Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2)

. . . and then she trips. I catch her before she kisses the floor instead of me.

“Okay, I think it’s time to go,” I grunt out, then call to Bianca, “Can I drive Presley home?”

“Fine with me. I was planning to leave with my guy.” Bianca looks over toward a guy seated in the booth nursing a beer, then pats Presley on her flushed cheek. “Just make sure to text me when you get home, okay, babe?”

Presley flashes her an unsteady thumbs-up.

I give my ticket to the valet and wait with her at the front doors until it arrives, then escort her outside and into the passenger seat. She drapes herself over me as soon as I’ve slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door.

“Sorry, guess I had too much,” she mumbles into my ear.

“Don’t worry about it. You’re highly entertaining and educational.” For instance, I’ve learned tonight that copious amounts of alcohol make Presley extremely silly and touchy-feely. The surprises never end.

She pouts. “Are you laughing at me?”

“You’re tough enough to take it.” I peck her on the cheek.

She shakes her head, now smiling at me.

The drive to Presley’s apartment takes less than twenty minutes, and then I’m helping her up the front steps and inside.

I head to the kitchen and retrieve a bottle of water from the fridge for her. “Here. Drink this. You need to sober up.”

She smirks at me, accepting the water bottle. “Yes, Dad.”

help but chuckle.

“You sure are, and an extremely hot dad. You’re like a

my head, I

her water and meets my eyes. “Thank you

means the promotion, but as

coming to my rescue tonight,” she adds with

very welcome. Should we get you to bed? Where’s your

toward the couch. “We’re in

sofa is ancient looking and sags in the middle. A thin cotton blanket is draped over the back of it, and a pillow

frown. “You sleep

don’t look so scandalized, Mr. CEO. Keep in mind that until

“I guess that’s true.”

that our internships are unpaid has never bothered me before now. Mostly because I’ve never considered what that means, or the sacrifices people would have to make. One of those sacrifices—at least in Presley’s case—being a

her bed for her, draping the white sheet I find folded on the coffee table across the sofa, and lay

with her shirt unbuttoned down the front and her hair wild around her shoulders. I watch as she strips off her work clothes and then help her tug an oversize T-shirt

her hips and help her across

says, giving me an exaggerated wink once we

.” I’m somewhat taken aback since I didn’t plan on sleeping with her while she was in this . . . state, but still, I’m surprised she just blurted

to tell me she’s on her period, or maybe that she’s too drunk for sex, which I would agree with, but

things between us. Doesn’t

answer. Instead, I let her lean on me as she adjusts the blankets

knees, she looks smaller, and even more innocent somehow. “You won’t buy the cow

What in the world?