let some reckless British trust funder ruin my career. I snatch up the key card and head up to Alastair’s hotel room to settle my mood.
It turns out to be the penthouse. I guess it’s not surprising that Alastair has the best spot in the hotel. And it’s nice that he’s given me sole access, but I’m still not happy with him. No amount of fancy four-poster beds and fur rugs can make me feel better about the task he’s given me. Not even the panoramic view of Chicago can dredge a smile out of me tonight.
I lie back on the soft duvet, exhausted all of a sudden. I close my eyes, trying to block out my annoyance.
This job matters to me more than anything. I don’t want it to be tainted by Kit’s attitude. I wish things could just stay the same, but I guess like everyone else, I have to adapt to change.
I decide I need to stalk the guy a little, which is something I never do. But all I know about Kit so far is that I have no idea what to make of him. He’s a wild card, and I don’t like wild cards. I sort of hate him now, and hate that I’m attracted to him even more. It’s not a good start, to say the least.
I check him out on social media, scrolling through his profiles on my phone. He’s well connected, to say the least. He’s on every platform imaginable, and he’s not the kind to keep his profiles strictly friends and family. He’s racked up tens of thousands of followers. I grit my teeth, trying to look for positives.
It’s almost impossible. The more I look at his posts, the angrier I get. In every photo, Kit’s got at least two scantily clad girls on his arms, looking up at him dotingly, like they just won the lottery because he decided to give them a few moments of his time.
He follows only a handful of people back, including a bunch of models. I roll my eyes, setting my phone aside. Stalking him has only given me more reason to dislike him. And I can’t shake the memory of his amber eyes on mine. The challenge there. And something else I can’t figure out.
I swing my legs off the bed and pad over to the mini-fridge. Inside, there are bottles of rosé, plus some miniature shot-sized vodkas. My hand hovers over them. Tonight has broken every rule in my book—starting when I let myself be pitted against my new boss by his own father. I take one of the vodka bottles and drink it straight before I can change my mind. Then I head back downstairs before I can give myself any more reason to back out.
The party is even more crowded than before. I spot Ellie on the dance floor with Tim, and consider heading over. It would be such a relief to confess my worry over taking Kit on, but I don’t want to spoil her night with my whining so I turn my attention away.
As the vodka seeps through my system, I’m finding it increasingly hard to see. I scan the room looking for Kit. There’s no sign of him but I see his father. Then I spot an exit sign toward the back of the room. The door is slightly ajar. I head straight for it, needing a breath of fresh air.
It leads out to a parking lot behind the hotel. I’m not even slightly surprised when I spot Kit. There’s a woman I don’t recognize sitting on the hood of a car in the lot. They’re talking, heads close together. I watch him lean down, and I wonder if they’re about to kiss. He doesn’t kiss her, though. I realize he was reaching for his phone behind her on the hood. He tucks it into his back pocket while she tips her head back, reaching out to stroke her fingers up his arm. She giggles as if he whispered something intimate in her ear.
Coming out here was a mistake. I’m about to head back inside when the girl spots me. She points and Kit turns around. The moment our eyes lock, my stomach does a backflip.
The girl slides off the car and pulls herself up beside him, taking his arm to try to attract his attention.
Kit doesn’t seem to notice. He says something to her and she scampers past me back inside. He probably promised to look her up later, and the thought makes me a little madder.
My heart starts pounding as he heads over to me. Our eyes hold and lock. I stand my ground, waiting until he’s mere inches away from me. I need to crane my neck back a little to meet him eye to eye.
I’m five-four, but Kit is over six feet tall.
“Having a good evening, Miss Croft?”
“It certainly looks like you’re getting to the good parts quickly.”
Kit laughs, fishing in his blazer for a cigarette. “Do you smoke?”
“Absolutely not.”
To my surprise, Kit puts the cigarette back in his pocket. “Cool. I keep them around to offer people. It seems polite, you know?”
I squirm. I wasn’t expecting such pleasantries from him. What is it with these British guys and their unshakeable politeness? I search for that challenging gleam in his eyes from earlier, but see only curiosity instead. “What, so giving people lung cancer is polite now?” I ask.
Kit’s smile falters a little. He frowns, as if confused about me. “Did you need something?”
“I came outside for some fresh air.” But I’m finding it harder to breathe out here with Kit than inside in the crowd. Kit slides his hands into his pockets casually and leans against the wall of the building. His amber eyes hold mine in a gentle but firm lock and I pray he hasn’t noticed how nervous I am.
I sense we’re both thinking of the conversation I just overheard. I wonder if that’s the sole reason I’m nervous.
“Do you really think you can keep me in line, Miss Croft?” he asks, startling me. I’m surprised he’s not crooning those words in an evil tone, but simply asking a question as if confused that I would even try.
“It’s not my fault your father wants to keep an eye on you.”
“I’ve never held an actual job before. That concerns him,” he says easily, as though it’s a normal thing to admit. “But the way my dad described you, I just thought you’d be...”
I cross my arms. “Yes?”
“Well, different.”
“Different how?”
“I thought you’d be boring.” He smirks at me with a devilish twinkle in his eyes. “But you’re not. In fact, I think the words to describe you would be interesting, amusing. Stunning.”
My cheeks burn. Not in embarrassment, and not because I’m swooning for this jerk. More because I’m angry that he thinks he can talk to me like that.
“We barely know each other,” I say sharply.
Kit feigns surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I offend you with my compliment?”
“I’d say it’s a backhanded compliment, actually.”
He shakes his head. “Well, I never intended to hurt your feelings.”
I tut at him. “You’ve got a lot to learn. You shouldn’t speak to your colleagues like that.”
“Like what?”
I
