Burning Offer (Trevor's Harem #1) (13 page)

It looks into a room.
 

With the clothing shoved aside, I sit on the cheap metal folding chair I keep tucked behind a shoe rack, now unfolded and set before the window. I cross my legs, lean back, and watch her.
 

Bridget is looking into the mirror on her side, brushing her long, light brown hair. I know much more about her than I can admit — it’s part of my job, particular to this competition — so I know she’s never had it colored. That means the highlights I see in her room lights are natural.
 

As is everything about her.

Her face, which I admired even back when things were very different, is natural. Primping for dinner, she applies little makeup, putting liner on her eyes, picking at her lashes with a mascara brush, and applying pale pink lipstick. It takes only a moment, and then she’s done. The smoothness of her skin is natural, like the barely visible spray of freckles on her cheeks.

I’ve only seen her body that once, in the alley, and it’s all natural, too. My mind keeps straying back, wanting to see more. Knowing it’s wrong, I’ve watched her through this one-way mirror on and off since I came back from retrieving Jessica, the final contestant, but she has yet to take anything off. Probably fears she’s being watched, which of course she is. They all are. But none like Bridget.
 

But most of all, her story is natural.

Her attitude is natural.
 

Her sense of humor, such as I’ve seen it from a distance, seems natural.
 

And above all, her honesty is refreshingly natural.
 

There’s no pretense.
 

No subterfuge and guile, as I’m already seeing in the others. As I’ve noted in my meticulous notes, some of which I’ve shared with Trevor already. Of course, he has his favorites — but then, that’s what anyone who knows Trevor would expect.

There’s a knock at my door. Not the closet door, but the door between the office and the hallway. It’s locked. Because the last thing I want is for someone to find me in here, in this closet. Watching her.
 

But even after the knock, I don’t move from where I’m sitting. I watch Bridget brush her long hair, curious how she’ll wear it. I’m curious about everything she does. Because as much as I thought I knew, she’s turned out different than I expected.
 

Tough.
 

Self-assured.
 

Cocky.
 

Brash.
 

Those things I was sure of.
 

But also soft, on the inside, where she never lets anyone see. There’s something beneath her skin that I didn’t know was there. And I of all people —
we
of all people — should have known. But Bridget came in through a loophole. She didn’t undergo screening like the rest of them. None of the girls really know what they’re in for, but with Bridget, that goes both ways. She doesn’t know us. But in all the ways Trevor keeps reminding me, we don’t know her, either.
 

She leans toward the mirror. Checking her mascara, maybe. I can’t help but lean forward.
 

How many times have I pictured this face in my mind?
 

And why is my reaction to it, now, so much different than I’d anticipated?
 

She’s practically touching the mirror.
 

I rise from the chair. And stand until we’re eye to eye.

The one-way glass isn’t a half-inch thick. If she knew I was here and there was nothing between us, it would merely take a flex of my neck to kiss her.
 

And as much as I’ve thought about her, kissing Bridget is one thing I’ve never really imagined.
 

Not rough.
 

But softly.
 

Because I can tell from the little I’ve seen — from the hurried tests and checks we set up when I put my foot down — that if she’d let herself, Bridget could kiss like a woman. She is one, beneath that armor she wears like a warrior. I saw it for the first time when she put on the dress. And I’ve seen nothing else since.
 

The knock repeats, now more insistent.
 

“Daniel!”
 

I sigh. Fold and stow the chair. Cover the glass, so nobody knows it’s there. I had it quietly installed two months ago, when the company greenlit a round of upgrades. And with so many cooks, the right hand can easily lose sight of what the left hand is up to.
 

I leave the closet and close it. I make my way to the door without hurry and open it to find Trevor’s impatient face. He’s wearing a tux — far more prepared for the evening’s festivities than I feel, especially with visions of Bridget still dancing in my head. Especially with the feel of her soft hair on my cheeks, and her scent still lingering on my fingers.
 

“Are you beating off in here?”
 

“I’m sorry. I was in the middle of something.”
 

Trevor pushes past me then turns to face me from my own desk.
 

“I assume they’re all here?”
 

“All twelve. Plus Logan, Tony, and Richard, of course.”

“Logan told me you ran out to fetch Jessica Welch yourself.”
 

“There was time.”
 

“But not for the full array of tests. I’m not sure you’re taking this seriously, Daniel.”

“They’re redundant. You know Alexa had reams of data on her. She’s an avid consumer.”
 

“As a reader?”
 

“She likes toys, too.”
 

Trevor cocks his head and rolls his eyes in a
whatever, who gives a shit
sort of way. If there’s an archetype for boy billionaire, he fits it to a T, down to the entitled way he does everything, as if it’s the world’s job to rain money upon him.

“Fine.”
 

“I could have let Chuck get her as planned, but I keep telling you, the girls don’t like him. He’d be an errand boy. Then all that prep work would be meaningless because no matter how great the offer, nobody wants to go for a car ride with someone they see as Chester the Molester.”
 

“Whereas you … ” Trevor lets the statement hang.
 

“Whereas I’m better steeped. I know how to push buttons.”
 

“You know how to manipulate, you mean.”
 

“Why does it matter if I flew out to get Jessica?”
 

Trevor looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t want to piss me off. Not when we need each other like we do. But he’s about to because I know where he’s going.

“Darcy said there was a strange vibe when you flew up with Erin and … ”
 

“And
Bridget
. Don’t be an asshole, Trevor. Just say what you fucking want to.” He does this. Pretends he’s forgotten something just to draw attention to its absence. But if Trevor things he can out-mind-game me, he doesn’t know who I am. When someone makes a feint, you don’t dodge. You strike if possible or fall on the sword to get it the fuck over with. The hit, if you choose to face it, is never as bad as an opponent intends it to be.
 

“Fine. And
Bridget.”
 

“Well, far be it from me to question the flight attendant’s judgment. If she said something was off, then it must be so.”
 

“Dan … ”
 

“It’s not because she was prepped. It’s not because you spoke to Darcy — and Rog, too, because pilots see shit — that we’re hearing this right now. People get what they look for. It’s astonishing that you don’t know that by now.”
 

Trevor’s jaw firms, and for a second I’m sure he’ll challenge me. In a way, he’s my boss. But in another, I’m his. We can cross dicks all we want, but nobody’s going to win.
 

“Say it, Trevor.”
 

“All right. I don’t think you’re impartial. I think you took a flight you didn’t need to take, rather than settling in for the first night’s opening pleasantries, because you wanted to clear your head.”
 

“You’re insane.”
 

“You don’t even like flying, Dan.”
 

“I guess I just enjoy Darcy’s company. Especially when you set her against me, and she traipses around me like a spy trying to listen without being noticed.”
 

Trevor’s jaw works. He clearly isn’t amused. Watching him watch me, I bite my cheek and wait to see what he thinks of my smartass remarks. I’m sure he’s going to bring up the way I’ve “compromised” this whole thing again, and if he does, I’ve got a list of rebuttals ready. Truth is, I have little power in deciding how this all turns out. So the notion that I could cause damage even with the stupidest decisions is absurd, assuming Trevor does his job.
 

But he sighs instead, and I know he’s dropped it.
 

“Everyone is settled?”
 

“The guys gave them all the tour as they arrived.”
 

“Who gave your wildcard the tour?”
 

Okay, I guess he hasn’t dropped it after all.
 

“I assume you mean Jessica. Whom I made a special trip to retrieve.”
 

“I mean Miller.”
 

“You’re probably going to end up fucking her eventually, Trevor,” I say because that’s the way it’s supposed to work. Everyone but me gets a shot. Then Trevor rams it home, no pun intended. “Maybe you should start calling her by her first name.”

“She’s a dead fish. She’ll never go for any of this. She’s probably packing her bags right now. She’s nowhere near the profile. Not even on the grid.”
 

“She’s staying for dinner at least.”
 

“Tony told me that he and Erin — ”

“Fucked in front of her? Yes. They did.”
 

“And she hasn’t run off to tattle?”
 

I shake my head. That right there is the flaw in all of this. There’s nothing illegal or even immoral about any of this. Not by my definition, not by the company’s or the law’s. And yet the star of the whole thing is holding back, willing to soldier on yet certain she’s doing something wrong.
 

“She’ll be at dinner.”
 

Trevor meets my eyes. He’s twenty-four and looks like he belongs on the cover of magazines: moussed brown hair, pale blue eyes, and the jaw of a fucking model. Not my words, by the way. I’ve just heard it from a thousand women who’ve creamed their panties. He’s the kind of guy these girls would want to take home to their mothers after he finishes with them. The opposite of me in so many ways. I guess he’s got a great build, if I were girl enough to have an opinion, but it’s a Nautilus body. I prefer to throw weights around. I’ve got my tattoos, and my eyes are brown and boring compared to his lady-slayers. No wonder the press is all over him. He’s what people want to
believe
a man looks like.

“Look at me right now,” Trevor says, “and promise you’ve done your due diligence on Miller. Promise me that your arguments on her behalf are professionally valid, and not because — ”
 

“I promise.”

He stares at me for a few seconds longer. His tongue creeps into his cheek as if searching for something.

“If you’re wrong about her or if I find you’ve skipped any steps in pre-screening, I’ll have you removed.”
 

I almost laugh. As if he has any right to threaten me.
 

“I’m not wrong about her,” I say. And I repeat, “I promise.”
 

Trevor nods. He says he’ll see me at dinner, and I close the office door as he walks away.
 

I’m not wrong about her. That much is true, I’m sure.
 

But I skipped steps.
 

Every single one.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I wonder the whole time I’m getting ready just why I’m sticking around, but it’s like I’m on autopilot, following orders.
 

I came out of my room after Tony and Erin christened it for me, mostly to get away from the smell of sex and the knowledge that someone has been spying on me — enough to learn the contents of my bedside drawer and fridge. I asked around while out, and everyone told me that I was, of course, free to go whenever I wanted.
 

Then they smiled, and I smiled back. I walked away, but not toward the front door. I’d been invited to stay. I should have left, but didn’t.

Without anything better to do and needing solace, I retired to my room and closed the door. After a moment’s thought, I locked it. Wouldn’t want couples heading down the hallway to pop in and fuck in front of me again.