing, from the crate and was staring at it, uncompre‐ hending. “How did you get his, Bree?” he asked finally. “I bought it for you, Mister Hughes,” I admitted. He shook his head. “But how? I lost the auction to a woman named Francesca LaFleur?” His eyes lit up. “Do you know her, Bree? Have you met her?” I dreaded admitting what I had done, but it was time to stop lying. “I don’t know Francesca LaFleur, Leo,” I confessed. “I don’t understand. If you don’t know her, then how do you have this?” “I don’t know her because… I am her.” It felt good to finally have that out, to finally stop lying to my boss. Leo’s face went blank, his green eyes staring at me uncomprehend‐ ing. “You? You are Francesca LaFleur?” He shook his head. “That’s impossible, Bree, she’s rich, she… she outbid me for this poster. You couldn’t possibly be Francesca LaFleur.”

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I sighed. “I am, Leo. I bid on the poster as a gift for you, using my share of the gift allowance you allot to the household staff.” He just stared. “You were her? You were her the whole time?” His jaw clenched. “If you were her, did you know that I was—“ “No!” I shouted. “I swear, I didn’t know it was you. I mean, I even‐ tually figured out you were someone in Monte Carlo because you invited me to come visit and you told me that you’d be at the Grand Prix and at your birthday party. I just thought it was someone in your social circle, someone that you knew. I never dreamed it was actually you, Leo.” There was a long moment of silence, and then Leo spoke again. “You called me ‘Leo,’ Miss Ashford.” “I’m sorry, sir—“ “I like it when you call me ‘Leo,’ Bree. I’ve been asking you to do that for years,” he said, smiling. He’d meant that? I’d always taken it as a game, a playful bit of mockery that helped emphasize the vast divide between employee and boss. I never thought for one actual second that he truly meant it. His smile faded. “Wait, you thought you were texting with someone in Monte Carlo, someone at the party. Is that why you were off with Julien?” My face flushed with shame. “Yes, that’s why. I told you it was my fault and it was. I thought Julien was the man I was texting and that’s why I was alone with him. I meant it when I said that I didn’t know who he was.” “And I didn’t believe you,” he said, his face falling. “You told me the truth and didn’t believe you. I yelled at you, I locked you in your room and you were just telling me the truth.” I crossed the small divide between us and put my hand on his shoulder. “I forgive you, Leo. I forgive you and I ask you to forgive me. Please?” He laughed and moved his own hand up to clasp mine. “You have nothing to apologize for, Bree Ashford.” We were standing so close now, just a few inches of air separated us. Leo’s throat worked.

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“Bree,” he said. “I would really like to kiss you right now.” “Leo, I really wish you would.” He did. His mouth was on mine with such intense force that it almost knocked me off my feet, but he steadied me with his strong arms and pulled me into him. Kissing Leo Hughes was everything I ever thought it would be and more. His full lips were soft against mine, and soon his tongue was gently prodding at my mouth, seeking entrance. I relaxed and let him in. Our tongues met with a wet slide, exploring the newness of the kiss. His teeth scraped against my lower lip and I gasped. Leo pulled back, eyes full of concern. “Are you all right, Bree? Did I go to fast?” “No,” I answered. “You didn’t go too fast, Leo. Honestly, consid‐ ering the fact that I’ve been waiting for this for about three years, I wish you would go faster.” He laughed and scooped me up in his arms, heading in the direc‐ tion of the bedroom. “You’ve been waiting for this for three years, Bree? Why didn’t you say anything?” He tossed me onto his spacious king-sized bed, pushing up the hem of my yellow dress and running his large hands up and down my slender thighs. “What was I supposed to say, Leo?” I asked, closing my eyes and leaning back, relaxing under his firm touch. “Everyone who meets you is in love with you, why on earth would you care about the feelings of your personal assistant?” There was a burn of stubble across the inside of my thigh and I gasped. Leo hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, and the scrape of his stubble against my skin as he nuzzled my thigh was delectable. He reluctantly removed his head from in between my legs and raised himself up over me, adjusting his position until we were practi‐ cally nose-to-nose, horizontal on the bed. Leo gazed into my eyes and smiled down at me. “Bree Ashford,” he admitted, “I have been in love with you since the second you walked through that door for your interview. You are so strong and smart and you don’t…you don’t put up with any of my bullshit. It’s like you

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saw through my polished exterior and were able to look right inside my soul.” He kissed the tip of my nose softly. “I don’t know why, but I always hoped that Francesca LaFleur would turn out to be you.” “You what?” “I didn’t ever think it was ever a real possibility, but she sounded like you. She was feisty and gave me the right amount of shit when I said something stupid, just like you. I liked Francesca because she reminded me of you, Bree. I figured if I would never have you, I might as well settle for someone who was a lot like you.” I pushed myself back up on my elbows and looked down at Leo. “What do you mean, ‘you could never have me?’” I asked. Leo slid up my body and took my earlobe between his front teeth. “You were always so cool and collected, Bree,” he whispered, “you were nothing like the women I’m usually with. I flirted with you day in and day out, and you gave me nothing back. So I figured you weren’t interested.” His tongue flicked up and down the shell of my ear and I moaned. Things were escalating quickly and I had to get a few things out before I lost the ability to form coherent thoughts. “I thought you’d fire me if I slept with you,” I admitted. He pulled back, staring at me hard. “You thought I’d fire you, Bree? First of all, I wouldn’t have. Secondly, do you have any idea how illegal that would be? I’m not a completely heartless asshole. Also, lawsuits. You could have sued my pants off, Bree.” “I know that now, Leo,” I told him, running my hands up and down his firm biceps. God, I’d wanted to do that for years, and now I finally had my chance. His arms felt as good as I’d always imagined. “I know that now.” “Good,” he answered pushing me back down on my back. “Now, tell me what I can do to deserve you, Bree.” It was the same tone as the text messages, the sweetly deferential voice of LaFleur_Lover69. “Kiss me, Leo,” I commanded. “Kiss me and don’t stop.” He took his order very seriously. This time, Leo pressed into me

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with a fury, mouth hard and wanting against my lips. There was no hesitation as he parted my lips and plundered my mouth with his clever tongue. His mouth was so gifted that I didn’t notice his hands exploring up my dress until I felt a curious finger graze the crotch of my panties. “Can I?” he asked, pulling away from my mouth for the briefest of moments. I could only, words were too much right now. My breath caught as he slid one finger into my damp entrance. I rocked my hips experimentally, enjoying the feel of him inside of me. I wanted more and, as if he could read my mind, he slipped in a second finger. “Leo!” I gasped and drove my hips more firmly onto his hand. We stayed like that for several moments, Leo’s fingers coaxing me along the path toward pleasure, his mouth pressing down on mine. It wasn’t until I felt the hard press of his cock against my hip that I real‐ ized how selfish I was being. Without breaking the kiss, I ran my hands down his body until I found the waistband of his pants. They slipped free with one quick tug. He was not wearing any underwear. I’d seen Leo naked. I’d seen him getting a blowjob on the plane. But I’d never seen his erect cock up close and personal before, never been in a position where I was allowed to touch it. Leo Hughes’s cock was a thing of grace and beauty. It was long and thick, veering off slightly to the left. His pale skin, engorged with his desire, was surprisingly soft. I ran my hand up his shaft and fondled the head, running my finger experimentally over the slit at the end. Leo yelped. “Oh God, Bree, do that again. Please.” He didn’t have to ask twice. I stroked his cock as his fingers worked inside me, our mouths still moving together, neither of us willing to break the kiss. Finally, Leo stilled my hand. “If you keep doing that, this night is going to get a whole lot shorter. Come here,” he said and pulled me up to seated position so he could strip my dress over my head. His shirt came off, too, and both of us pressed together again, naked skin on naked skin.

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I reached for his cock again, but he grabbed my wrist and pinned it to the mattress. “Not yet,” he told me, taking my earlobe between his teeth again, nibbling it briefly before moving his kisses down the side of my neck. My nipples were hard with anticipation, and they weren’t disap‐ pointed. Leo took one into his mouth while rolling the other between the fingers of his hand. He was good at this, he was truly good at this. I gasped as he sucked my nipple further into his mouth, adding teeth this time, and then moved on to the other. Leo’s mouth was clever, and it knew just the right way to fondle my breasts, caress each nipple and coax it to the peak of excitement. He pinched my nipple, hard, and I jerked and gasped. “Was that a good gasp or a bad gasp, love?” he asked. “Good gasp,” I moaned. “Definitely a good gasp. Don’t stop, Leo, please do that again.” He did. Each pinch of his fingers on my sensitive nipples sparked something deep inside me, urged me on to a level of arousal that I hadn’t thought possible. Every inch of my body was electric, humming and responsive to his touch. I wanted nothing more than to lie on this bed for the rest of eternity and have Leo Hughes make love to me. When I was reduced to nothing by a writhing, moaning mess, Leo moved south again, dropping kissed down my firm abdomen. When he was almost between my legs, he paused and looked up at me. “Have I done enough to deserve this, Bree?” he asked, his voice thick with desire. I wanted to tell him yes, shove his head between my legs and urge him on with my hands buried in this hair. But instinct told me that would be the wrong move at this moment. Instead, I reached one hand down to stroke his hair and said, “Tell me why I should let you go down on me, Leo. Make your case, love.” His eyes darkened and his tongue flicked out briefly, wetting his full lips. “Oh, Bree, I will be so good for you—“ he began but stopped when I grabbed his hand and guided it back between my legs.

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“You can talk and finger me at the same time, can’t you?” He nodded, eagerly slipping his fingers back inside me. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed them. “I’ll explore you for hours, love,” he said, thrusting his hand in and out. “I’ll make sure every inch of you has been explored by my tongue, tend to you until you’re dripping wet and then when you’re screaming for more, I’ll fuck you with my tongue. Maybe you can hold me down and sit on my face, would you like that?” I told him I would like that, I’d like that very much. His face lit up with pleasure. How had I never seen this side of him before? This sweet, eagerto-please, attentive lover, where had he been? Leo coaxed my wall with his fingers and I felt another rush of dampness. I was close, I was so close to cumming. “Don’t stop talking, Leo,” I begged. “You’ll ride my face until you’ve eked out every once of pleasure my tongue can provide, then you’ll tell me you need more, to add my fingers. I will.” He crooked his fingers inside of me again, and I could feel the white-hot orgasm beginning to curl deep within my belly. “You’ll be riding my face and my fingers will be so deep inside you, Bree, but don’t worry, I won’t neglect your clit.” Another moan. My orgasm was building fast, like a flooded river roiling behind a dam. I wouldn’t last much longer. “Leo,” I begged, surprised at the shrillness of my voice. “Please, I’m so close, I need you. I need you to fuck me.” “Can’t I—“ “You can go down on me tomorrow, hell, you can go down on me all weekend but, for now, please fuck me.” Leo didn’t need to be asked twice. He pulled his fingers out gripped his shaft, the evidence of my arousal still glistening wetly on his fingers. He lined himself up, head just brushing my entrance, and then he paused. “Is this really okay, Bree?” he asked quietly. I fixed him with a level look; it was so important that he under‐

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stood just how okay this was. “I’ve never wanted anything more,” I answered honestly. “Leo Hughes, please fuck me.” He was inside of me with one quick thrust, filling me with his swollen shaft until the base of his cock was flush with my pubic bone until I could feel his balls resting against my ass. “Oh, Bree,” he murmured. “You’re so tight, love, you’re so, so tight. You feel… amazing.” With a quick snap of his hips, he was fucking into me. I’d always imagined that Leo would be a selfish lover, more concerned with his own pleasure than the satisfaction of his partner. I could not have been more wrong. He was bent over me now, mouth pulling at my nipples as his strong hips battered into me, over and over and over. I had never been fucked like this before. Every other lover I’d had —including the Leo substitutes, especially the Leo substitutes—paled in comparison to the real thing. For the first time ever, I found myself thrilled that he had so much experience in bed, had had some many different varietals of lovers. He was truly gifted in bed. I writhed on the bed, my hands fruitlessly seeking purchase on the smooth Egyptian cotton sheets. “Leo!” I screamed, “Leo, Leo, Leo…” until his name was the only word I could remember, the last bit of language that I had. He never stopped looking into my eyes. Not when he changed his strokes from shallow exploration to long, deep strokes; not when he felt the walls of my pussy clench around him, when I screamed his name one last time, then surrendered to the waves of pleasure that washed over me. He only looked away when his own release came, when he drove his hips into me one last time and then fell forward onto me, my name on his lips as he spilled deep inside of me. We stayed like that for a few moments, tangled up in one another, then Leo stirred. “You’ll stay tonight, won’t you, Bree?” he asked, suddenly shy. I scooted back toward him, tucking myself along the front of his body and pulling his arms around me. “I’ll stay,” I told him. And I did.

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didn’t know what to do when I woke up in the morning. In theory, I was supposed to be at work and, while I was tech‐ nically at my place of work, I didn’t exactly feel like an employee. Leo was sprawled out on the bed beside me, softly snoring. I didn’t want to wake him. Dark circles underneath his eyes belied the sleep‐ less night he’d spent after I’d fled Monte Carlo. He deserved his rest. I quietly slid out of bed and tiptoed out of the room, careful not to wake Leo. Still unsure about what to do, I followed the example set by countless other women exiting Leo Hughes’s bed: I went down to the breakfast table, poured myself a cup of coffee and sat there, naked, until Leo came down to find me. “Bree,” he asked when he discovered me sitting there a few hours later. “Is everything okay?” “I think so,” I answered. That was the most honest answer I could give him. “I think so.” We stared at each other. “I must congratulate the kitchen staff,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “They are incredibly efficient at quietly setting out breakfast and coffee.” “They are,” he agreed. Neither of us mentioned the elephant in the room: that the kitchen staff typical laid out a breakfast spread when Leo had a guest stay the night. It was a bit disheartening that they treated my visit in the same manner as all the others. “Well,” he said, after a long pause. “I guess we should get to work.” I sighed inwardly. This is what I was afraid of. He’d had me last night and now things were back to normal. All those words and protestations of love were nothing but an act, all carefully calculated to get me into bed. “Absolutely, Mr. Hughes,” I said, a little embarrassed by my naked‐ ness as I stood up. “What’s on the agenda today?” He plopped down across the table from me and poured himself his own coffee. “Sit down, Bree, sit back down. First thing, I’ve got a new

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piece of art that I’d like framed. Perhaps we could go down to the shop together and pick out an appropriate frame.” My eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me? Together?” “Well, you bought it and you’re going to have to look at it for a long, long time, so I figured you should have some say in what kind of frame we get.” I didn’t understand. “I’m more than happy to help you choose a frame, Mr. Hughes, but I don’t think you want my creative input. As your personal assistant—“ “Ah, right,” he cut me off. “About that, Bree. The second thing I need you to do today is contact the employment agency about hiring a new personal assistant.” “What?” He grinned, his emerald eyes twinkling. “You see,” he said, “I’m finding myself in a rather difficult position. I seemed to have gained a girlfriend, but lost a valuable member of my household staff. We simply must hire a new one.” I stared at him, dazed, as came around the table and lowered himself to his knees in front of me. “Girlfriend?” I sputtered. “Girlfriend,” he answered, squeezing my knees in reassurance. “And maybe more someday, if you’ll have me.” I wanted to say yes, I wanted to shout yes, but all I could do was stare at Leo, unable to believe what I’d just heard. He looked back at me, seemingly concerned by my lack of response. “Bree? I hope you’ll have me,” he continued, resting his dark head on my knees. “And I hope I can be good enough to deserve you.” I bent down and kissed the top of his head, finally finding my words. “You will be, Leo,” I whispered. “I know you will be.”

The End

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Holly Dodd is an award-winning author. Her novel Covet won the 2016 RWA Beacon (unpublished) award for Romantic Suspense. A member of the Romance Writers of America, her stories are often spicy, with everything salacious right on the page. Ranging from the contemporary anti-hero, to paranormal and futuristic, she loves an Alpha Hero in any setting and a woman destined to keep him on his toes. Calling Pennsylvania home, she loves autumn, the beach, and beautiful weather. When she’s not writing, reading, or baking, she’s wrangling her three psychotic felines, and wondering where her muse will take her to next. Come stalk me! www.hollydodd.com [emailprotected]

EXCERPT OF GIVING IT UP

I need to get over him. He’s not interested. You’re just his friend. Stop being a spaz! My mental mantra was in full effect as I slumped into my seat and prepared for the lecture to begin. I must have had a case of temporary stupidity when I picked my Thursday classes. I had not just one lecture, but two. This class, the lecture part of Physics, was the second for the day. Doctor Willard hadn’t arrived yet, and I was already over being here. I wanted to be home wrapped up in a blanket and binge watching Jane the Virgin. Jane and I had a lot in common. The virgin part, not the artificially inseminated part. Glancing around, I found that other than me, only a few students were in their seats. That wasn’t unusual. Those of us who diligently arrived early were a bit obsessive about being perfectly teacher’s pet prepared. I’d worked hard to attend the University of WisconsinMadison, and I wasn’t about to ruin it by being late or skipping classes. Though, if I was being honest with myself, that wasn’t the only

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reason I’d camped out in the middle row of the stadium-style lecture hall fifteen minutes before class was scheduled to begin. The real reason began with an R and ended with an EGI. Regi. Thinking his name gave me a delicious shiver. My nipples perked up, and I was glad I was wearing a bulky sweater. No one would be able to see that my boobs had the high beams on through the thick cable knit. Stop it. Scolding myself wasn’t working. It was time for a different plan. Shoving my book bag off my lap, it landed on the empty chair beside me with a quiet thump. I needed a distraction. Killing some time by organizing the inside of it was a decent enough strategy. Not that my bag was very messy. I liked being neat. Only a few papers had slipped their bindings. I dug out a pink gel pen from the bottom that I thought I’d lost, and uncovered a smashed granola bar I’d thrown in for a lunch time snack last week. When that didn’t occupy me for long I pulled out my laptop and Physics book and arranged them on the desk. I stole a glance at my watch and grimaced. I still had a few minutes left. Willard wasn’t in yet, and Regi would be arriving soon. Maybe he’ll be late. Maybe there won’t be enough time for us to talk before the teacher shows up. Maybe if I look really busy he won’t talk to me. I didn’t know whether I was hoping he’d arrive late, or to pop in early so we could socialize. This was really the only time I saw him during the week. My traitorous heart thumped too fast as excitement and adrenaline buzzed through my body. My knee jogged beneath the desk, and I tapped my pen against the edge of my book. Thump. Thump. Thump. It may as well have been a metronome synced to my heartbeat I was that keyed up. I swear I had Regi-radar. The second he stepped into the class‐ room I felt him. The air changed, and everything I’d told myself blew out the window. I looked up and there he was, walking up the aisle

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towards his seat. The fisheye lights studding the ceiling wreathed him, guiding him like runway lights to his seat. Regi was, simply put, delicious; sex walking on two enormous feet. He was Abercrombie & Fitch; soft tees and Henley shirts; chino pants and Chuck Taylors; tousled, curly hair and a pussy-eating smile. He was my obsession, and every intelligent thought I had about getting over him fled in his presence. Regi had bulked up a lot over the past year. He’d gone from hand‐ some to downright scorching. No matter where he went on campus he had a fan club. A few girls from class must have been waiting outside for his arrival because they were trailing in after him as if he were a pussy pied piper. They weren’t lucky. Not like me. I got to sit practically next to him. Though it wasn’t just luck that I had the seat I did. I might have stalked him the first week of classes with the advanced knowledge that Doctor Willard preferred assigned seats. Once you picked your spot, it was yours for the rest of the semester. Lord, I swore he got hotter every time I saw him. My pen found its way into my mouth and I chewed on the cap. Thinking about all the things I wanted to do to him if given half a chance, had my girlie parts clenching in need. I was flustered, and he hadn’t even looked at me. I almost wanted him to ignore me like he had before. Almost. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle that. I wasn’t invisible to him anymore, and I wasn’t sure if I loved it, or hated it. At least when he didn’t know I existed I could watch him from afar and fantasize about what sort of lover he might be. Was he rough or gentle? Regi was huge, at least 6’3 and had all those yummy muscles just begging me to dig my nails into them. Hell, his muscles had muscles. I hoped he was rough. I wanted him to be rough. I wanted him to tie me down and do things I’d only read about. I wanted marks left behind that said he’d been there. That he’d had his hands all over me, and fucked me until I only remembered his name.

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My brain nuked those thoughts quickly. Why bother going that deep into fantasy land when it was unlikely I’d ever get a chance? I held my breath as he sat down with a quiet thud of his books. He turned and tossed me a slow smile. A smile that told me he knew that I was creaming my panties over him. His smile always made me burn. His full lips pulled into a lopsided twist, flashing me a commercialworthy array of bright white teeth and suggestive thoughts. I was okay with the smile. It only sent the butterflies in my stomach into a mild frenzy. It was his voice that sent me spinning. The deep bass rumble of it filled my ears, as if Bruno Mars was crooning just for me, and settled into my body. Lightning would be jealous of the heat which struck me. “Hey, Jo.” Lord, I was going to have heart failure. I couldn’t handle it. I wanted to crawl over the desks that separated us and lick him. I needed… I got caught staring. Regi’s sorrel brown eyes twinkled with amusement as they met mine. The damn man knew the effect he had on me. Flames rushed into my cheeks, and I forced down the breath‐ less, giggly sensation bubbling in my chest. “Hi, Regi. How was your week?” His grin deepened. He propped his arm on my desk and leaned into it. It was difficult to breathe when he was this close. “It was good. Are you coming to the Brewhouse tonight?” The scent of his earthy cologne filled my nostrils. I wanted to sniff him like a drug addict because, well, he was my drug. One I’d never had a taste of. Only the fact that he would think I was absolutely deranged kept me from nuzzling his thick neck. “You know Mia would skin me alive if I missed it.” I mentally sighed. Would I still have it this bad over Regi if we’d never been introduced? While I’d been mooning over Regi for a year now, mostly from afar, the only reason he even knew my name was because my BFF Mia introduced us when she’d created the Brewhouse Bunch. The Bunch

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began as a collection of her college friends she’d wanted to keep in touch with once she graduated. Then it expanded. Now we had a Facebook group, and as more people learned about her accidental social experiment, the more people attended. Once a week those of us who were free showed up and took over the Alehouse, a hipster-pub in downtown Madison. Sometimes there were loads of people, other times only a handful. Regi attended every one. I tried to, but sometimes my schedule didn’t allow for it. Mia. If it hadn’t been for her I would still be the naïve little mouse she’d first met. I had been a bona fide country girl. Still was in a way. While my family didn’t have a farm, I’d grown up next to a stable. Dad was a horse trainer, and I spent my formative years following him around, learning how to muck out a stall and care for the beautiful beasts. I’d been a hopeless case when Mia got her hands on me our freshman year of college. My wardrobe had been ankle-length skirts and dresses, baggy t-shirts, and mom jeans. It wasn’t like I wanted to hide my body or thought showing off skin was bad or sinful, I just didn’t know how to dress or anything about style. Mostly due to having been raised in a single parent household. My mom had died when I was five, leaving dad to raise a girl. He’d done the best he could. But fashion hadn’t been something he thought of. I’d been a legit tomboy. Without Mia, I wasn’t sure I’d have made it this far into college. She’d taught me the language I needed to survive the city. She was my lifeline, a mashup of a surrogate mother, sister, and non-judgey BFF. Regi winked, drawing me out of my thoughts. “I’ll see you tonight then.” “Yeah,” I bit my lip. But that didn’t stifle the moronic words which burst free. The moment I spoke I wanted to snatch them back. “Would you like to go together?” So, okay. This wasn’t the first time I’d asked Regi out. This wasn’t even the second or third. You would think I’d get a clue by now. He wasn’t interested. But I always held out hope. Maybe if he knew I was still interested…

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Regi’s smile turned into a half-grimace and I wanted to die at the sight of it. Why couldn’t the earth open and swallow me whole? Anything would be better than listening to him stutter an excuse. “Oh, babydoll you know I’m not good for you. You’re too…” He struggled to find the word. It was a blow to my self-esteem to watch him try and let me down easy. Sadly, I knew what he meant. I knew why he wasn’t tempted. I was too pure. Too chaste. Regi liked a certain type of girl. He favored cheerleaders, sorority sisters, and sexually adventurous types. I was none of the above. If you were to put sultry party girl on a scale, you’d find me clear on the opposite end of the spectrum. I was the definition of boring virgin. Not frigid, because damn my fantasies were rather hot, but not experienced. And surprise of surprises, Regi wasn’t interested in punching my v-card or helping me uncover the mysteries of sex. I wanted to be a sex therapist. Do you know how perplexing it was that I would be doling out advice on intimate matters and I’d never, ever gotten past first base? It was humiliating and my biggest, darkest secret. I wouldn’t have known why Regi didn’t want me if Mia hadn’t sat me down and told me. It had been tough to hear, and I desperately wanted to change his mind. But she’d sworn me to secrecy after I’d cried myself stupid on her shoulder. Mia was more his type, though they’d never hooked up as far as I knew. I think we were the only two girls on campus he hadn’t stuck his dick into. I was really done with the crying, the rejection, and the crush. If only my mouth, and heart, would get with the program. I didn’t know if it was my heart or my wayward hormones, that was sabotaging all my strategies to get over my infatuation. Either way, it fucking sucked. “I know. But what if I wasn’t?” There really was a filter missing between my brain and mouth. I’d been thinking of an idea for a while. A last-ditch effort to snare the man of my dreams. I just hadn’t meant to say it aloud, especially to Regi.

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Regi’s eyes darkened and took on the smoldering properties of coal. His eyebrows shot up. His heavy brow furrowed, casting his rugged features into brooding lines. The look shocked me to the core. Usually, he was mysterious, exuding a chill come-hither that was like catnip to us college girls. But with that one look, I could read every dirty thought he had. About me. About what he wanted. Desire zipped through my body in a sudden blaze of pleasure. I hadn’t thought it possible, but Regi was attracted to me. His attention lingered on my face. But it didn’t stay there. In a classic red-blooded male move, his gaze darted down to my boobs. This is what I want. I loved my chest. It was really the only part of my anatomy that I wouldn’t change if I had a million dollars and a Beverley Hills plastic surgeon. I had porn-star tits, full, luscious, and unlike those on the pink screen, real. And Regi was looking at them like he wanted to dive face first into my cleavage and motorboat the fuck out of them. Could anyone really blame me when I arched my back and gave him a little show? “I’m not sure I can answer that, Jo.” Regi’s voice dipped into a growl, and for the first time in my life, a surge of feminine power filled me. He wants me too. That was all I needed to know. Regi might not realize it, but he’d just given me all the ammo I needed.

“I’m going to get my cherry popped.” I’d meant to whisper my confes‐ sion to Mia, but with a glass of wine under my belt, I had no volume control. I may as well have shouted my plan. My voice carried through the lunchtime crowd gathered at Olive Garden, a collection of college students and white collar workers glut‐

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ting on all you can eat breadsticks and pasta. I wanted to die as a few heads turned our way. Did I just hear a wolf whistle? Propping my elbows onto the glossy wooden table, I dropped my face into my hands. Great. Now the whole restaurant knew how pathetic I was. Mia choked on a half-swallow of merlot. I hadn’t meant to kill her with my disclosure. She sounded as if she were dying as she coughed and wheezed. Peeking through my fingers, I met her stare where it blinked at me over the rim of her wineglass. Her eyes were as rich as liquid smoke and stippled with shock and awe. “Didn’t you get rid of your hymen problem as a sophomore to, what was his face, Dylan?” Warmth detonated in my cheeks. I didn’t need a mirror to know I was the same shade as the damn cherry tomato drowning in my salad bowl. A few drinks gave me a wino flush, add on the embarrassment coursing through my body, and my nose was doubtlessly Rudolph red. I grabbed my pasta sauce-stained napkin and hid behind it, just so I wouldn’t have to see her astonished face. “No. We got close…but. No. Just no.” Hygiene hadn’t been Dylan’s forte, and I couldn’t force myself to give it up to someone who smelt funky. No matter how hot he was, and Dylan had been HOT. He’d been a psychology major like I was, and had been deep into the science of physical attraction between men and women. He’d taken the correlation of pheromones and sexual attraction to heart. No matter how often I tried to shove his stinky ass in the shower, he hadn’t grasped the concept that us modern women weren’t attracted to B.O. Lowering my makeshift veil, I blinked over at Mia, waiting for something, anything to absolve me of my humiliation. Mia was the type of girl that Regi liked. Not promiscuous, but adventurous. She had zero hang-ups when it came to sex. I loved her for it. I just wished she’d choose better boyfriend material. She wound up getting hurt and watching little pieces of her self-esteem chip away over an unworthy guy wrecked me.

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Mia tossed a covert glance around the immediate area. Satisfied no one was eavesdropping, she scooted closer until she was all but draped over the plates in the middle of the table. It was gossip time and she hung on my every word. I focused on the near-miss her curly black hair had with a puddle of Alfredo sauce and ignored the mixture of horror and fascination racing across her face. “Why are you suddenly tired of it now? You’re like a unicorn. I didn’t think anyone post-college, especially our college, could claim to be pure. But you are.” “Well.” Twisting my wineglass between my fingers, I swished the rose Moscato against the sides. Why was I hesitating? I’d already admitted to Mia my darkest secret. One of them at least. I knew she wouldn’t blab, but I didn’t want her to think any less of me. “You know Regi?” Mia uttered a sultry noise in the back of her throat. She might not be part of the Regi fan club, but any heterosexual female could appre‐ ciate his sizzling good looks. “God yes. He is one hunk of man. Are you still pining over him?” I couldn’t agree more. He was a bear of a man that I wanted to mount. I licked my lips. For months, I’d tried analytically dissecting why I craved Regi. Until I’d met him I’d fantasized about guys in three-piece suits and manicured hands. The type of guy at home in a boardroom, and wouldn’t know his way around a barn if you printed him directions. Regi was rugged and caveman-ish. I could imagine him running around with a furry loincloth strapped to his hips and a huge ass clay‐ more in his hand. He’d get a hand in my hair, maybe club me and drag me back to his cave and… I had to stop that train of thought or I was going to leave a wet spot in the booth. While I was vain enough to want a hot guy in my bed, I also admired his ambition. He was pre-med with the laser-focus required of budding surgeons. We both had our sights set on the best Masters programs in the country. We had a lot of the same classes since we were both in the Science program. I wanted to be a psychologist, he

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wanted to cut people up. It was a match made in soap opera heaven. “I want him.” A flurry of emotions danced over Mia’s face. Her forehead scrunched into worry lines and then relaxed as she went into moth‐ ering mode. “Oh, honey. We’ve had this discussion. You know he isn’t the settling kind.” I kicked back another sip of wine and savored the sweet fruity flavor tickling my taste buds. The alcohol burn had ceased to impact me a glass ago, and now it was just fuzzy warmth heating my belly. “He just hasn’t found the right woman.” “He doesn’t do… Oh.” If this were a cartoon, Mia would have a huge light bulb flashing on over her head. Bingo. She got why I was suddenly o-v-e-r being a virgin. “Exactly. He doesn’t do virgins. If I ever want a shot at him, I need to ditch it. I need to become the type of girl he likes.” I had planned it out once I’d verbalized my idea. Instead of listening to Doctor Willard drone on in class, I’d schemed about what I was going to do to get Regi into my bed. Mia grinned. “Slutty?” I threw my wadded-up napkin at her, laughing. “Sexy! Confident.” Traits I was seriously lacking. I was the awkward ugly duckling who hadn’t yet turned into a swan. I desperately wanted to be a swan. Mia propped her cheek onto her knuckles. She assessed me, and I tried not to squirm beneath her blatant gaze. “And you think getting deflowered will help with all of that?” I shrugged. Honestly, I didn’t know if it would help with my confi‐ dence issues. “It can’t hurt. I’m graduating in a few months. How am I going to be able to talk about sexual dysfunction and get my Masters if I’ve never experienced any of the normal hookup and relationship drama? I’m almost twenty-three. It’s time. I wanted to wait ‘till marriage, but what if I never get married? I’m wasting my youth and my shot with Regi!” Mia grinned. “That’s the goodie farm girl talking.” I flashed her a warm smile. When I first met Mia I never would

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have thought we’d become this close. We were truly opposite. She was the definition of a sassy Latina; gorgeous, smart, and confident; skimpy tops and leather leggings; a monochromatic fashion sense with a drag queen’s makeup skill, and the vocabulary of a bilingual sailor. I fucking loved her And though she ribbed me about my rural upbringing--there had been more than enough incest and sheep jokes--it was lighthearted instead of mean. There were a lot of mean girls in college, ones who didn’t understand that we should hold each other up, instead of tearing one another down. “Maybe, but that’s not the reason I’m still pure. I just haven’t been into a lot of guys. This whole year it’s been Regi. I am dying to get on that, but he won’t touch me. I figure it is time to do something…drastic.” Mia’s brows rose. “You sound as if you have a candidate.” I chewed nervously on my bottom lip. This was the part of my plan I was unsure about. Mia wouldn’t judge me. She was the crunchy peanut butter to my jelly. I’d be lost without her, and vice versa. While it was harder now to spend time since she’d graduated last semester, we were making it work. I was paranoid that she wouldn’t be okay with my plan. It was drastic, and if I hadn’t felt that time was running out, I wouldn’t be planning my deflowering at all. Academia was going to be my life for the next ten years. Soon I would have my Bachelor degree in Science. Then I’d work on my Masters of Psychology. After, it would be time to tackle the doctorate. Though if I made it that far it would be a miracle. I was in my last semester of my bachelor’s program and just had to get through finals. Honestly, I should be home hitting the books and worrying about life after graduation, but I wasn’t. I hadn’t really experienced any of the quintessential college life, and I wanted that. I craved it. If there was a time to have a fling or figure out if Regi was the love of my life, it was now or never. “His name’s Kevin,” I confessed.

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Mia shoved the empty bread basket aside and crept closer. I swear if she moved another inch she was going to be bent over the table. Our server had already been hitting on her. If he saw her with her ass hiked up in the air he might think he had a shot. “And who is Kevin?” Just hearing Kevin’s name gave me hot flashes. My cheeks pinked all over again, and I crossed my legs beneath the table to quench the dull throb flaring to life between my thighs. In a matter of hours, I’d creamed over two guys. I was feeling no shame about it. I was a horny freaking virgin, after all. I didn’t know how people survived back when premarital sex would get you burned at the stake. I thought about sex all the time. Would I become even more fixated on it when I started having it? I hesitated. Anxiety prickled me, leaving behind an uncomfortable flood of sweat at my nape and between my boobs. The words tumbled out. “Angela brought him home one-night last month.” “You’re keeping tabs on your roomies one night stands?” Mia laughed. “That would be a full-time job. He was just…there the next morn‐ ing.” My pulse sped up. Even if I lived to a hundred years old I would never, ever forget the moment I’d seen the blond-haired hunk standing half-naked in my kitchen. He’d been so damn casual, wearing just a pair of low-slung boxer briefs. His torso a carved wonderland of muscles and smooth, caramel skin. I still wasn’t sure how he managed to look that tan while most Wisconsinites in winter could pass for albinos. The lickable V of his iliac furrow had been on display, the chiseled trench a damn beacon begging me to look lower. And oh, how I’d looked. I’d never been jealous of a piece of fabric before. If there’d been a time to have x-ray vision, that would have been it. I licked my lips, hoping I wasn’t drooling at the memory. “We got to talking and became…friends.” “You sound a little breathless.” Mia stared at me as if I’d grown two heads. I never got worked up over a guy. Other than Regi I’d never felt this wild. “Tell me more.”

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I could gush about Kevin. How he was much more than just a pretty face and hot body. “He’s a fitness trainer.” “Aren’t they all?” Sarcasm colored Mia’s words. She sat back and took a quick sip of her wine. “Is he also a model, actor, entrepreneur, blah, blah, etc.?” I reached over and squeezed Mia’s hand. She’d had an affair with a married trainer at her gym. Though she hadn’t known he’d been married at the time. That sort of betrayal left a mark, and a few months later she was still carrying around the pain. While she hadn’t told me everything, I knew she’d fallen hard and fast for him. For a while, he’d been all she talked about. Now his name was akin to a curse. He was Mia’s Voldemort; a no-name boogieman with halitosis breath and a micro-penis. “He’s not like that. He’s a little older than us, and while he went to school for nutrition, he wants more now. He’s going back to get his Masters in Nutrition and Dietetics.” I was impressed he was rejoining the ranks of academia at nearly thirty years old. Becoming a regis‐ tered dietitian was no joke. It was med school without a Ph.D. Most people heard dietitian and didn’t realize how hard someone worked to become one. “He also volunteers at the animal shelter.” “A good-looking animal lover?” Mia snorted, her words grating with bitterness. She downed the rest of her wine in a gulp. “This guy sounds too perfect.” “Mia, you don’t…wait I have a picture.” I grabbed my cell phone from my purse. Maybe if she saw that he didn’t look anything like her needle-dick ex she might feel better. The only reason I had a photo of Kevin was because there might have been a few late-night sessions of Facebook stalking and picture saving once we’d connected. Though I would never admit it. Doubletapping a photo to open it, I twisted my phone around for Mia to see. It was my favorite publicly-accessed photo of Kevin. Wearing his floppy, dirty-blond hair in a ridiculous man bun, he was shirtless, showing off his sculpted body and tattooed arms. It wasn’t his mouth‐ watering physique that caught my attention, but the expression in his sea green eyes as he looked down at the orange and white striped ball

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of fluff in his arms. Another cat, this one a fat ginger, balanced on the arm of his computer chair. The three of them together made my ovaries ache. Mia blinked a few times. The dazed expression was one I knew well. Looking at Kevin in all his glory was like staring into the sun. You may go blind after, but experiencing that type of majesty was fucking worth it. “Wow. Holy...wow. Okay.” Her smile was back and her eyes gleamed with intrigue. “You make him sound perfect. What’s the downside? What’s wrong with him?” I cleared my throat, battling the crippling embarrassment gripping my body. Dropping my phone beside my discarded silverware, I sighed. Kevin’s “downside” was a biggie and a huge reason why I would never trust him with anything more than my flesh. He was a heart‐ break waiting to happen. “He’s a man whore. He’s not even apologetic about it. He doesn’t do relationships. Every night there’s a new girl riding the Harris express. I know because he tells me all the dirty details. I think I’ve become his personal therapist.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about getting the literal blow-by-blow of his “dates”. Part of me was so fucking jealous I wanted to gnash my teeth. The other part built a moat around my heart and tried to drown the jealousy. Kevin wasn’t mine. I belonged to Regi, even if the lug head didn’t know it yet. Still, I couldn’t deny that since the first moment I laid eyes on Kevin I’d felt…something. I wanted to scratch out the eyes of every girl that touched him. How could I be hung up on two guys at once? Was I so fickle that all it took was another equally hot guy for me to sway from being Regi’s #1 fan? It made no sense, and I was playing ostrich, sticking my head in the sand and ignoring the quandary. “I don’t know if I blame him. If I was a guy and had that body, it would be my divine duty to let as many women experience it as possi‐ ble,” Mia said wistfully. She didn’t need to tell me, but I knew she was

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thinking of her ex. I waited until she was ready to talk again, letting silence overlap our conversation. Shaking her head, Mia leveled her stare on me. “When does seduce Kevin start? Or has it already commenced?” I wrinkled my nose as a sudden wave of self-doubt blossomed in my chest. This was the sticky part of my scheme. “He hasn’t put any moves on me. I don’t even know if it’ll work. Maybe I’m not his type. Maybe he’s anti-virgin too. He was sleeping with Angela.” Mia swatted the air in front of my face, a shadow slap meant to chase away the phantoms of insecurity. “Stop that. No, you don’t look like Angela. Hell, no one can look like her unless they win the genetic lottery or have about fifteen different cosmetic surgeries, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t beautiful too.” I exhaled. My roommate was everything I wasn’t. No amount of exercise or dieting would give me Angela’s rail-thin physique. And baby-fine blonde hair didn’t come in a bottle. I was short, with a petite body that leaned toward thick if I wasn’t careful. With all the fast-food binges from exams stress, I was ten pounds over my personal ideal weight. I couldn’t grow my hair out no matter how hard I tried. I kept it in a long bob that brushed my collar‐ bones. The rich mocha color with its sprinkling of bright purple high‐ lights was entirely thanks to my amazing colorist. My natural color was a disgusting shade of mouse brown. I was of sturdy GermanPolish stock, from my coloring to the wide bridge of my nose. “I know what you’re thinking.” Mia scowled. “And what am I thinking?” Mia threw my napkin back at me. “That you’re going to skip dessert because you think your ass is too big.” I laughed. That was my usual go-to excuse. It never worked with Mia. Another reason why I loved her so. “The tuxedo cheesecake looks good. Besides, if my plan works I’ll be riding all the extra calo‐ ries off on Kevin, right?” Mia lofted her wine glass and held it towards me with a wide, proud grin; a mother duckling watching her chick toddle out of the nest. “Here! Hear!”

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I clinked my glass against Mia’s and took a long swig of wine. Mia beckoned the waiter over to take our dessert order, but my mind was on things other than cheesecake. Tonight, operation seduce Kevin Harris would commence.

Giving it Up, the first book in the Brewhouse Series, is available on Amazon.com! On sale for .99cents!

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