Page 244 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

MEL

Present day

M y sister Caterina eyes the offer letter I've placed on the table between us and then looks up at me. Her eyes are bottle green today—courtesy of colored contacts—and her hair is a deep reddish-brown. I almost didn’t recognize her when I walked in.

Caterina works in the makeup and costume department of one of Broadway’s bigger theater companies.

She changes her look every six weeks like clockwork.

“You’re really going to do it, then?” Her expression is doubtful. “You're really going to quit your job?”

“I am. It’s a really good offer.” It still feels unreal, and I keep wanting to pinch myself.

Even saying it out loud doesn't make it feel like it’s really going to happen.

I've worked at Fontaine and Yarrow—first at the Sedona resort and then at the corporate office—since I was eighteen.

At one point, I believed I would work there for the rest of my life.

“Have you told them yet?”

She doesn't need to elaborate on who she’s talking about. Cat knows all about that night. She’s heard more about West and Rob than she probably wants to.

I shake my head. “No.”

“Why not?”

There's a clear demarcation in my life. Before that night in Paris, I thought of Rob and West as my bosses and nothing more. Sure, they were gorgeous, but while I appreciated their good looks, I never lost sleep over them.

And then Pierre Gilbert screwed up, and West, Rob, and I had ended up in a bar off Boulevard Saint-Germain.

Nothing happened that night. We didn’t have sex; we didn’t even kiss. You know that special stillness in the air that precedes a kiss? We hadn’t even got to that point.

But I’d wanted to, and that made all the difference.

I don’t know if West and Rob knew I was tempted or if their thoughts ran in the same direction as mine. They’ve never talked about it. But in the year since Paris, I can finally admit it to myself. Had my father not called me that night, I might have thrown myself at West and Rob.

Yes, both of them.

I am aware of how ridiculous I sound. How irresponsible and flighty and shameless.

Then my father called because my mother had a heart attack.

I flew back home that night, and for the next couple of weeks, I couldn't think about West and Rob. All my attention, all my focus, had been on my family. My mom needed major heart surgery. Her recovery had been slow, and my dad needed help. Caterina took some time off too, but her job was less flexible than mine, and the brunt of my mother’s care had fallen on me.

West told me to take as much time off as I needed. He ordered me to. “Your mother is more important than work,” he said. “Your job is safe.”

I’d taken six weeks. Eventually, though, I went back to New York. I walked into the office on the second of January.

That’s when I realized I had developed an inconvenient attraction for my bosses. My rich, gorgeous, unattainable bosses.

Kill me.

I spent the last twelve months trying to get over this stupid crush. And I am not succeeding. Six months ago, West started seeing a woman named Donna. They only dated for two months, but for those eight weeks, I put on five pounds stress eating my way through pint after pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

And then there’s Rob. He’s been dating one beautiful stage actress after another.

Rob is allergic to commitment, and I probably don’t have to worry that he’ll fall in love.

Still, the last woman he went out with was Zahara York.

She is, apart from being an incredibly talented actress, also beautiful enough to be a super-model.

I tried. I really did. I asked Cat to set me up with her theater friends and went on a bunch of dates to forget about West and Rob. It had been a dismal failure. The guys she set me up with were nice, but there was nothing there. No chemistry, no connection.

I thought the passage of time would make my crush fade, but it hasn't. It seems to have done the opposite.

This brings me to the Tremaine job offer. The job offer I accepted. Harriet Tremaine owns a mass-market resort chain. The Tremaine Group runs a hundred and fifty all-inclusive resorts worldwide. In three weeks, I’ll be the Director of Hotel Operations in the Americas.

I’m going to be extremely busy, at least until I find my feet.

I’ll be on the road for most of the next six months.

That’s got to help, right? If I don't see Rob and West every single day, maybe I can start recovering from this sickness that has taken over my brain and turned me into a pining, melodramatic character from the telenovelas my father secretly watches.

“Earth to Mel. Come in, please.”

I corral my wandering thoughts and offer Cat an apologetic smile. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

“Why haven’t you told the hot bosses that you’re quitting yet? You think they’re going to be pissed off?”

I don’t know how they'll react. There's some turnover at F Rob’s in Provence, and West is in Montreal. They’re back tomorrow. I’ll tell them then.”

Cat gives me a wry smile. “Have you noticed that companies like to bury their bad news on a Friday evening? You’re going to be doing a version of the same thing.”

“Oh, you have no idea. It's even worse.”

My sister raises her eyebrow. “Worse how?”

“West and Rob are in the office tomorrow, but on Monday, they leave for Seoul. We’re buying a hotel there, and they’ll be away for the next two weeks.”

Cat whistles between her teeth. “So let me see if I’ve got this straight. You see them tomorrow, give your two weeks’ notice, and then you never see them again? After a year of wanting them, you’re just walking away like that?”

“I have to.” I don’t like it either, but it has to be this way.

I find it impossible to work with them. Every time they talk to another woman, something twists inside me.

This isn’t normal, and it isn’t healthy.

“When West went out with Donna, I checked her social media obsessively. When Rob was photographed with Zahara York, I went and read every critical review of hers. I don’t like this version of me, Cat. ”

“I wouldn’t worry about Zahara York. Robert Yarrow doesn’t usually stick around. He’s developing quite a reputation.”

“He has reasons for that. I’m not saying they’re good reasons, but still. Besides, Rob doesn’t lie to the people he’s dating.”

“You’re defending his manwhoring ways.” Cat looks at me with pity in her eyes. “God, you have it bad.”

I really do.

“So, why don't you tell them?” she continues.

“Tell them what?”

“Tell them you like them. Ask them out on a date. Ask them if they’d be interested in a threesome. It’s the twenty-first century, Mel. Women can actually ask out the guys they like.”

Oh hell no. My palms turn sweaty at the mere thought. “You're joking.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“They could reject me. They could laugh in my face. Rob could point out that the last woman he dated was Zahara freaking York. West would look at me with quiet befuddlement.” My voice is rising. “No, no, no way. I couldn't. I can't tell them. That's the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

The man sitting at the table next to us glances over.

He’s a big guy. He’s typing something on a laptop, has headphones on, and oops, I’m yelling loud enough that he’s heard me.

He’s also clearly not from New York because instead of giving me a disapproving look and then politely ignoring me, he removes his headphones to offer me advice.

“She’s right,” he says, nodding at Cat. “You should ask them out.”

“Sure,” I say blandly. “I’ll do that.” Making important life decisions based on what some random coffee shop guy thinks. I’ll get right on it. When pigs fly.

Cat is an expert at reading my face. She gets to her feet with a grin. We don our coats and head outside. “Home?”

My stomach growls, reminding me I skipped lunch. “Let’s grab dinner somewhere?” Cat and I live together, but she’s working on a show, and I’ve been on the road. Our refrigerator is bare. “Ethiopian? My treat.”

“Sure.”

I pull out my phone and find the nearest Ethiopian restaurant. It’s a twenty-minute walk away. “You’re selling yourself short,” Cat says to me as we head there. “And I’m not saying that because you’re buying. You’re a great catch. You’re smart, you’re kind, and you’re not high maintenance.”

“Zahara York.”

She makes a scoffing noise. “She’s just a person, Mel. If you cut her, she bleeds. If she eats too much fried food, her face breaks out.” She gives me a sideways look. “Also, she has the worst case of stage fright I’ve ever seen.”

“Does she also have a terrible temper?” I ask hopefully.

Cat laughs. “Sorry to disappoint you, but no. She’s a sweetheart.”

Thank you, Caterina. “You could've lied, you know.”

“This isn’t about Zahara. This is about you. What’s the block here? Is it the threesome? You don’t want to suggest it because you think it’ll horrify them?”

How is my baby sister so matter-of-fact about these things? Then again, do I really want to know? “That’s part of it, yes. But it’s not the only thing. It's just embarrassing, you know? I mean, I work for them.”

“Only for the next two weeks.”

That still hasn't sunk in.

“It's awkward, okay? They’re my bosses. I cannot make a pass at them.” I shake my head violently.

“It'll be too mortifying if I invite them out for a drink and they decline. Or worse, if I invite them out for a drink, and they think it’s a work thing, and they talk about strategy or succession planning or something.”

“You’re using a lot of words to explain that you’re a coward.”

She’s. . . not wrong. “Fine. I am.”

“Since when did my big sister become so shy?” she demands. “Do you remember what you said to me back in high school when I was waiting for Juan Manuel to ask me out to prom?”

I’d told her to put on her big girl panties and ask him out herself.

“I do, yes. Tell me again how that worked out for you?”

Nothing fazes Cat. “So what if Juan Manuel drank himself silly and threw up on my dress? That has nothing to do with me asking him out and everything to do with the fact that he’s an idiot. Besides, if you think about it, Juan Manuel actually did me a huge favor.”

“How so?”

“I lusted after him for months. One hurling incident and my crush disappeared.” She clicks her fingers together. “Poof. Just like that.”

I think about what she’s saying and immediately hit a wall of resistance. “It would be different if we didn’t know each other. If they were strangers, then there would be nothing to lose, you know? If they turned me down, it wouldn’t be a biggie. But with West and Rob. . .”

Cat’s tone turns speculative. “You're saying you can’t have a one-night stand with them because you know them.”

“Exactly.”

And then I get the craziest idea in the world.

My sister is a makeup artist, an expert at disguises. She has access to her theater company’s wardrobe.

And West and Rob are going to be at a masquerade ball this weekend. Every year, Xavier Leforte throws a party in the middle of January at Club M, his outrageously expensive luxury sex club.

Yes, that’s actually a thing. Rich people are not like the rest of us.

The event is a fundraiser for cervical cancer research. West’s mother died of cervical cancer when he was twenty-two. Because of that, West donates three hotel packages to the auction, and he also makes it a point to attend every year.

A disguise would allow me to blend in. Be anonymous and hidden behind my mask. They wouldn’t know who I was.

“I have an idea,” I say slowly. “But I’ll need your help.” I fill Cat in on the details, excitement building inside me.

Common sense makes a vain attempt at rearing its head. You have had a crush on them for a year. You’re going to quit your job so that you can forget them. How is having a one-night stand with them a good idea?

Cat listens to me, her eyes round. When I finish explaining the masquerade ball, she nods enthusiastically. “This is a great idea.”

“It is?” Her support has the opposite effect to that intended. It just makes me want to back away from the idea. I’m the older child, sensible and responsible. I don’t do crazy things.

“Sure it is. You’ve built these guys up to be impossibly wonderful. But frogs don’t turn into princes when you kiss them. They’re still wet and slimy. The moment you sleep with your hot bosses, the spell will break.”

“That’s very cynical of you, Caterina. Since when did you become so pessimistic?”

“Since I moved to New York. But this isn’t about me.

” She rubs her hands together with glee.

“I can cut and color your hair. Honey brown, I think, in a short bob. I’ll do your eyebrows too.

Changing the shape of your brow will make a huge difference.

Colored contacts, of course. Grey or brown are the most natural shades for dark eyes. As for your makeup?—”

Cat can talk about contouring for hours. “They cannot recognize me.”

“Mel, I’m good at what I do.” She gives me a confident grin. “Leave it to me. By the time I’m done, not even Mama will know you.”