Chapter 11

JETT

^EARLIER THAT DAY^

I try to sleep on the flight but end up lying awake in the dark bedroom of my private jet, my mind swirling with the words exchanged between Lena and me.

I’m grateful for the closure, but something about it feels sad to me. I didn’t realize how much it would hurt saying goodbye to her without knowing when I’d actually see her again.

As we prepare to land on the runway in New York, my phone dings. I pick it up and see a notification from the camera in my apartment.

It seems a little late for Ronda to still be there, so I open the app and see several people walking into my foyer, led by none other than Aria.

In my exhaustion, my brain is trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. Aria is in a short, snug dress that hugs her curvy hips. ~Does anything look bad on this woman?~

She’s holding a bottle of tequila and laughing as she talks to the others. I see one other woman and four men, though two of the men appear to be together.

So. She’s having a little fun at my apartment? Naughty girl.

I smile to myself as I think of the always courteous, professional Aria James bending the rules like a teenager sneaking into a neighbor’s hot tub.

Apparently, she does have a little rebellious streak in her, and I find it more alluring than displeasing, even though it’s my house she’s taking advantage of.

I can’t take my eyes away from the screen as I watch her peel her dress off and expose her lace bra and underwear. As predicted, her body is just as enticing as it appears in her clothes.

One of the men gets close to Aria and quietly says something to her. She laughs and pushes him in the chest. I see him looking for any reason to touch her, his eyes drinking her in. I can’t blame him, but it also makes me angry, even though I have no claim to her.

Suddenly, I’m looking forward to breaking up her little shindig. I deboard the plane and ask David to get to my apartment as quickly as he can.

With it being close to one a.m., we make it there in record time, and I’m riding the elevator up to my penthouse only forty minutes later.

The doors to the patio are closed, so none of the drunks in my pool hear me coming. When Aria gets out of the pool and asks who needs another shot, I step out onto the balcony.

“Whoa, you’re Jett Abrams!” one of the guys says.

I see Aria’s arms drop as she turns around, unable to hide the terror she’s feeling.

***

The next day, I’m in the kitchen when I hear the guest room door open.

I walk out to the foyer to see Aria standing at the elevator, her dress back on her body, my clothes in her hands. She sees me approaching and immediately looks more nervous.

“I’ll, uh, take these home and wash them,” she says, holding up my shorts and T-shirt.

Without a word, I take them from her.

She nods, assuming this is some sort of indication about her future employment.

“You’re not fired,” I say and watch her breathe an audible sigh of relief.

I step toward her, encroaching on her space. She looks up into my eyes.

“But I only give one second chance.”

She nods vigorously, then whispers, “Thank you.”

The elevator opens. I watch her step on, and I walk away before the doors close.

***

After my workout that evening, I relax on the couch to watch basketball with two of my friends: Nathan and Wes. They live in Chicago and Miami, respectively, but are in New York for business often.

I just got done telling them about Aria using my house as her personal bachelorette pad, and they find it annoyingly hilarious.

“I mean, she has a lot of nerve hosting a pool party at her boss’s penthouse. The girl’s got guts,” Nathan says.

“Sounds like the type of shit we got into back in the day.” Wes laughs.

“Yeah, but we weren’t dumb enough to get caught,” I say. “I did tell her she could use my pool while I was gone, but I didn’t think she’d bring a bunch of people and a bottle of cheap tequila!”

They laugh again.

“And yet you didn’t fire her on the spot. She’s either good at her job or smoking hot,” Nathan says.

Wes shakes his head. “She must be good. Jett’s fired hot chicks before.”

“If I wanted to fuck her, I would have already,” I say, though I know it isn’t true. She doesn’t seem as easily swayed as other women.

I pick up my phone and pull up the photos the tabloids snapped outside the gala. I find a photo of Aria in the gold dress, smiling as I help her out of the car.

I hand the phone to Wes. Nathan leans in to look as well.

“Holy shit, that’s her?!” Nathan asks.

“Wow, if you don’t hit it, feel free to send her my way.”

I snatch the phone from them. “She’s not available for either of you clowns.”

They share a glance.

“Sounds like someone has it bad for his new PA,” Wes says. Nathan nods. I save the photo to my phone and roll my eyes at them.

As we continue watching the game, curiosity gets the better of me, and I decide to google Aria James. Several results come up, most of which are not her.

After clicking through several pages of results, I find an old article in the ~Economist~, featuring DYAD. After pulling up the article, I find a photo of Tim, the owner of DYAD, and Aria, sitting in an office.

The caption reads, “~DYAD Chief Executive Tim McCray, with VP of Operations Aria James.~”

My heart drops.

~What the fuck?~

“You okay?” Nathan asks.

I show them the photo and the caption. “She isn’t even a personal assistant! She’s the VP of Operations,” I say.

Both of them squint at the article.

“Why would they assign her as your PA, then?” Wes asks.

“Probably because no one else has worked out,” I point out. “And they’re buying themselves time instead of admitting that they can’t find a match.”

“You mean, you fired them all because you have ridiculously high expectations,” Nathan says.

“The point is, she’s been acting like my PA to placate me. She has no plans to actually be my assistant,” I say, my voice dripping with anger. “I hate being manipulated.”

“What are you going to do? Are you going to confront her?”

I shake my head, then look back at the photo.

“No. If she wants to play games, then let’s play.”