“Me?” she asks, stuttering the single syllable word.
“Yes. Unless you see another personal assistant of mine lying around.”
“I just…are you sure?”
“There will be others there as well, of course. Diego, obviously. Jocelyn. A few others. Do you have a bathing suit?” I ask as I sip my coffee. It’s slightly cooler than I’d prefer, but seeing as how that’s my fault, I can’t really say anything. I mean I could, but I won’t.
“A bathing suit?” She parrots.
I nod, eyebrows arched. “Yes. Unless you’re planning on wearing a full coverage dress all day? It’s hot in Vegas, you know.”
“I don’t have one at the office, no. But I can–”
I reach in my pocket and produce my wallet. Then I pull out a company card and hold it out to her. “Take this. Go get a bathing suit and be ready to go by one.”
“Yes, sir,” she says, and I know Annelise well enough by now to know that she is holding back the world’s largest smile. Unfortunately for me, knowing that she is going bathing suit shopping, I am holding back the world’s largest boner. Awesome.
I have walked into the Opal room with Annelise on my arm in the poshest of gowns, sporting high-end lingerie underneath. It’s erotic, but not foreign. After all, she isn’t the first woman to accompany me on those outings.
But when I see her wearing a black, beaded bathing suit cover over a cheeky white bikini, it is quite possibly the sexiest fucking thing I’ve seen her in yet. I am still in a suit and tie, which is fucking brutal in the three-digit temperature. But as we walk into the Luxurelle along with the other CEOs and their coconut scented, bikini and stiletto clad women, I realize just how much Annelise fits into this world. She’s like the color that makes the whole painting pop. Without her, the vision is lost. And she belongs to me.
I bite back a smirk as she glances around the lobby, admiring the fountains and chandeliers. She smiles at everyone who greets us, and I lean in ever so slightly.
“Same rules apply as the Opal Room,” I remind her.
“I’m only being polite,” she says as she continues to smile. I can’t say anything more about that because Annalise isn’t just good with people, she’s aromatic. People are drawn to her. Pride and jealousy intertwine their fingers in my chest, and I’m not sure how to feel about it.
We walk through the back doors, which are held open for us, and I can audibly hear Annelise gasp. She’s got the same expression on her face as Belle walking into the castle library.
“This is amazing,” she says, squeezing my arm.
“I thought you’ve worked in the industry for a while,” I say quietly, my words brimming with amusement that doesn’t quite reach the corners of my lips.
“I have, but not like this. I never got this far,” she says. I feel something almost static-like in the pit of my stomach. Seeing her light up brings me satisfaction. I am also a little irritated. The Redwood might not have cascading pools, but it is superior to the Luxurelle in every other way. Still, I’m not going to let myself get caught up in that right now. Right now, I have to network. In a pool. Thank God there’s a swim-up bar.
Annelise sets her bag down along with the wide brimmed hat she insisted on wearing to protect her fair skin from the sun in the provided cabana and tugs at her bathing suit cover.
“Let me,” I tell her, standing behind her. I take the sheer material in my fingers and lift it slowly up over her head. Undressing her is so very provocative, even if it is perfectly acceptable in this scenario. I make a mental note to undress her–actually undress her–at the Opal Room…with people watching.
“Can I ask a favor?” Her words pull me from one fantasy to another. “Can you rub oil on my shoulders?”
“Oil,” I repeat the word.
“I’d like to get a tan,” she says, her voice sweet and rich enough to eat.
“Of course,” I say, and my words come out gritty, contrasting hers.
She hands me the bottle, and I pour a little of the warm, coconut scented liquid into my palm before rubbing my hands together and pressing my hands to her bare shoulders. It’s then, as I rub her skin, that I notice a small butterfly tattoo on her shoulder blade.
“Beautiful,” I say before I realize I’m saying it.
“I’m sorry?” She asks, looking back over her shoulder.
“Your tattoo,” I tell her. Then she turns around to face me. My hands run from her shoulders, around her neck, and up her perfectly soft and yet defined jawline. She tips her chin upward so her mouth is mere inches from mine.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Jocelyn’s words break into my thoughts, shattering the euphoric moment and shoving us back into the Nevada heat. I simply take one step back and turn slowly to face her as a response. Her smile fades.
