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Jules
The sun is just beginning to rise when I finally stir from sleep.
True to his word, Dimitri roused me twice in the middle of the night, our bodies moving together in a dreamy haze. Slow. Tender. As if we had all the time in the world, which I suppose we do.
The thought tugs a smile from my lips, and I curl my toes into the mattress. I couldn’t have slept for more than a few hours, but I feel lazy and euphoric as I roll over and reach for Dimitri.
My hand brushes over cool empty sheets, and I sit up in bed. Dimitri is slouched in the partially broken chair where I bound him, his laptop open on his knees.
The bluish glow from the screen illuminates the sharp angles of his cheekbones and jaw, and for a moment, I just stare at him.
“Working already?” I ask, hoping I can entice him back to bed.
“I was just answering a few emails,” he says. “Nothing —”
Dimitri’s brows pull together as he breaks off, and his expression turns steely. He sits up straighter and clicks furiously at the computer, his eyes moving rapidly back and forth as he reads whatever he found.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, pulling the covers up to my chest as the postcoital haze ebbs away.
He shakes his head once, a muscle working in his jaw. “Those fucking pricks.”
“What?” I just stare at him in confusion, and Dimitri lets out a frustrated growl.
“I can’t believe they ran this fucking article — all because I punched that pretentious asshole Gray!”
Before I can say or do anything, Dimitri explodes to his feet. His laptop goes flying, and I flinch. It lands upside down on the rug.
“What article?” I ask, my gut clenching with dread as I slide out from under the covers, pulling a sheet tight around me.
Dimitri is too incensed to speak. I can practically feel the rage pouring off him.
I bend down to pick up his expensive laptop, wincing when I realize that the hinge holding the two halves together is a little loose. The screen is cracked, so half the article is obscured, but it looks to be an article in some online tech gossip publication.
I don’t have to read the article to understand what’s got Dimitri so angry — just the headline. Maid in Aspen.
Below the splashy text are two photos — one of me walking into the gala on Dimitri’s arm and another of Dimitri and Ian Gray mid-brawl.
Somebody seated behind us must have snapped the photo. Opportunistic bastards.
My gaze travels down to the caption below the photos, and my stomach clenches.
Has Lazos finally lost it? The billionaire founder of Nesteg appeared at the Tech Today gala with hired help for arm candy and assaulted a prominent influencer.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, bile burning my insides as a few snippets of text catch my eye.
The woman in question, our source confirms, is none other than Lazos’s live-in maid . . . Apparently, the tech mogul has resorted to bribing the help to accompany him to events.
“It’s not so bad,” I lie, my skin heating with rage. “I’ve never even heard of this site.”
“Every tech and finance executive in the country reads this daily,” he growls. “And it’s only a matter of time before the bigger outlets pick up the story.”
I shut my mouth as Dimitri begins to pace, the vein in his temple throbbing. My stomach keeps twisting into tighter and tighter knots, and I have no idea what to say.
“Somebody was bound to report on the incident with Gray,” I whisper. “That place was crawling with journalists.”
“It’s not the part about Gray I’m worried about.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I instinctively wrap my arms around my middle. “That’s what’s bothering you?” I blurt. “That they learned you brought your maid?”
