Mason’s eyes glitter with greed, but he wants more than one check from me. He waves his hand airily “It’s not the money. It’s you. She wants you.”
My hand drops to my lap and all rational thought flees from my head. You. She wants you. It’s a good thing I’m sitting down and my dick is out of sight because the entirety of my bloodstream is rushing to my pants.
I cough. Surely, I didn’t hear Mason correctly. “What?”
“She wants you,” he repeats. “She said that she’s always wanted to work for you and promises that she’ll be a good girl if you give her a job. I’m begging you, take her in.” He folds his hands in mock prayer on the wooden bar top.
She wants you. She’ll be a good girl.
Holy fuck. If Mason knew what he was asking, he’d pick up the crystal tumbler, chuck it at my head and hide away his daughter forever. Instead, the dumb fool wants to send her to me all but gift-wrapped. This is some kind of wicked test and guess what? I’m probably going to fail.
I try to be good though. I make the effort. “Willow’s too smart of a woman to spend time working as some admin in my office. Let me make a few phone calls.” I set my glass on the bar top.
“I’ve tried, Con. I’ve tried.” Mason rakes a hand through his over-gelled hair. “I’ve called in favors. I’ve wheedled her friends to my side. I’ve offered her Hermès bags and trips to Paris, but the only thing that she’d agree to do was work here. I know I’m asking a lot and I’m probably overstepping my boundaries by a mile, but this seems like the only solution. If I don’t get her a job, she’s going to spend all her time partying. Page Six already called me twice this morning asking if Willow was involved in the orgy that took place at the Standard last night.”
The glass shatters. A bartender hurries over, swiping away the broken pieces and apologizing profusely. I wave him off. With more calm than I feel, I pick up a cocktail napkin and wipe the blood from my hand.
“Was she?” I ask. Another, more perceptive man might’ve recognized the strained violence in my voice.
Mason is not that man.
“Nah. I mean, it wasn’t an orgy. It was a photography shoot for High Life Magazine and everyone wore body stockings. She was just helping out the photographer who’s a friend.”
“You should’ve sent her to an all-girls college,” I tell her incompetent father. I toss the crumpled, bloodied napkin on the bar top. Taking in Willow Kaplan is a mistake. I know this. Mason should know this. Willow certainly knows this. The woman thinks I hate her and for good reason. When I haven’t been able to avoid her, I’ve treated her like she’s more irritating than the drunks that stumble around on St. Patrick’s Day begging for kisses.
“I know, but Willow’s got a mind of her own. I can’t control her.” He spreads his hands in surrender. “She’s always been able to get whatever it is that she wants, no matter how many times I tell her no.”
That brat needs a firm hand applied to her backside, but that hand shouldn’t be mine. I stare at the fool. “Last chance, Mason. I can write out a check for all her Ivy League tuition.”
“She won’t go,” he insists.
We engage in a staring battle, with Mason putting on his most guileless look and me trying to keep three years of lust out of my eyes.
At my prolonged silence, Mason sighs heavily. “Maybe I can get her a position with Ennis Dvorskey. I’ve heard—”
“No.” Over my dead body. Dvorskey treats women like dirt. Willow Kaplan is a brilliant, mischievous twenty-one -old—far too precious to be sullied by my hands, but Dvorskey would snuff out all the light in her eyes. “I’ll take her.”
At my capitulation, Mason claps his hands together and then stands, shaking out his pants legs. “You won’t regret this.”
I already do. After he leaves, I motion for the bartender to come over.
“Another drink, sir?”
I point to the bottle of whiskey he’d been pouring from. I have to tell Tim that he’ll now have a different new assistant working for him. But first… “Give me the entire thing.”
CHAPTER 2
WILLOW
After years of being chased by gross older men that my father threw in my path, I thought it would be easy to convince Constantine Romero that he should claim me. Unfortunately, the stubborn man has proven to be intractable. While it’s frustrating, I realize it’s his confidence in every aspect of his life that makes him incredibly hot to me. Not a single boy my age can match Con. When Con walks into a room, every eye turns to him. Every person holds their breath, waiting for him to speak.