Suite 269 Part 3

I stood up, strangely possessed, not wanting anyone else to see her either. A paradox of emotions filtered in. I wanted her legs around me, to feel her soft skin under my lips, yet I needed her covered. My movements were jerky, but I tugged off my shirt and wrapped it around her shoulders. She smelled fresh like wildflowers and not any of that expensive perfume that Sophia wore. When my fingers slipped against her skin her eyes widened and shyly met mine. It took everything in me to not lean in and capture her lips with mine.

"Sorry about the outfit, Mr. Holt," she breathed.

"Please, call me James. And honestly, that was one of the best parts."

"Night, James," she whispered.

"Night, Lexa."

I watched her walk away, fighting the urge to run up behind her and slam her into the wall with my d.i.c.k. What was wrong with me?

She worked for me.

I'm a professional.

A businessman. Not a h.o.r.n.y teenager.

I guessed that deep down I just felt bad for the girl. She got a peek at someone sleeping with the guy she thought she was going to marry. How screwed up was that? I don't know what I'd do if I loved someone and caught them messing around.

I made my way back to my room, kind of sick to my stomach from all that junk food, tossed myself on the king sized bed, and pa.s.sed out instantly.

When the alarm went off, I slammed it shut and banged out a text to my father that I'd be around later, and promptly pa.s.sed right back out.

Awake by noon, I showered, s.h.i.t, shaved, and made my way into Convention Room 2 for a rousing conference about facing today's operational and strategic challenges in the magazine publishing business. The heads of Rollingstone and Cosmopolitan were up on the panel alongside InTrend, having a heated interactive discussion with the audience.

I scanned the audience slowly, surveying the crowded room. In a sea of impeccably dressed men and women, only two stood out. One, of course, was Sophia with her bleached blonde hair and bright red business suit, shirt unb.u.t.toned down to show the swell of her t.i.ts. And two, was Lexa, who sat perfectly poised, listening to every word that was said at the podium. I couldn't help but watch her. She wore a plain, jet-black business suit that hid every inch of that insane body from last night, like it was tailored specifically to make her look like a man. All that gorgeous, s.e.xy hair I'd witnessed the night before was pulled back tightly into a librarian-like bun. No make up. No jewelry adorned her body. Yet, she wore a pair of deep wine colored heels that were the s.e.xiest things I'd ever seen. A smile slowly spread across my face. I felt it all the way in the tip of my c.o.c.k as I imagined her long legs wrapped around me still wearing those shoes.

Insane thoughts.

I needed them out of my head.

No matter how angry she felt now, that girl, the one with the beautiful blue eyes, was going to get married in a few days. I couldn't try to twist myself in her sheets for a few days; it wasn't a good idea.

My eyes flitted back to Sophia and I eased myself back and leaned against the wall. She was sitting next to Trager, who was jotting down notes as the panel of guests spoke. Her hand slid up his thigh, ma.s.saging, kneading. What the h.e.l.l was really going on there? Sophia wouldn't spread her knees to an average little mailroom guy. Sophia was all about money, and sleeping her way up the ladder to wherever she dreamed it could take her. That guy had something she wanted.

"Jameson," my father greeted as he leaned on the wall next to me. "Excellent turn out, don't you agree?"

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the audience.

"I had a meeting with the heads of all the other magazines this morning. Everyone is complaining about sales. And everyone has the idea that this Kavon character can boost their ratings with a column."

"So what's your plan?" I asked.

His lips pursed and one gray eyebrow arched up to his hairline. "Don't know, son. But it's bad. You've seen it. I've let over a hundred people go in this last year alone. Now the press is asking us about bankruptcy rumors. This publication should be put to rest. I just don't want to let it go yet."

"You think some sort of bi-monthly column by Kavon would help?"

"James, his blog rivals The Huffington Post. He has over ten million followers on Twitter alone."

"How do you suggest we go about finding him? Email, Facebook, and Twitter haven't seemed to work," I asked.

"Sophia says she's been in contact with him."

"The only person Sophia has been in contact with is Trager the Mailroom Guy," I laughed.

"Maybe he's Kavon."

"Yeah, okay, Pop," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Maybe the fiance would know something."

"I could ask her." h.e.l.l, I could do a lot of things to her.

He pulled himself off the wall and moved in front of me. "Ask her. She's a good kid, smart, sweet. If she knows anything it would help. And by all means, don't trust that Sophia, son. She's a walking disease." He cleared his throat and continued, "Don't let Miss Novak fly back commercially, especially not with Trager. I'll have her on the jet with you. It'll give you time alone. Find out what Trager knows."

Just as he turned to walk away, I noticed Lexa's bright blue eyes staring in my direction, a shy smile falling over her lips. I wanted to turn my head and not look at her, but I couldn't. Images of her long legs, the dark waves of hair spilling over her shoulders, and the soft curves of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s clouded my mind. I was mesmerized.

I was also screwed.

A two-hour flight alone with her sounded dangerous.

Because I wanted to sink myself inside her more than I wanted to find the elusive blogger that could save the old man's magazine.

6.

Lexa

"Told my girlfriend I wanted to try a.n.a.l. She told me she's been having s.e.x with an a.s.shole for years." @Kavon #IDon'tGet.i.t "He did what?" Mandy's voiced screamed through my cell phone. "Lex, are you sure? You saw actual penetration?" There were sounds of paper crinkling and shuffling in the background. "Honey, you were really wasted, maybe you just imagined it."

"Mandy," I hissed into the phone, covering the mouthpiece with my hand to whisper into it. "She was humping up and down on him like he was a Pogo stick. There was no mistake. Annnnd it was up her bottom." I shifted my eyes to the small window as heavy rain splashed against it. The grey light of the sky seeped in, matching my mood.

Silence.

More silence.

A stutter.

"I...I just don't know what to say. I can't believe it. And why did you wait until now to call me? You've been in Chicago for three days. Her bottom? I...I just...I just don't know what to say," she offered.

Some more silence ensued, because I seriously didn't know what to say either.

A loud gasp, then, "We're supposed to go to your last fitting tomorrow night! You're supposed to be getting married in," she counted the numbers under her breath, "sixteen days! I am going to castrate that little b.a.s.t.a.r.d. What is he saying? What are you going to do?"

I sighed heavily into the phone. "He was in my room trying to talk things through with me all day. He says he's sorry and it was just cold feet. I don't know what to do. My head is spinning. I just want to go home. Spending the day with a man who ripped your heart out makes you a nervous, paranoid wreck. Mr. Holt put me on his private jet instead of letting me take my flight back with Kevin."

"Really?"

"Yeah, well poor little betrayed bride and all. It's humiliating. Everybody knows what happened, and I don't even know how they all found out."

"Oh, my G.o.d. I would die. You don't need to work in that place, you know."

"I know," I huffed.

"When are you leaving?" she asked.

"I'm waiting for whoever else is taking the flight with me and leaving right after. I'm actually on the plane now," I said.

"You're on a private jet, right now?"

"Yep," I answered.

A loud thump caused me to glance up and a wet, blond mess of hair stepped into the aisle, attached to a blinding smile. James. Oh G.o.d.

Water streamed down his face. The rain had plastered his hair to his cheeks and forehead, and oh, Lord, his wet shirt stuck to the contours of his body. "Listen, I have to go. Mr. Holt just boarded the plane."

"Aw. Remington Holt is such a nice man," she cooed.

"It's not Remington, it's James," I whispered as he watched me, raindrops falling from his lashes.

"Jameson Holt is on a private airplane with you?" she gasped.

Peeling his bag off his shoulder, he tossed it on a seat and rummaged through it. Yanking out a dry shirt, he reached behind his head and pulled off the one he was wearing. He had a long, tightly muscled torso attached to a pair of insane shoulders and arms that made me clench my eyes shut. I was instantly having s.e.x with him in my mind.

"It's getting very hot in here," I mumbled into the phone and lowered myself further into my seat.

"Listen to me very carefully, Lexa. Think revenge and getting even. You better be thinking about joining the mile high club with that fine looking man, because if you don't..."

"Goodbye, Mandy, I'll call when I get home," I said robotically. Mile high club my a.s.s. Snapping off my phone, I stood up immediately and slammed my head into the overhead compartment, like the dork I was born to be. "Son-of-!"

Then he was towering over me, his fingertips lightly grazing my elbow. "Are you all right?"

Only one thought ran through my head.

He's got no shirt on.

He's got no shirt on.

This was worse than the stripper.

His touch was hot. Like I wanted to sit on his fingers and let him play me like a harp hot. The thought made my cheeks burn. Great, I must have looked like a freaking clown. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a klutz." My eyes darted around the small plane nervously then landed back on his gaze. Okay, first they took a detour up his body, lingered on his pecks, hesitated at his lips, and then stopped at his eyes. "I'm sorry; I didn't think you would be flying back to New York with me." I tried to relax my shoulders and let out a deep breath, business as usual. "So, who else will be boarding?"

"Just us," he said no louder than a whisper. "Please. Sit." He pulled the dry shirt over his head and I tried desperately to remember how to breathe correctly. I was failing epically.

Clumsily, I staggered back into the seat as he eyed me suspiciously. Great.

"Are you a nervous flyer?" he asked with a small hint of a smile.

"You could definitely say that," I said, pausing in the middle for one of my crazy nervous giggles, complete with a horrifying snort at the end. "I'm sorry; I've been quite a mess for the past few days." But I wasn't truly sorry-I was angry-so freaking angry that everyone knew about what happened and looked at me with deep, pity-filled expressions. I just needed a day by myself, without having Kevin messing with my head or being surrounded by people from work, to make a decision on what I needed to do. The first impulsive decision was to walk away and not look back, no forgiving and forgetting, but I owed the last two years of my life a little more time to think it through.

He regarded me in complete silence for a moment. I fidgeted nervously next to him, my face heating to an unfavorable temperature. Suddenly, I couldn't even look him in the eye.

"Then how about we drink this entire flight away?" he asked.

"I've been trying to drink the entire week away, hasn't worked yet."

"Maybe it's because you haven't gotten drunk with me," his voice rasped.

"G.o.d, you make that sound like a dangerous thing," I laughed, relaxing a bit.

He walked across the plane to a small minibar and opened a cabinet. "Hey, don't look at me like that, I promise I won't bite... Unless you want me to."

"Worst line ever," I blurted. d.a.m.n it, why can't I ever keep my mouth shut.

Holding up four different bottles of alcohol, he waved them in the air. I pointed to the Jack Daniels. "That's the worst line ever?" he asked as he twisted the caps off the bottles and tossed them into a hidden receptacle in the countertop.

He handed me the whiskey. I'm going to need about a dozen more of these little things.

"One of them, definitely. It would be better if you went with something along the lines of: Your father must be a terrorist because you're da bomb." I sipped (okay, chugged) the cute little whiskey bottle, savoring the burn as it slid down. I could see a stack of them in front of me in the near future. I'm psychic like that.

The corners of his mouth pulled up in an enormous smile. "I always go with: Hey, baby, are those s.p.a.ce pants you got on? Because your a.s.s is out of this world."

"Ha, that's funny. You could always use: You're so hot, even my zipper is falling for you."

"You are good," he laughed. "Promise me you'll be my wing woman the next time I want to go out. Usually, I use my old standard when I see a woman I want from across the bar," he said, curling his finger and giving me that come hither gesture. "And when she comes over I whisper in her ear..." and he leaned his head next to mine, breath hot in my ear. "I just wanted to see if I could make you come with my finger."

All joking aside, that one would've gotten me home with him. Good thing we weren't in a bar, because my v.a.g.i.n.a was quite interested in finding out what magical abilities his fingers were capable of. "That one's not so bad, actually."

He tilted his head and smiled. He twisted off another two caps to another two whiskeys. "So, what's the story with Kevin? How did you guys meet? What was his spectacular line?"

"Really? Did you have to bring his stupid cheating name up? I had a good few minutes not thinking about him," I laughed then gave a long sigh. "We uh, met at a party, through mutual friends... there was no special line. He kind of just planted himself in my life. What about you and Sophia? Was she your girlfriend?"

"No. We just..."

I looked away embarra.s.sed. He didn't act like the situation bothered him too much, but a guy's ego is a fragile thing, you never know how much truth they're telling you. "Gotcha."

"Excuse me," a gentleman dressed like a pilot greeted us as he moved into the front of the cabin. "Mr. Holt, as soon as we get clearance for the runway we'll be taking off."