Page 21 of Selfish Suit (Steamy Latte Reads Collection #1)

THE INTERN

IVY

Six Hours Later

I rush into the lobby of Dominic’s condo, my heart thudding in my chest. Inside my purse, I have heirloom jewelry that I’ve collected from pawn stores, things I could finally afford to pay back. Things I hate that I ever told Nolan about.

I’ve been dealing with his threats all afternoon—letting him lead me on a twisted scavenger hunt of secrets I thought he would keep. And at this point, I’d rather just sift through whatever carnage he causes instead of trying to prevent him from striking me anymore.

Taking several deep breaths, I vow to never let him back into my life again. As I’m repeating those lines again, someone calls my name from behind.

“Ivyyyy!” It’s a raspy, deep voice that’s all too familiar.

What the…

“How the hell are you affording to stay in a place like this, Ivy?” my dad bellows from across the lobby. “The price tag is something I wouldn’t be able to afford in twenty lifetimes.”

My mother and my older sisters walk in behind him, their expressions fit for a funeral.

“What’s going on?” I ask. “Why are you in town?”

“I’m asking the questions here.” His voice is terse. “Newark is only four hours away, and you know I can make it here far faster than that if my daughter is in deep shit.”

“Deep shit?”

“Since when do you live in Manhattan?” He eyes the chandelier above us. “Are you selling drugs?”

“No, Dad.”

“Are you into human trafficking?”

“What?”

“Your sister’s place—the one she bought after closing that Ferguson deal for me—isn’t even this nice. So whatever you’re doing, it must be something illegal.” He looks livid. “I’m glad Nolan called us with his concerns. This is an emergency indeed.”

“George.” My mom places a hand on his arm. “Let Ivy explain herself.”

“I am letting her explain. She’s standing there like a damn mute.”

“I got a promotion,” I say. “This is?—”

“So, you’re sleeping your way to the top?” He shakes his head. “Oh God. We raised you better than that.”

“I got a promotion based on my talent, Dad,” I say. “In marketing.”

He and my mom exchange a look. It’s the same look they’ve shared since I was seven years old, when they realized I wasn’t going to follow the path of my older three siblings into the family business.

There would also be no sports. No music. Nothing extracurricular.

Just creative writing.

I brace myself for my dad’s “You still owe us money for taking so long to finish your degree” speech, followed by my mother’s “Why can’t you try to be more like your brothers and sisters? What’s wrong with chasing something successful?” pity monologue.

If it weren’t for the fact that I know them verbatim—and that I’ve steeled my heart against their veiled venom disguised as wisdom—I’d probably break into tears.

But there’s a part of me that wants to confess everything right now—dropped out of college, still surviving, trying to create something for myself that actually means something—and in the midst of their yelling, right as the profanity-laced confession is about to roll off my tongue, the door from the parking garage opens.

Dominic, dressed in a white T-shirt and gray sweats like he’s just come from the gym, takes out his earbuds and looks between them and me.

“Well, hello there, sir.” My father walks over to him. “Since you live in this building, maybe you can help us get to the bottom of this.”

“What exactly is this?” Dominic asks.

“Do you know my daughter here by chance?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, good. Well, maybe. Her boyfriend Nolan mentioned a shady roommate situation. Is that you or someone else?”

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore, Dad.” I hiss. “He’s an asshole and he called you with bullshit to get back at me.”

My dad waves off my words, extending a hand to Dominic. “George Locke of New Jersey. We—minus Ivy here—run one of the top family-owned agricultural centers on the East Coast. You?”

“I’m Dominic Sutton,” Dominic says. “I’m the CEO of Sutton Enterprises. My company designed most of the labels for the vendors you supply.”

“No way!” My father smiles. “What a small world. Does Ivy know what you do? Are you hiring?”

He doesn’t give Dominic a chance to answer.

“We’re here because we’re worried and we know she’s lying about things, but maybe you know more than we do.”

“I don’t think so,” Dominic says, looking at me. “I actually came here to go over meeting notes with her. She’s one of the marketing executives at my company, and she’s on the verge of helping us secure what I hope will be a two-hundred-million-dollar marketing contract.”

My father’s jaw drops. My mother and sisters gasp in unison.

“My apologies for interrupting your family time, Miss Locke. Would you like to do this some other time, or maybe I can take your parents on a quick city tour while you get ready?”

I mouth ‘thank you’ before nodding. “I’m not sure they’d want a tour.”

“Of course we’d want a tour of Manhattan, especially a free one from someone who lives here!” my mother says, then she looks at me. “I had no idea you were doing so well, honey. I would’ve never…”

“Next time I see Nolan, my fists have some unfinished business,” my dad says, walking over to me. He hugs me, but the words he said before still hold weight; they still hurt.

“I’ll be back in a few hours if that’s all right with you, Miss Locke?” Dominic is being way too chill and understanding about this, but I don’t turn down the chance to catch a break from my family.

“Sounds good,” I say. “I’ll be ready for work when you return.”

My family follows him out the door, and I let out a huge breath.

I’ve definitely lost the right to call him selfish for a while now…

I refresh my inbox repeatedly in the evening, hoping for updates from anyone, but there’s nothing.

It’s not until Mitchell comes up to the suite to give me a warm weighted blanket that I finally burst at the seams.

“Do you know when Dominic will be back?” I ask. “Do you know where he went?”

“I believe he’s leaving a Broadway show with your parents,” he says. “They did a relatively quick tour and he treated them to a Michelin-star dinner.” He tilts his head. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen Mr. Sutton try to make an impression on his girlfriend’s parents…”

“Oh, no. I’m not his girlfriend.”

“Okay, Miss Locke.” He smiles.

“I’m serious.” I shake my head. “I’m sure his timeline on meeting his girlfriend’s parents is still whatever it is.”

He stares at me, saying nothing.

“What is his normal timeline for meeting girlfriends’ parents?”

“Never.” He places a glass of water on the coffee table. “He never makes time to get close to anyone.”

“Oh…”

“Except you, of course.” He tips his hat. “Goodnight, Miss Locke.”

“Goodnight.” I remain on the couch, waiting and trying not to let my heart get ahead of itself.

This was just a sweet gesture. It doesn’t mean anything.

It doesn’t mean anything...

Later that night, the sound of shoes hitting the marble makes me roll over on the couch.

The lights slowly brighten, and I sit up as Dominic shuts the door.

He’s in all black now—a button-down shirt and slacks—looking tired but controlled.

“I am so sorry,” I say. “I know you said no company in your condo again, and I swear I didn’t invite them, and I was about to tell you exactly what happened because Nolan decided to?—”

“Stop.” He cuts me off. “You don’t need to explain it.”

He walks over to the bar and pours two drinks.

I watch as he hands me one and then sits down beside me.

“You probably should’ve had one of those a lot sooner.” He smiles. “Would you like mine?”

“Yes.”

He hands it to me, but commands, “Sip slow this time.”

I oblige.

“After spending five hours with your family,” he says, “I understand why you lied to them. I would probably do the same, so… keep it up.”

I snort. “They mean well, they just...”

“Don’t understand,” we say in unison.

I nod and take another sip.

“Did you ever have to lie to your family when you were starting your company?” I ask.

“I never had a family,” he says. “Surely you’ve read my bio by now.”

“I’m just waiting for you to slip up and admit it’s fiction.”

“It’s not…” His lips curve. “Are you still with your boyfriend?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“What answer would make you finally stop looking at me like you want me?”

“Yes or no?” He moves closer.

“No.”

He doesn’t wait another second.

He cups the back of my neck and drags me into his mouth, swallowing my gasp like it’s what he’s been craving all day. His lips are rough, hungry, and I kiss him back with everything I’ve been holding in.

He shifts, guiding me into his lap—his control absolute, but his touch careful.

My blouse comes undone under his hands, button by button, and his mouth follows every inch of skin he reveals.

His tongue traces the curve of my breast before sucking one nipple between his lips.

I whimper, arching into him, his name a breathless plea.

He stands with me in his arms, carries me to the mirror-walled hallway without breaking the kiss. When my back presses against the cool glass, he lifts my leg and slides his fingers beneath my panties.

“You’re soaked for me already,” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine. “Did the thought of me fucking you tonight keep you squirming on this couch?”

I nod, breath caught in my throat.

He strokes me slowly, teasing, until my hips are jerking into his hand. His free hand pins my wrists to the mirror.

“Look at yourself,” he growls. “Watch what I do to you.”

I do. I watch his fingers disappear between my thighs. Watch my mouth fall open as pleasure takes over.

When he kneels in front of me and pulls my panties down, the image of his dark head between my legs in the reflection is almost too much. He devours me like a man starved—licking, sucking, groaning into me until my knees give out and the only thing holding me up is his mouth and his grip.

“Dominic…” I gasp. “Please…”

“Please what?” His voice is velvet and fire.

“I need you inside me.”

Without a word, he flips me around, bending me over the nearby table. I hear his zipper, hear him unwrapping a condom, feel the hard heat of him press against me.

“Say it again.”

“I need you inside me.”

He slams into me in one deep, punishing thrust, and I cry out. He fucks me hard, one hand in my hair, the other gripping my waist like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. The mirror shows every roll of his hips, every filthy, wet connection of our bodies.

“You feel that?” he growls in my ear. “That’s what it’s like when someone actually owns you. When it’s real.”

I come hard, crying out his name, legs shaking. He doesn’t stop.

He lifts me, still inside me, and carries me into the bedroom. Lays me down, climbs over me. This time, it’s slower. Deeper.

His hands cup my face, and his eyes never leave mine.

“You’re not leaving,” he whispers. “Not tonight.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He thrusts again, holding me through another orgasm. And when it’s over—when we’re both wrecked and breathless—he wraps me in his arms, still inside me.

“Sleep,” he murmurs.

And this time, I do.