Page 23 of Wicked Fortune

For Jenny, I tell myself. Calm down and don’t screw this up.

Thus chastised, I push open the door, then grab my purse, the signed contract sticking out of the top of it.

After another deep breath, I climb out of the Pilot. I pause for a moment, my hand still resting on the door frame as I gaze at the building that rises in front of me. With twelve floors, the structure gleams in the morning sun, broadcasting success. Power. And for one heart-clenching moment, I wonder if I’m truly up to the task.

Hell, yes, I am.

At first, the words are nothing more than a mental pat on the back. But as soon as I approach the double glass doors, something occurs to me. Matthew Holt may qualify as a Master of the Universe, but like every superhero, he has a weakness. And considering the man conditioned my employment on wearing sexy undies, I’m thinking I know what that weakness is. I may not be rich, I may not be powerful, but I have something he wants.

And, sure, maybe he can get it from another woman, but I’m the one with whom he struck his naughty little deal. I’m the one with the job and the contract.

I’m the one with the lacy bra and tiny panties.

And that means I’m the one with the power.

With renewed confidence, I tug open the door and step over the threshold with my head held high. I have so got this.

I get my pass to the twelfth floor from the receptionist—a woman who probably believes the cliche that she’ll be discovered by the boss and then thrust into stardom. “Good luck with that,” I say before I head to the elevator, leaving her confused behind me.

There’s a mirror between the two elevator banks, and as I wait for my car, I do a quick once-over. I look damn good, if I do say so myself. I’ve got the conservative suit and the sexy-yet-somehow-work-appropriate heels. Everything says polished, professional, reliable. But underneath ….

I look down, my lips pressed together as I hide a smile. I should be pissed that he’s playing the perv. That he’s diving into all those obnoxious stereotypes and pulling a major Weinstein.

But I’m not.

I feel powerful this morning in a way I hadn’t anticipated. I’m going into the lair with a mission—to find out what happened to Jenny. And if Matthew Holt is attracted to me … well, I’ve watched enough psychological thrillers to know that puts me in the power position. Not him.

Bottom line? This job is exactly what I need. A way to not only make decent money, but to get in close and poke around. To play detective and try to learn what really happened to Jenny. Who hurt her. And—if she truly did kill herself—then why.

I know the answers may not be here, but I can’t think about that now. I have no other ideas, no other leads.

The elevator arrives, the doors sliding open. I step on, shoulders straight and loins girded. If I want to do right by my friend, this is where I have to start.

I press the button for the twelfth floor, and as the doors slide shut, a chill creeps up my spine.

Anticipation, I tell myself. Not nerves. Because today, nerves aren’t allowed. Today I’m cool and collected.

Today, I am seriously bad ass. Sexy. Confident. In control.

Matthew Holt doesn’t stand a chance against the likes of me, and if he has any secrets, he might as well just spill them now, because I’m going to find out everything.

When the doors open on the twelfth floor, I roll my shoulders back and walk with confidence down the sleek hallway in front of me. His office is at the end, taking up one entire side of the building. Sketches from the design of various Hardline movies hang on the walls as if highlighting a promenade of success leading straight to his office.

I pause outside the door, reminding myself I’m confident and collected. I have the skills for this job. And he’s already vetted me.

At the same time, there’s no denying the fact that—considering the offer was made at Masque and accompanied by the prerequisite of lingerie—I may not have been hired entirely for my job qualifications.

I sigh, my nerves twitching as my confidence starts to take a dive.

Stop it.

You. Have. Got. This.

I’m not sure that talking with the little voices in my head is actually evidence of confidence, but I press on anyway. Mostly, I’m nervous because I don’t know what he wants. Am I really here to be an assistant? Or am I here so he can take an up close and personal tour around the lingerie?

I stop walking for a moment to wipe my damp palms on my skirt as I remind myself that the job details don’t matter. I’m here with a mission, and I don’t intend to fail. And if that means getting up close and personal with Matthew Freaking Holt, then I need to just roll with the punches and enjoy myself. After all, the guy’s hot as sin. And after Friday night, there’s no denying that he pushes all my buttons.

Then again, naughty time with a hot guy is one thing. Naughty time with a hot, egotistical guy who probably has a god complex and who may have killed your friend is something else altogether.