Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2)

“I was let go,” I say carefully. “All the interns were let go.”

“Not you,” he says with a smile. “You’ve been selected.”

“Selected?”

“Didn’t Dom tell you?”

“No,” I practically shout. Rein it in, Presley. “Dominic doesn’t tell me anything.”

“That doesn’t really change over time.” Oliver sighs, smirking. “But you’ll have plenty of opportunities to get to know him better as our new director of operations.”

My heart skips a beat. He can’t be serious. “Director . . .”

“You’ve been promoted. Congratulations.” Oliver turns and points down the hall to a small office. The door is ajar. If I squint, I can read Director of Operations in bold print on the placard. “That’s your shiny new office.”

I’m speechless. I must really be wearing a funny expression, because Oliver can’t keep it together. He laughs like I’ve told him the best joke he’s heard all year.

“Go put your stuff down. And then go see Dom. He’ll tell you about his decision. And your salary,” he says, poking me playfully in the arm.

I practically run to the little office. It is gorgeous—small but somehow feeling expansive with its tall window overlooking the cityscape. I slide my box of all-things-Presley onto the glass surface of the desk (my desk!) and wander around the room. It’s so pristine . . . so cozy.

I can imagine early mornings, sipping coffee at this desk while scrolling through emails. Bright afternoons, leaning against this window, making calls to clients. Late nights curled up on the love seat, jotting down important things to do the next day in my planner. Joy threatens to overwhelm me, but I have something to deal with first.

I stride purposefully across the office, ignoring the heads turning to watch me march toward my boss’s office. When I open the door without knocking, he’s staring out his own window, his hand on the glass.

He turns, surprised. The light catches his eyelashes and casts dark shadows across his cheekbones. I’m almost dazzled by his beauty.

Almost.

I say. It

comical expression of confusion on his face. I would laugh, but I’m too

packing,” I say, quieter

let go. You’re not an intern

steps toward me. “But you saw me packing up

moving into your new office. Do

say in a small voice. “But

I thought Oliver caught you when you walked in. I shouldn’t have assumed,” he says in a voice so tender, I almost look over my shoulder to

okay. I just didn’t know what

“Your work as an intern excelled

step closer to me. Leaning way too close,

and his lips brush against mine. The kiss is so warm, so precious. I feel

this work?” I ask, looking into his dark eyes for reassurance. “Won’t the others find it unprofessional? I don’t think they’ll take me seriously

of advice ring through my head. I can’t fall for his charms. I can’t keep sleeping with him. I need to be firm. It’s

on my hip. I don’t realize I’m shaking until I put my hands on his chest, not pushing him away, but not letting him come any closer either. “Don’t you want

to look him in the

loudly. He kisses me once more on the lips before taking my hand and spinning me around like we’re dancing. Suddenly, I’m back at

to HR. They’re

my gratitude by the way he smiles and shoos me away. This

finally sinks in. I’m about to take over an entire department of Seattle’s Aspen Hotels, including

I ask, still

moving, but I can barely hear them over the

in the applause,

hardly process the rest of what they tell me—something about a medical plan, stock options, paid vacation time, and a retirement account. Taking