Arianne
For the second morning in a row, I’m up early enough to soak in the sunrise.
“Cali sure is pretty.” I bask in the warmth of the wee hours. I’m well rested thanks to Beckett
Christensen’s phenomenal fingers and his ability to make me come like never before. And to think,
two weeks ago, I was trapped with him in an elevator. He was a stranger then. Now, he’s anything
but. After dinner, I was hoping we’d come back upstairs for a r epeat of what transpired in his office
or an encore of the naughty things we did in my bathroom a few nights ago. Both were so illicit.
Dirty. Forbidden. And so sizzling hot. Beckett refused to indulge me, reminding me that
predictability wasn’t in his vocabulary. He assured me I wouldn’t see the next round coming.
I’m giddy beyond belief. Since the night was still young when I got home—and I was charged with
so much energy—I did what I do best. I worked. Beckett’s demanding ways cut short the design
meeting, so I decided to go over my notes. An hour into it, my mind was percolating with ideas.
“Maybe there’s more in Los Angeles than even I could wish for,” I say out loud.
What am I talking about? I shrug off the fairytale. There’s no point in entertaining that kind of
delusion. “He’s a notorious bad boy, Arianne. You two are having a little fun.” The voice of reason
rings loud in my ears.
Sigh.
One might argue I’m not the best judge of character because Chance blindsided me in such a
humiliating way, but I doubt Beckett would do anything that hurtful or demeaning.
But... he’s a handsome, powerful, sexy, confident, coveted, rich, and eligible man who has a
membership at an adult club—
My phone rings. I rush inside to grab it. “Phoebe.” “Hey, you’re up,” she says. “I am.” “Since it’s
only six, I expected you to still be in bed. I was going to leave a message.”
“When I first arrived, it took me a week to get over the jetlag, so I didn’t roll out of bed until I
absolutely had to, aka when my alarm rang. Now that I’m on Los Angeles time, I get up without the
alarm and welcome the new day.”
“Very Zen. Very California,” she says. “I guess you’re calling me this early because you want us to
grab breakfast before we head off to work. I’m so up for it.”
She lets out a loud sigh. “I landed from Hong Kong, but I won’t be in LA for long.”
“I don’t understand.” “I was counting the hours before I got home and slid next to my boyfriend’s
warm body, but instead, I’m at LAX waiting for a flight to Seattle.”
“What’s urgent in Seattle?” “When I turned my phone on, I was bombarded with messages from my
boss,” Phoebe says. “We have a situation at the Seattle plant and I need to get my ass over there.”
“Oh no, I was so looking forward to seeing you and spending the weekend with you.”
“I can’t tell you how disappointed I am, Ari,” she says. “I have to bail on us hanging out together
tonight at my place, our Saturday shopping spree, and our Sunday spa day.”
“Crap.” “The worst part is that Oscar and you still don’t know each other,” she says.
“It’s unfortunate, but it’s not like it’s your fault. When are you back?”
“Tuesday first thing, which means... drum roll, please.” I oblige by doing my best impression. “I’m
claiming you,” she says. “I’ve already talked to Oscar and since Tuesday nights are quiet at the bar,
we’re going to throw a little party in your honor.”
“Come on, Phoebe, you don’t have to go to all that trouble—” “Hush. You’re my best friend and
I’ll fuss if I want to,” she says. “Okay. Fuss all you want.” We laugh. “I was really excited about the
shopping and the spa weekend,” I say. “I guess I’ll play tourist instead, and we can postpone it until
you’re back.”
“Oh no you don’t. You’re still going shopping and you’re still going to the spa.” Her authoritative
tone is a surprise.
“It won’t be as fun without you.” “You don’t need me. Andrea did a stellar job.” “Andrea sent you
photos?” “No. After buying an inflated ticket for Seattle, I caught up with social media. It’s
amazing how much you miss when you’re wrapping up a conference, and then you’re on a stopover
flight back home.”
Uh-oh. “The world knows of your best friend’s transformation from
thre epiece-suit-armor-worshipper to a sexy goddess, but you’re oblivious.”
Here we go. “The world caught a glimpse of the flurry of salacious photos of said best friend
entangled in a hotter-than-hell dance with her new boss-slashclient—her blue-eyed hunk of a
boss-slash-client, may I add—but you’re in the dark. The world witnessed a torrid affair in the
making. You, on the other hand, just found out.”
She’s on a roll. “From my recollection, said best friend k ept swearing up and down on a stack of
bibles she was blind and unaffected by her hottie boss-slash-client. What gives, best friend?”
Did she even take a breath? “Oh, you’re done with the drama?” I say. “I thought you had more to
get off your chest.”
“Don’t even go there with me, Ari. When I suggested a little night of fun with a guy who is as
single as you are, you shot me down. Now, Miss
Holy Chic and Mr. Sex-God-Former-Rock-Star-Turned-CEO are an item?”
“We’re not an item.” I roll my eyes at the phone. “Beckett was being a gentleman. We were out for
dinner and he invited me to the engagement party. He forgot it was happening that night.”
“Dinner is a far cry from the photos floating all over the internet, Ari,” she says.
“The press has a knack for blowing things out of proportion.” “You’re telling me your pussy wasn’t
fluttering?” She doesn’t give me a chance to answer. “Because the photos of you dancing sex-to-sex
with Beckett Christensen suggest otherwise.”
I’m a little caught off guard. I didn’t expect her call and I surely didn’t expect to be besieged this
early in the morning. I thought I’d have a couple of glasses of wine in my system before I had the
courage to share my night of debauchery with Phoebe.
“Arianne?” she says when I don’t answer. “Yes.” “What aren’t you telling me?” “My pussy wasn’t
fluttering—” “Don’t you dare—” “My pussy was beating harder than shutters flapping wild in the
middle of a raging hurricane for sexy Beckett Christensen. When I’m around him, I don’t know
what to do with myself. It’s like I’m always turned on like a freaking light switch.” I pause to catch
my breath because my heart is beating like a drum. “Frankly, I have no idea how I’m going to
survive next week’s business trip to Germany without melting in a pool of lust every time he looks
at me.”
“Wh—what?”