Marcel told me stories about working with a successful venture capitalist, including a hilarious story about Grey mispronouncing something during a French negotiation that had immediately set me at ease.
“Grey Blackwood is the only person I’ve ever met who could tell this snooty CEO that he had a nice ass when he’d meant to say thank you and not only end up with the contract but a date.” He laughed and shook his head with friendly affection. “The smug, sexy bastard can be charming as all hell when he wants to be. Not that he usually bothers.”
I told him a little about my work in the hotel industry, he told me how he’d met and befriended Jillian at a networking event for high-level executive assistants, and we each shared a little about our family backgrounds. It turned out that we were both from large families, and neither of us got to see them very often.
By the time we landed, I was feeling less like a sexual harasser and more like a tired businessman who’d been to Vegas one too many times.
“Good evening, Mr. Bernardi,” the woman at the check-in desk said with a big smile. “We have your suite ready.”
As I opened my mouth to thank her, Marcel glided elegantly in front of me and held out his hands for the key cards. “Thank you ever so much… Raquel,” he said with smooth manners. “I assume there is a concierge who can help arrange a massage therapist for Mr. Bernardi?”
I bit back a comment about not needing any such thing. Maybe Marcel wanted it for himself, and as far as I was concerned, he deserved it after the “What kind of PA do you think I am?” debacle.
The receptionist smiled and nodded, assuring Marcel the attendant assigned to our suite would be happy to arrange anything we needed while we were here.
We found our way to the elevator bank and stepped into an elevator with several other people. Once they all got off on lower floors, Marcel and I were alone in the small space.
“I don’t need a massage,” I explained softly. “But you’re very welcome to arrange one for yourself. I’ve heard good things about the spa here, and you probably need one after walking around in those pretty, pointy-toed shoes.”
He shook his head and smiled down at his feet. “No, sir. The massage is for you. Quite frankly, I’m concerned about your health. Jillian has told me about your workaholic ways, and now that I’ve met you, I see how pinched your shoulders and neck are. Do they cause you pain?”
I stared at him in confusion. “Not really… But I’ve never had a massage before, so maybe I’m in pain and don’t realize it.”
“You’d know. I finally convinced Grey to start getting them, and his back pain is nearly gone. He used to get tension headaches that started in his back and worked their way up.”
When we entered the two-bedroom suite, Marcel helped himself to one of the bedrooms without a single moment of awe at the expansive luxury suite. I realized I’d been waiting for him to express discomfort so I could set him at ease, but to my surprise, he was perfectly content in the space. I had to remind myself he worked for someone as wealthy as I was, so the man was probably more than familiar with luxury accommodations, and that set me at ease too.
I helped myself to the other bedroom and stepped into a much-needed shower. Not only did I want to wash the travel grunge off me, but I also wanted to use the noise of the shower spray to camouflage the sound of a desperate jerk session.
Marcell Abbott was too tempting, too kind. He was an unexpected mix of sexy and sassy. I started my shower imagining all the ways I could worship his body with my own, but by the time I really got going, I was picturing his dimples, his respect and deference for me in front of the receptionist, his thoughtfulness in suggesting a massage.
As I stroked myself, I pictured him giving me the massage. Those elegant hands covered in oil on my body… rubbing me everywhere…
Nghf.
I sucked in a breath as I came, nearly inhaling water from the nearby shower spray.
When my heartbeat finally settled, I exhaled and shook my head. At least now I could stop obsessing about fucking my temporary employee.
I dried off quickly and slipped on some workout pants and a clean T-shirt before going back out to the living room to grab a bottle of water.
Marcel was already there, leaning over to look in the fridge, with his adorable butt showcased in wash-worn pajama pants with little pink flamingos on them. On top, he wore a snug-fitting tank top, which showed off his shapely arm and shoulder muscles.
My dick nudged the front of my pants.
Apparently, the shower session had been a complete waste of time.
Before I could say anything, the doorbell to the suite rang. Marcel straightened up and called out, “I’ll get it!” I stepped back as he almost ran into me. He scooted past and opened the door. I assumed maybe he’d requested the room attendant to stop by, but the man who entered the suite wasn’t dressed in any kind of hotel uniform.
He was wearing skinny jeans and a short-sleeved button-down shirt with a subdued flower pattern.
“May we help you?” Marcel asked as politely as a man in flamingo pj’s could.
“Which one of you is Luca B?” he asked with a cheesy grin. The man was attractive, but the smile was creepy.
I opened my mouth to claim myself, but Marcel stepped in front of me and asked, “Who wants to know?” before I could.
“Jillian sent me. Said her boss needs a little lovin’. Vegas-style.”
The two of us gawped at him.
“Get out,” Marcel growled after a few beats.
“Now, wait a minute,” I said, stepping forward and putting my hand on Marcel’s shoulder to move him out of the way. “Let’s see what the man has to say.”
Marcel turned to me with a glare as dangerous as stormy seas. “What more do we need to hear? Jillian was clearly under the influence of heavy narcotics when she did this. If her boss needs a little lovin’, it’s coming from someone else. Not him.” He turned back to the man standing in the suite’s entryway. “Get lost.”
“Wait. Have you been… erm… compensated?” I asked the gentleman.
“Yes, sir.” He eyed Marcel dubiously but sent a blisteringly hot look in my direction. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? The lady on the phone said—”
“Oh my god,” Marcel breathed.
“—she got your text about needing a rent boy.”
Marcel turned to me in exaggerated slow motion. My face ignited.
6
Marcel
“The lady on the phone said she got your text about needing a rent boy.”
My eyes damn near popped out of my head as I turned away from the smarmy man at the door and faced Luca. “Ex-kuh-youse me?”
“There’s been a terrible mistake. Sorry to waste your time,” Luca said hurriedly to the man before hustling him out the door. When he turned back to me, there was a desperate kind of pleading in his eyes. “I didn’t text Jillian. I swear!”
I put my hands on my hips. “I know you didn’t. But if anyone’s going to be servicing you around here, it’s going to be me, not some random-ass sex worker in Las Vegas, for god’s sake.”
He held his hands up as if to hold off an attacking army. “I would never have requested… wait… wait. What? You?” His usually deep voice had risen in pitch. “You’re going to service me? I thought… I’m so fucking confused. You’re a real personal assistant, Marcel. An extremely talented one.”