The VIP suite is about as wonderful as you would expect, if you’ve never been inside such a thing. A small town girl like myself finding her way to such an extravagant place would likely bring my mother to tears. Tears of joy, that is, until I told her what exactly I’d gone through to get to this point.

The thought almost brings a smile to my face, but I’m not sure when Carson will return to prepare for his meeting, and I don’t want him to catch me smiling. I know that seems petty, and that’s because it is petty, but I have every right to be. What goes around comes around, you know?

Perhaps it was cold of me to turn down Carson’s lunch invitation, especially considering the supposed discussion he wanted to have. I have my suspicions about the direction that conversation would turn, and I’m not entirely prepared to launch into a screaming match with my boss in a foreign country. Granted, as sour as I’ve been, he’s yet to really lose his cool. I suppose I vaguely respect that.

Then again, he’s likely had to deal with this situation several times over. I’m probably reacting by the book, and for some reason, that thought only serves to make me angrier. I launch myself out of my position on his fancy king-size bed, stomping towards the mini fridge in the corner of the room. If you could even call the monstrous thing miniature, in any way, shape or form.

Yanking open the refrigerator door, I take a moment to reflect on how entirely unprofessional it would be for me to show up to the scheduled meeting three sheets to the wind. A smirk works its way onto my face as I grab the bottle of fancy champagne that had been promised to Mr. Sharpe.

Struggling with the top for a moment, I take my teeth to the foil and grab hold of the cork. With a bit of skillful prying, bubbles begin to spew from the top of the bottle. A victorious laugh spills past my lips, and I take a long swallow from the bottle.

It might have been how restless my sleep had been on the flight here, but the champagne serves to make me feel rather warm and fuzzy all too soon. I hiccup, continuing to drink from the bottle even as I hear the door to the suite open.

Uh-oh. Busted.

Laughing at the thought, I turn to face the entryway to the bedroom as Carson steps inside. His eyes widen as he takes me in, and it’s all I can do to keep from laughing in his face. His jaw clenches, and a part of me hopes that he’ll throw me on the bed and show me what a bad girl I’ve been. I’m a horny drunk, so sue me.

Unfortunately, he simply steps forward and yanks the bottle out of my hand. He groans upon seeing how much is missing from the bottle and turns a stern look upon me. I feel myself smiling much like the cat that got the canary, and his cheeks redden faintly. In spite of how angry we’re making each other with every misstep, it seems like we’re drawn together like moths to a flame. I bite my lip, fixing him with a sultry stare as I step towards the bed.

Obviously, he has more restraint than I do. He tosses the bottle in the garbage, grabbing his suitcase off the bed and turning his back on me. He rolls the large bag into another section of the suite, beginning to unbutton his shirt. I trail after him, angry that he’s turned down my advances. After all he’s done to me?! Then again, I suppose it’s a noble thing, not taking advantage of an inebriated woman. I settle against the back of the couch, watching him with pursed lips as he changes clothes.

My eyes take in every minute detail of his skin as it’s exposed to the open air, and I curl my nails into the carefully upholstered leather of the sofa. I’m torn between anger and simply wanting to launch myself at him and rip him out of that fancy suit. He doesn’t want anything more than a plaything, and right now, I almost feel like I can allow that.

All at once, the nausea washes over me. I lurch towards the bathroom, clutching the porcelain and retching into the bowl. Christ, I should have eaten. I hear his footsteps as he approaches me, and he silently pulls my hair back. He wraps a hair elastic around the bulk of it, and I notice him placing a carefully folded dress on the tiled floor.

“We’re running out of time. The meeting is in thirty minutes. Get it together, Rhodes,” he says icily.

Fury rises up within me as Carson stands beside me, considering his reflection in the mirror above the sink. He runs a comb through his hair with infuriating poise, and I struggle to get to my feet. He glances at me with a disappointed expression, and I bare my teeth at him. Grabbing the spare toothbrush, he hands it to me before reaching out with a foot to flush the toilet.

“You actually expect me to come with you?” I demand, brushing the sickness out of my mouth in spite of myself. He rolls his eyes, leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s your job, Aimee. If you’re going to treat me as if I’m nothing more than your asshole boss, I expect you to at least play your part,” he says coolly.

I narrow my eyes, staring at my ragged reflection in the mirror. He’d at least pulled my hair back in a way that looks nice, if a bit simple. My eyes are watering from throwing up—and as much as I hate to admit it, the sheer emotion flooding my body.

“You are an asshole,” I mumble, splashing water onto my face.

“No arguments there. Now, get dressed. We’re running late,” he replies with a sad smile, turning to give me a bit of personal space to get dressed.

As much as I want to be difficult, I know I’m pressing my luck as far as having a job when we return to Seattle. I can only hope he’ll be kind enough to assign me to my original position as a marketing intern, but I don’t exactly consider him a kind man right now.

At least, not entirely. It strikes me abruptly how nice he’s being, considering the mess I’ve made of myself. He could fire me on the spot, kick me out of his fancy VIP suite, and make me find my own way home.

Swallowing the vitriol that’s flowing in my veins, I quickly change into the formal dress he’s laid out for me. I stumble somewhat clumsily into the bedroom where my suitcase lies, then grab my makeup bag, trying to make myself as presentable as possible on such short notice. Then again, it wasn’t short notice at all. The whole idea behind this trip, really, was to make a deal and schmooze with the Russians.

Decidedly too unsteady for heels, I step into a pair of flats and turn to seek out the man who has haunted my thoughts for the past few weeks. Carson watches me with a faint smile, clapping his hands together. It should feel condescending, but an unbidden surge of pride washes through me. I won’t let him see the effect he’s having on me, however. He doesn’t deserve that much.

“So, what am I supposed to do?” I inquire, still slurring faintly. He chuckles, stepping forward to take me by the arm. He guides me to the door, speaking in hushed tones as we make our way down the hall.

“Just sit there and look pretty. You’re not in any shape to score brownie points right now,” he says gently, in spite of how offensive the words should be.

I know he’s right; I’m certainly not in any condition to be speaking to foreign businessmen, but to hear it just makes me feel all the more sour again. It’s not as if it’s my fault that he’s dragged me to this sexcapade-disguised-as-a-business-trip. It’s not my fault he tricked me into thinking he actually cared about me.

Before I realize what’s going on, we’re in the rental car, on the way to meet with the Russian CEOs. I glance nervously at Carson, and though he looks as confident as ever on the surface, I know him well enough to see a glimmer of doubt in his eyes.

“I’ll behave,” I say quietly, staring at the floor and feeling suitably chastised. He glances towards me, offering a genuine smile. There’s still sadness behind it, but he seems to appreciate my efforts, nonetheless. I can only wonder what he has to be sad about, unless he thinks I plan to go out of my way to ruin his little meeting. Like he said, I intend to simply sit and look pretty while the men discuss the finer details.

Letting out a sigh, I allow my forehead to rest against the window once more. The scenery passes in a blur, though what I can see of it is nothing short of beautiful. It’s a shame, really. Aside from the business aspects, it would have been a wonderfully romantic trip to share. I should at least enjoy the sights and sounds of the city while we’re here, regardless of my current feelings for Carson.

“You look very nice,” he says awkwardly, and I manage a bitter chuckle.

“Thanks. More of an exercise in ego, though, considering you pretty much dressed me,” I reply dryly.

That gets a bark of laughter from him, and I try to keep my lips from curling into a smile of my own. I’m angry with him, dammit. I don’t want to hear his warm laugh, see the tenderness dancing in his eyes that was enough to fool a girl into thinking he was in love.

It’s like being hit by a freight train. Not the fact that I’d thought he was in love—more so the fact that I want him to be in love with me. I’m troubled by the implications of my own feelings, especially considering just how wounded I’ve felt since finding out I’m nothing more than a fling.

The car coming to a stop jolts me from my thoughts, and Carson circles around to take me by the arm. He guides me to a table where several other sharply dressed men are already waiting. I flash a smile that certainly doesn’t resonate within me, but that’s no one’s fault but my own. For all Carson had done to me, I’m sure he hadn’t meant for me to fall in love with him. He wasn’t that cruel.

Passing in a flash, the meeting is over in a matter of moments, and I only vaguely understand what the men are saying. Carson shines like a star, however, obviously in his element. I’m zoning out when the men share a laugh, and Carson reaches out to shake each hand in turn. Realizing he’s sealed the deal, I sit more upright, trying to look altogether delighted by the news. The men speak in Russian for a moment, and Carson’s perfectly executed accent sends chills down my spine. Then, the other men rise from the table and leave.

Admittedly, I’m all too eager to get back to the hotel room and drown my sorrows in some more champagne. The lurch my stomach gives during the car ride back makes me rethink that, however. Once back in our room, Carson places a large white box on the couch I’m lying on.

“There’s going to be a party to celebrate the success of our meeting, and I’d really appreciate it if you would come,” he says quietly.

He smiles that timid smile that looks so out of place on his strong features, walking away before I have the chance to answer.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I sit up to open the box. Inside is the most beautiful cocktail dress I’ve ever seen in my life. The price tag hangs off the side, and I’m certain I haven’t ever seen so many zeroes in my life.

Ah, hell. I’ll go to the little shindig. Then, it’s homeward bound, and I can pretend that I never fell in love with my billionaire boss.