Page 28 of Selfish Suit
One heads down the hall to Dominic’s suite with a wardrobe bag in hand. The other extends his hand to me.
“I’m Mr. Hershey,” he says. “I’ll be driving you and Mr. Sutton to work today.”
“I thought I was getting a separate car… And doesn’t he drive himself?”
“Only from work, never to,” he says. “It’s hard to focus on the road when he has to handle so many morning calls.”
“But what about the town car I was promised?” I can’t handle being this close to him so soon…
“The secondary driver is sick today.” He offers me a small smile. “You’ll survive. Trust me.”
Before I can ask him another question, Chef Peters hands me a box wrapped with a satin blue bow.
“Strawberry parfait with lightly toasted waffles and artfully spiced eggs,” he says.
“Thank you.”
Seconds later, Dominic walks down the hallway in a custom black suit and light blue tie, and the calmness in the room disappears.
The chef hands his box to the driver. A housekeeper appears from—somewhere—and rushes to dust off the coffee table.
Someone else hands him a cup of coffee, and as if he’s somehow confused as to why I’m still here, he stops right in front of me and tilts his head.
“Miss Locke, today is a ‘pitch polishing’ day.”
“I know,” I say. “That’s why I stayed up all night studying.”
“Then you shouldn’t be dressed like we’re going to a funeral.” He looks at his watch. “No black allowed on pitch-polish days. Change, and I’ll see you in the car.”
He leaves without another word, and as I’m returning to my room, another someone is already holding out a blue dress for me.
“You’re a size four, right?” she asks. “I guessed based on when I saw you in passing yesterday.”
“That’s… extremely creepy, but yes.”
She laughs. “I’m Mr. Sutton’s guest assistant. I’ll help you with everything you need until you check out.”
“Noted. Are you going to watch me change clothes?”
“Would you like me to?”
“No.”
“Then no.” She smiles and picks up a Chanel box. “Size Eight.”
She disappears, and I make a vow to “check out” by the end of the week.
The drive to headquarters is only six miles, but it takes just under an hour in traffic. And I already know I’ll be calling an Uber for the rest of my stay with him.
The way this man looks at me—the way my brain mentally undresses him and pulls off his tie, wishing he’d lean forward and bury his head between my thighs—is not healthy.
I’ve never been this attracted to any man in my life.
The moment we pull into the parking garage, I don’t wait for his driver to open my door.
I jump out and take the emergency stairwell instead of the elevator.
Later that afternoon
