Alan smiles and opens the driver’s side door. “Mr. Miles doesn’t do Toyota, Emily.”
I get in, and Molly sits in the passenger seat.
“Where are you going?” Alan asks.
“Vegas.” Molly laughs. “We’re going to Vegas. How much is this car worth, Alan?”
“It came in at around two million dollars, I think.”
“Holy fuck,” Molly shrieks. “Get in, Alan; we really are going to fucking Vegas.”
I put my head down on the steering wheel and burst out laughing. “This is unbelievable.”
“You’ll be fine.” Alan laughs as he leans in and starts the car. It purrs like a kitten. “Blinker, brake, reverse.” He points to all the dials and knobs. “Take it slow. It flies.” He closes the door, and I put the blinker on.
I slowly take off into the traffic to the sound of Molly screaming and laughing in excitement, and as soon as I get out of sight of Alan, I burst out laughing too. “What the fuck is going on?” I cry.
Two hours later, I pull into the underground parking lot of Jameson’s building. I know why he takes the damn limo-finding a parking spot in this city is insane. In the end, I made Molly sit in the car in the parking lot and wait for me while I grabbed what I needed, and then I drove her home. I was petrified someone was going to steal it. Alan is waiting, and he guides me into the garage, where I park.
“Thank you.” I smile as I get the groceries out of the trunk. “This is a poser car,” I stammer.
He smirks as he takes the bags from me, and we begin walking to the elevator.
“Did you lock the car, Emily?” he reminds me.
“Oh yeah.” I turn and hold the remote up, and it blips as it locks. I giggle. “Oops.”
We get into the elevator, and he stays silent and looking straight ahead.
“How long have you worked for Jameson?” I ask.
“Ten years.”
“Oh.” I frown. “That’s a long time.”
He smiles. “Yes, he’s very good to me.”
We get to the top, and Alan opens the door and walks in and puts the groceries on the counter. “Do you need anything?” he asks. “Mr. Miles is still in his meeting. He will be at least another half an hour.”
My eyes hold his, and I want to ask him a million questions about the enigmatic Mr. Miles. “Do you speak to him often throughout the day?” I ask.
“No.” He smiles at the suggestion. “I am in constant contact with his PA.”
“Oh.”
“His masseuse is expected here at seven.” He glances at his watch. “Would you like me to wait for her?”
“Her?” I frown.
“Oh.” He corrects himself. “It’s a him now, isn’t it?”
Something tells me that Alan knows a lot more about Mr. Miles than he makes out.
“No, I’m fine. I’ll let him in.” I fake a smile. “Thank you.” I show him to the door.
“Call me if you need anything.” He smiles.
“Okay, thanks.”
I walk back to the kitchen and begin to put the groceries away, and the doorbell chimes. “Hello,” I say as I push the intercom.
“Hello, I’m here for the massage.”
“Come up.”
I open the door and wait for him to arrive. “Hello.” He smiles. “Same room as last time?”
“Yes, please.”
He takes off down the hallway to set up.
The door clicks open, and Jameson comes into view. Every time I see him in a suit, I am reminded of exactly who he is. Power personified.
“Hello.” He smiles as he takes me into his arms.
“Hi.” His lips dust mine, and I melt into his touch. “Your car is ridiculous.” I smile.
He chuckles as he takes my jaw in his hand; then he kisses me deeper, and my hands go around his broad neck.
The intercom sounds again.
“For God’s sake, this place is like an airport,” I whisper, annoyed that my kiss is being interrupted.
“Oh, that’s the stylists with your dresses,” he says.
“Your masseuse is set up in the end room.”
He kisses me again. “Let them in, and choose what you want.”
“Jay,” I whisper as my eyes search his. This change in him is confusing me.
“Get a few.” He grabs my behind. “I’m going to take a quick shower.” He disappears up the hall, and I open the front door.
My face falls when I see the two gorgeous women pushing a huge garment rack of gorgeous dresses. “Hello.” One is tall with long dark hair, and the other is blonde and beautiful. Both have that trendy, confident vibe.
“Hello, Mr. Miles ordered some dresses,” the blonde says. “I’m Celeste, and this is Saba.”
“Yes, please come in,” I whisper, embarrassed. “I’m Emily.” We shake hands.
God, don’t tell me they are going to watch me try this shit on? How mortifying. “Just in here.” I show them to the living area, and they start to unpack shoes and accessories as I watch awkwardly. This seems all very over the top.
“Back in a moment.” I smile.
I turn and take off up to the bedroom, and I burst into the bathroom to find Jay washing under the shower. “What the hell is going on?” I whisper in a panic.
“What?” He frowns, totally oblivious.
“Two Penthouse Pets are out there with a load of dresses that are way too exotic for me, and I’m driving around in a fucking space machine, and you’re saying I’m moving in, and I’m freaking the fucking hell out, Jameson,” I blurt out in a rush.
He smirks as he turns the taps off. “Just go out there, and pick what you like, Emily. Don’t overthink this.”
“Don’t overthink this,” I whisper. “It’s overthunk already.”
“Overthunk isn’t a word,” he says casually as he dries himself.
“Oh my God,” I stammer in a fluster at his lack of care, and I storm back out to the stylists. “Sorry,” I say as I stand next to the rack of clothes. I twist my fingers nervously in front of me.
“Tell me about your style.” The blonde smiles. “What makes you pop?”
I stare at her. Oh jeez. What the fuck is this bullshit? “Umm.” I look at the dresses on the rack.
“What makes you come alive and feel sexy?” the brunette gushes. “When are you living your best life?”
Oh, Jesus . . . not this. “I’ll just”-I gesture to the rack of clothes-“see what I like.”
I begin to flick through the dresses. Wow . . . they’re all beautiful.
“Anything you like, sweetheart?” I hear Jameson’s deep voice purr from behind me.
I turn to see him with a white towel around his waist. His hair is wet, and his tanned muscles are bulging. He looks fucking edible.
The two bimbos’ eyes bulge from their sockets. “Hello, Mr. Miles,” they both stammer as their eyes drop down his body.
“Hello.” He smiles sexily.
I look at him deadpan. Is he for real? “I’m not sure. I like everything,” I snap as I turn back to the rack.
In a fucking towel . . . what next?
Ugh.
He comes behind me and puts one hand on my hip as he goes through the rack. “We’ll take this one, this one . . . this one.” He scans the rest of the rack. “And all of these from here on.”
“Yes, sir,” they both gush.
His eyes go over the shoes and lingerie they have laid out on the coffee table.
“We’ll take all of the lingerie and whatever shoes Emily chooses.” His eyes come to me, and he smiles and leans in and kisses me. “Done.”
The two women hold their breath as they watch.
His hand drops to my behind, and he gives me a firm squeeze. “Nice to meet you, girls,” he says before he saunters up the hall for his massage.
I turn back to the girls as they watch him disappear in awe.
Good grief.
I think I just met the real Jameson Miles . . . in all his glory.