Page 1 of Positively Pricked

Chapter 1

The senator was screaming like a girl. Funny, I felt like screaming too, but for entirely different reasons.

On both sides of the long, carpeted corridor, doors swung open as hotel guests leaned their heads out to gawk at the commotion. I couldn't exactly blame them. After all, it wasn'teveryday you spotted a bare-chested billionaire dragging a senator by his ankle.

The senator was still screaming. "Help! Somebody!"

With my notebook in-hand, I scrambled to keep up. Desperately, I called out, "What are you doing?"

The senator stopped screaming only long enough to holler back, "I'm being assaulted! What the fuck does it look like?"

Dumb-ass.I wasn't talking to him. I was talking to my employer.

Yes. That would be the billionaire.

If I weren't so horrified, I might've noticed that his dark tailored slacks clung oh-so perfectly to his tight butt and trim waist. And while I was at it, I might'vealsonoticed that his muscular back and shoulders looked annoyingly fine as he dragged Mister Grabby-Ass – a.k.a. the senator – down the long, ornate hall.

As they passed a random door on their left, a couple of teenage girls swiveled their heads to stare at the traveling spectacle.

They were still staring when I scrambled past their doorway. As I hurried forward, one of them called out after me, "Hey, was that–?"

"No comment!" I yelled, hoping to keep the publicity to a minimum.

Probably too late for that.

Already, the other girl was finishing the question. "Zane Bennington? Oh, my God. I think it was."

Damn it.

Unfortunately, the draggerwasZane Bennington, and he wasn't just my employer. He was the guy who'd been making my life miserable for weeks. He was a prick. An asshole. A stone-cold ruthless bastard with no redeeming qualities whatsoever – well, except for his face. And his body. And yeah, maybe his massive fortune.

But other than that, the guy had zero going for him.

Hustling away from the girls, I called out to Zane's receding back. "Where are you taking him?"

Zane – yes, wewereon a first name basis, but that was another story – didn't answer. He didn't even pause. He just kept plowing forward, ignoring meandthe guy twisting and screaming behind him.

By now, the friction had wreaked havoc on the senator's fancy suit jacket. Already, it was tangled up around his torso, like some sort of melted bobsled. He gave a particularly girlish scream. "Call security!"

Oh sure, like that would help.

Security here was top-notch, but Zane owned this hotel, so if security came running, it wouldn't be to rescue the senator, as much as he might need it.

I yelled, "Damn it, Zane! Will youpleasestop?"

Thanks to a whole series of implausible events, I was Zane's public relations manager, and it was proving to be more than a full-time job. The guy didn't care who he offended, or what anyone thought of him.

But even for Zane, this was a bit much. Until now, he'd confined most of his anti-social behavior to general assholery as opposed to outright assault.

How on Earth would I explainthis?

They were moving so fast that I could barely keep up. But then again, Iwaswearing high heels and a long fitted skirt. Unless I wanted to grab the bottom of that skirt, and hike it up thigh-high, sprinting was out of the question.

So instead, I rushed along behind them – too slow to catch up, but too fast to pretend that I wasn't part of this impromptu parade.

Maybe I should've felt bad for the senator.

But I didn't.