Page 551 of Most Eligible Billionaire CEO

“How come?”

“The man plays with my body with as much finesse as he masterfully strums a guitar, leaving me bone-tired and satiated after countless toe-curling orgasms. When he dropped me off, I was hoping”—and praying—“Beckett would want to come up to my place and even stay the night, but he didn’t.”

“Did you invite him up?”

“I didn’t.”

“Arianne, you were bold enough to ask for what you wanted on the first night of the gala,” Phoebe says.

“That was different.”

“In what sense?”

“We’re back in LA now—”

“This smoking hot hookup started well before Germany.”

“True, but it was never at this scale. In Germany, things became intimate. I’d spend my days with him, and at night after dinner and socializing, it was just the two of us. We were insatiable. We’d go at it until the point of exhaustion… and then we’d pass out—”

“Why didn’t you ask him up?”

“He seemed a distant by the time he dropped me off last night. I wasn’t going to humiliate myself by begging for sex because of a few heated trysts that might not mean much to him,” I tell her. “True, he has a nice cock and everything—”

“You want more.” It’s not a question.

I’m afraid to hope for more. “I don’t want to get hurt again.”

Phoebe squeezes my hand. “From everything you’ve told me, he’s a far cry from your ex—”

“I’m not the best at reading or understanding men. Chance made me believe, but it turned out I was just a commodity with a brain that helped him achieve the success, clout, and financial wealth he yearned for. Once he was done with me, he discarded me, and replaced me in a New York minute. How do I know Beckett won’t do the same thing? Maybe when he dropped me off last night, he remembered he was the CEO and I was just a consultant.”

Old insecurities creep up.

“You make him sound like Jekyll and Hyde,” she says. “You’re reading too much into it, Ari. Maybe he was just exhausted.”

I drop my eyes to my glass and circle the rim with my finger, as if to soothe myself. “There’s not a woman in the world who wouldn’t want to jump Beckett Christensen—”

“Perhaps, but not all of them end up in his bed. You did… three nights in a row. From what I gather—thank you, Google—Beckett is a once and done kinda guy. It’s well documented.”

“I’m sure the repeat performance was because it was convenient.” I shrug. “My room was next door—”

“You’re so full of shit, Arianne.”

My eyes fly up to hers.

“Even if Chance and Beckett aren’t cut from the same cloth, you said it yourself, he’s a once and done kinda guy. After our uncomfortable goodbyes last night, I’m starting to second guess my decision to throw caution to the wind because right now…”—a lump forms in my throat—“I feel like his office booty call.”

As I make my way from the cab to my place, I try not to remember Phoebe is going to fall asleep in Oscar’s arms tonight. I’ll be cradling a pillow. It never bothered me before, but after three nights sleeping nestled against Beckett’s strong chest and wrapped in his arms, my bed will feel cold and lonely.

The downside of opening your fortress is you put your vulnerability under a spotlight.

Sigh.

When I get to my apartment, I peel out of my clothing, slip into a silk robe, and stroll to the balcony. This is my new nighttime routine.

What’s the point of living in LA if you’re not going to take full advantage of the warm weather?

You’d never know we’re in October.

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