Page 14 of Selfish Suit (Steamy Latte Reads Collection #1)

THE INTERN

IVY

A t the edge of sunrise, Dominic’s condo stirs to life like a symphony.

The drapes slowly rise to reveal a still-sleeping New York, soft piano music filters through the ceiling speakers, and bright lights twinkle against the baseboards.

The early performance ruins my chances of getting any hint of sleep before work.

Every time I’ve tried to shut my eyes, all I could see was Dominic walking into my suite and climbing on top of me. Him taking full control of my body and never letting go, no matter how loud I screamed.

And I didn’t hate any of the visions; I didn’t stop them, either.

I make sure I have all my folders for work, and as I’m walking to the kitchen, a man dressed in all gray walks through the front door.

“Good morning, Miss Locke,” he says, slightly bowing. “I’m Chef Peters. Would you like anything in particular for breakfast today?”

“No, whatever you make is fine.”

He smiles and slips into the kitchen, and the door swings open again—this time with two men.

One heads down the hall to Dominic’s suite with a wardrobe bag in hand. The other extends his hand to me.

“I’m Mr. Hershey,” he says. “I’ll be driving you and Mr. Sutton to work today.”

“I thought I was getting a separate car… And doesn’t he drive himself?”

“Only from work, never to,” he says. “It’s hard to focus on the road when he has to handle so many morning calls.”

“But what about the town car I was promised?” I can’t handle being this close to him so soon…

“The secondary driver is sick today.” He offers me a small smile. “You’ll survive. Trust me.”

Before I can ask him another question, Chef Peters hands me a box wrapped with a satin blue bow.

“Strawberry parfait with lightly toasted waffles and artfully spiced eggs,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Seconds later, Dominic walks down the hallway in a custom black suit and light blue tie, and the calmness in the room disappears.

The chef hands his box to the driver. A housekeeper appears from—somewhere—and rushes to dust off the coffee table.

Someone else hands him a cup of coffee, and as if he’s somehow confused as to why I’m still here, he stops right in front of me and tilts his head.

“Miss Locke, today is a ‘pitch polishing’ day.”

“I know,” I say. “That’s why I stayed up all night studying.”

“Then you shouldn’t be dressed like we’re going to a funeral.” He looks at his watch. “No black allowed on pitch-polish days. Change, and I’ll see you in the car.”

He leaves without another word, and as I’m returning to my room, another someone is already holding out a blue dress for me.

“You’re a size four, right?” she asks. “I guessed based on when I saw you in passing yesterday.”

“That’s… extremely creepy, but yes.”

She laughs. “I’m Mr. Sutton’s guest assistant. I’ll help you with everything you need until you check out.”

“Noted. Are you going to watch me change clothes?”

“Would you like me to?”

“No.”

“Then no.” She smiles and picks up a Chanel box. “Size Eight.”

She disappears, and I make a vow to “check out” by the end of the week.

The drive to headquarters is only six miles, but it takes just under an hour in traffic. And I already know I’ll be calling an Uber for the rest of my stay with him.

The way this man looks at me—the way my brain mentally undresses him and pulls off his tie, wishing he’d lean forward and bury his head between my thighs—is not healthy.

I’ve never been this attracted to any man in my life.

The moment we pull into the parking garage, I don’t wait for his driver to open my door.

I jump out and take the emergency stairwell instead of the elevator.

Later that afternoon

“Isn’t it inspiring that Mr. Sutton is self-made?” Tracey beams as we set up the conference room for pitch rehearsal. “Like, can you imagine having his background and then building a company that’s worth over a billion dollars?”

“I thought he was a trust fund baby…”

“He was definitely not.” She scoffs. “Haven’t you looked at his bio at all?”

“No.” I reposition the projector screen. “But whenever I’m not doing a million things with two hands or anticipating his next meal order, I’ll be sure to use my limited free time for that.”

“Well, I know his biography like the back of my hand. I’ve even met with the author who’s working on?—”

She looks at me like she’s waiting for me to say, Okay, tell me , but I just hold out my hand for the extension cord.

“You could probably learn a lot from him,” she continues. She makes it perfectly clear why she’s his right hand and number one fan. “What other CEO in Manhattan would give you an hour a day to go apartment hunting with his top assistant? That’s true character right there.”

“Could we please talk about something else? Anything else?”

“Um… want to discuss what amenities you want in your new apartment?”

“Sure,” I say, grateful for anything but more Dominic chatter. “I would really like a soaker tub, if possible. I know those are hard to?—”

“Mr. Sutton did a campaign for Kohler Soaker Tubs, and they designed all the ones in his condo here for free,” she interrupts. “They also vowed to do any new ones in any property he buys. Would you like to hear how that came about?”

Kill me now.