Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2) novel Chapter 11

Dominic

We touch down at Heathrow around dawn and take a taxi to our hotel, a ritzy affair in the heart of downtown. Once we’re checked in, I disappear into the bathroom without a word, leaving Presley to unpack and wander around the opulent suite.

With only an hour to get ready for a packed day of meetings, I have no choice but to be efficient here. I shave, shower, comb my hair, and dress in a fresh suit without paying much attention to her.

At least, I pretend not to, because I can never stop myself from noticing Presley, no matter how hard I try. I can feel her big blue eyes following me as I move about the suite.

I know I’m being kind of a dick, but the gaping hole where our trust used to be still gnaws at me, and I don’t particularly feel like talking shit out. It’s not something that can be solved with a few words anyway. Besides, I have the excuse of a tight schedule to use in my arsenal of avoidance techniques. So I continue saying as little as possible.

“Hey, Dom,” Presley says quietly.

“What is it?” I don’t look at her, busy tying my shoes.

“Never mind, you’re in a hurry. Let me know when you’re coming back, and I’ll make sure to be here.”

I give her an affirmative grunt. The last I see of Presley is her sitting on the edge of the bed, still watching me. Then the door closes, and I leave her behind, still wondering what she was going to ask me about.

My first stop is breakfast at the very posh Ramsay Terrace with a pair of top real estate agents who will pitch the living hell out of their property before taking me to view it. I order a full English breakfast with all the trimmings—I won’t have time to grab much more than a bagel for lunch—and plenty of coffee. Correction, loads of coffee, because even a first-class pod can’t negate the fact that a bumpy airplane ride is nowhere near as restful as sleeping in my own bed, near Emilia and Lacey.

That’s not the only reason I didn’t sleep well. I was too aware of Presley just down the aisle, of her beauty and our unresolved tensions. It’s too bad I couldn’t have breakfasted with her instead of chattering salespeople. If I weren’t so damn busy this week, I could have shown her around my favorite spots in London . . .

No. I catch myself. Even if my time were my own, I still couldn’t. That’s not what this trip is about. I didn’t bring her along for some fucking romantic getaway.

Still, I feel a little bad about ditching her to fend for herself. I should have at least fed her before leaving.

Oh, for God’s sake. She’s a grown woman. I made sure she knew to charge anything she needed to the room, ensuring she could take care of herself, and beyond that, she’s more than smart enough to figure it out on her own.

“Don’t you agree, Mr. Aspen?” one of the brokers asks.

I shake myself out of my thoughts. “My apologies. I guess I’m not completely awake yet. Can you repeat that?”

I manage to focus on business for the rest of the meeting and the tour afterward. Which is just as well, because the location is absolutely stunning with a view of the bustling city beyond the iron gates where a tower once stood.

In a taxi bound for my second appointment, I pull out my phone and dial Frank, the head of Aspen Hotels’ legal department. It’s a phone call I’ve been meaning to make for days. If nothing else, I can at least address the problem that started this whole shitstorm.

“It’s Dominic,” I say. “A man named Austin asked one of our employees to infect Aspen’s computer systems with a virus. He was working for Genesis Software. I need you to get in touch with Genesis about this. Tell them to back off—preferably fire this Austin guy too, but I’ll take what I can get—or else we’ll press charges for attempted sabotage.”

A pause. Which is impressive; it takes a lot to rattle Frank. “I’ll take care of it right away, sir. In case this escalates, do we have evidence?”

“Yes. In the top left drawer of my desk, you’ll find a flash drive containing the virus and a folder marked Genesis.”

“And who was the employee he approached?”

I hesitate. Do I want to subject Presley to interrogation? She didn’t actually do anything, at least based on what she divulged, and at this point, I think I believe her when she says she never intended to. Just because this whole incident has scared me straight, so to speak—reminding me how important it is not to let anyone get too involved in my personal life, it doesn’t mean she deserves to get tangled up in legal repercussions.

Finally, I say, “I’d like to keep her out of this.”

“I see,” he says slowly, in a tone that means he doesn’t.

“If we do end up taking Genesis to court, I’ll talk to her about testifying, of course. But for now, call it an anonymous tip. I don’t want to punish employees for reporting trouble.”

“All right. Anything else you need?”