Fivee

Hillary

The willpower it takes me to shut off my alarm and roll out of bed today could lift this entire penthouse. Jake must know how much I love him—and how badly I want to marry him—to put up with all of this.

I’ve never had a problem waking up early. In fact, one of the best parts of my mornings back in college and in Utah was running at dawn and grabbing my favorite cup of coffee.

But not today. I barely slept four hours. I was up all night working after Ben yelled at me for ruining some documents, and my ankle hurts three times worse than it did on Monday. A deep purple bruise is spreading, but I don’t even care.

I drag myself into the bathroom, brush my teeth quickly. Today is Friday—Rhiannon’s last day of coaching me, covering for me, and my first full week completed without crashing out.

My self-respect is bruised, but my bank account is glowing.

Rhia has been avoiding me ever since I caught her humping her boss a few weeks before her wedding, but honestly, I don’t care. She’s been good to me. That’s reason enough to stay quiet.

I grab my iPad and limp into Bentley’s room. It’s big, cold, empty—not of luxury, but of life. I go to his closet, pick out the day’s outfit, shoes, socks. His manager suggested a tie I hate, so I swap it for a better one.

I’m about to leave when he walks out of the bathroom, half-naked again, towel hanging dangerously low. My eyes trace the sharp V that disappears beneath it.

“Good morning, Director,” I feign a smile.

Droplets slide from his hair down to his lean, toned body. He’s not bulky like gym rats. His build is minimal, sleek, yet still impressive.

Very impressive—sculpted abs and all.

He spends his free time either in the gym, devouring lemon ice cream, or absentmindedly solving Rubik’s cubes one-handed.

“Morning.” His voice is cold, detached, his fingers flexing, veins running down his strong hands.

I leave to get myself ready. Minutes later, I’m back, knotting his tie. He barely breathes, irritated to be this close to me, but needing it done anyway.

We reach the underground garage. I load his things into the car, ready to walk away to find a cab like I’ve done all week, when he stops me.

“Get in the car, Clarke.”

He’s letting me sit in the back with him?

“Oh, I’m fine with a cab. I don’t want to be an inconvenience—”

“Get. In. The. Car. Clarke.”

I don’t argue. I get in. I want to keep this job a few more weeks.

The drive starts in eerie silence. He’s inattentively solving a Rubik’s cube, this one in different shades of blue. He’s getting it without looking, completely lost in thought, eyes staring ahead, glasses balanced on his nose, his other hand propped under his jaw.

A disgustingly smart, hot nerd.

He exhales heavily. “Let me see your leg.”

“Uh?” Shock hits me. He knows my leg hurts?

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Clarke.”

I slip off my shoe, lift my foot slightly, but he grabs it roughly, inspecting it closer. “You might need a doctor. Or Adam.”

“Adam the doorman?” I ask, but he doesn’t respond.

The car stops. We’re not at work yet—we’re five minutes away.

“Get out,” he orders, stepping out.

It’s a coffee shop.

I thought he hated coffee.

We walk inside. He orders a cappuccino—my cappuccino—and pays. When it’s ready, he hands it to me.

“What is this?” I ask, trying to hide my smile, but I take the drink anyway.

“Appeasing my guilt for mentioning your dad when he’s dead.”

Urgh. So arrogant. He can’t even say sorry, just twists it into something else.

We get to work and split off.

“Hi, Hillary,” Rhia greets, walking up to me.

“Hi.” I smile. “How do you feel on your last day?” I ask while packing up. I’m going with Ben to his blind date, then home.

“Great, honestly. Look, about what you saw the other—”

I giggle. “You don’t need to explain yourself, Rhia.”

“What you saw was closure. Ben and I started hooking up two years after I began working for him. Honestly, I wanted him long before that. There was always teasing, tension. But Ben doesn’t date—he’s a playboy. We only got pleasure from each other. That’s it.”

“Why him? He’s rude, mean and disgusting.”

“C’mon. Ben has that effect—he pulls you closer to your own ruin. You hate him now, but you see it. Or you will soon.”

Eww. No.

I’m in love with his brother, Jake Brown.

Ben steps out of his office, and the conversation dies. He hugs Rhia tightly in farewell, and then we leave.

Ben doesn’t date?

No wonder his mom sets up blind dates. Probably girls he’ll sleep with and toss aside.

We arrive at today’s date. She’s exactly what I expected: model-like, tall, beautiful, rich. I sit at a distance, watching. Yesterday, I had to send another one a diamond jewelry set and flowers.

After this boring date, we leave. She rides with us. I scoot as close to the door as I can, but it doesn’t help. They’re kissing and groping each other, ignoring me.

Disgusting. Disrespectful. My blood boils.

One minute he buys me my favorite coffee, the next he’s swallowing some girl’s tongue right in front of me. I try to focus on something else, but the wet kissing sounds fill the car, lighting my skin on fire.

Turning me on.

Finally, we drop her off. The car is silent again, but my body is restless.

At home, I don’t wait. I carry his things upstairs and disappear into my room before he or his murder mitten can appear.

I shower, crawl into bed, finally ready for proper sleep. But I’m restless, skin burning from everything that happened today. Frustration claws at me.

I call Jake. Twice. No answer.

I sigh at the dark ceiling.

Finally, I slip my hand under the blanket, cupping my pussy, teasing my swollen clit.

Fuck.

I replay the sounds in my head—wet, sloppy kisses—and touch myself harder. My lips part, a moan escaping.

My madness ends abruptly when there’s a loud knock at my door.

Fuck.