Page 1 of Never Bed the Boss
1
LILAH
I stumbleinto the lobby of the Ridgeway Hotel feeling more like a flea-bitten stray dog than a human, and with all eyes locked on me, I must look the part too. I keep my head down, trying my best to ignore the gazes searing my skin and make my way to the bar.
Elite, beautiful, and filthy rich—I get it. I’m everything these people aren’t. I’m as much a curiosity to them as they are to me.
After bombing my most recent interview and then receiving a phone call from a creditor and my landlord in quick succession, I wanted a taste of how the other side lived. And as I look around—everything gold, glass, and glistening—it’s like nothing I ever imagined. Itsmellslike a different world.
“Can I help you?” the woman behind the bar asks in a tone that’s more accusatory than friendly.
“Something sweet,” I answer, eyeing her flawless appearance as I wonder if the hotel has some sort of arrangement with modeling agencies. She’s the type of gorgeous that turns heads and raises others.
She retreats without a response, and I’m counting down the seconds until I’m tossed out of here because I’m pretty sure these people think poverty is contagious.
I’m usually bubbly. A little ray of sunshine that can brighten even the darkest moods, but on a day like today, I’m finding it difficult. And in a place like this? I’m so far out of my comfort zone that I’m finding it hard to remember who I am.
I’ve passed the Ridgeway Hotel more times than I can count, but I never had the nerve to step inside. Hell, I wouldn’t allow myself to look for more than a few seconds out of fear of being branded a thief for stealing glances. I’m surprised there wasn’t a doorman to stop me and check my tax returns before allowing me inside.
My phone vibrates with another text from my landlord. I don’t read it as I shove my phone back into my purse because I know it’s a variation on the same theme:Where’s the money, Lilah?
Not in my bank account. And it won’t be there anytime soon without another job.
I sigh, nerves settling in my chest, heavy as bricks.
This wasn’t a good idea. I should have never crossed the threshold. The people in the lobby with their appraising looks are right—I don’t belong. And buying an actual drink? I don’t have to look at the prices to know I can’t afford them. Nothing is affordable in this town.
I pull out my bucket list from my purse. It’s the only thing that gives me hope these days. I have dreams. Aspirations. I have plans to get myself out of this mess. I scan the list, wondering if I’ll ever have the chance to cross one of them off.
Closing my eyes, I imagine what life could be like. It’s not like I want an extravagant life. Far from it. I want to live without the nagging anxiety about money. Pay my bills on time. Eat more than ramen. Start the family I never had. I want…
I swallow hard before setting the list down on the counter. It seems like nothing more than a dream. Something I can imagine but I’ll never have.
I search for the bartender, wondering if she’s calling hotel security or making my drink. Neither, apparently. She’s at the far end of the bar, flirting with a man in a suit.
Man in a suit. Ha. Calling him a man in a suit is like calling Thor a man with a hammer. Everything clenches at the sight of him. I’ve seen more than my fair share of gorgeous men in the city, but none of them look as heartrendingly beautiful as him. And he’s staring directly at me with a gaze so penetrating and intense that it knocks the wind right out of me.
God, he’s something. He’s at the other end of the bar, but he might as well be right next to me based on how my body’s reacting to him. I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to anyone before, but there’s something about him that sets my body on fire.
I swivel on the stool as butterflies flutter everywhere and goosebumps bloom all over my body. I must be imagining it. There’s no way he’s looking at me while the bartender is in front of him. I’m nothing like her. She’s perfect and polished while I’m as imperfect and chipped as my nails.
I rub my arms quickly before retrieving my pen, dabbing it gently into my mouth for a moment as I consider something—a thought I’ve never had before flashes into my head. And then another. And another. I can’t help but smile as I add them to the bucket list because these entries are nothing like the rest. There’s something about that man that’s making me a little more daring. A little bit less like me.
By the time I finish scrawling out the new entries and sliding the list back in my purse, the bartender sets a glass in front of me. She leaves without a word, and I glance at the clear liquid in front of me. Vodka? Gin? What kind of drink is this? I wasexpecting something with a punch of color. But this? I pick up the glass, inspecting it before taking a tentative sip.
…of water.
Better than nothing. I take another sip before setting it down, staring at the edge stained red from my lips. I wonder if there will be a surcharge for her deigning to fill a glass with tap water. The thought dissolves as the rich scent of cedarwood soaked in whiskey creeps into my nostrils.
My body’s reaction is immediate and unrelenting as I sense the sinful presence behind me. I don’t have to look. I know the man behind the scent. The twist in my belly knows. And as much as I try, I can’t ignore the way he’s making me feel.
I clutch my glass and then bring it to my lips out of desperation. My mouth is dry, but my panties are soaked as the man’s hand skims across the nape of my neck.
“Keep drinking,” he says as he sits down next to me. “I want you sober.”
His voice is deep and raspy and rattles through my body. It’s so sexy that it takes a few moments for my head to catch up with his words.
“Excuse me?” I say, staring into my glass, refusing to acknowledge the sinfully sexy man with the sewed-on suit next to me. Maybe if I close my eyes, he’ll disappear. Or I’ll wake up from this dream because it has to be a dream. Why else would someone like him approach someone like me?
