Carlee felt a sudden flush of heat burn the tips of her ears.
She took a half-step back, putting distance between her chest and his solid frame. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
She tilted her chin up, forcing her face into a mask of cold authority.
"Just get a wet towel," she commanded, pointing a trembling finger at the muddy hem of her coat.
Braden lowered his gaze to the stain. The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a ghost of a smile. He turned and walked toward the adjacent private restroom.
Carlee watched his back disappear through the door. She swallowed hard. Her mind raced, unable to comprehend how a man parking cars possessed such dominant bone structure and an aura that screamed power.
A moment later, Braden walked back out. He held a steaming white towel in his right hand.
He didn't hand it to her.
Instead, he stepped directly into her personal space and dropped down onto one knee.
Carlee's eyes went wide. Her muscles locked up. The sudden proximity of his broad shoulders hovering right at her waist sent a jolt of electricity down her spine.
Braden pressed his long fingers against the fabric of her coat, the damp heat of the towel seeping through to her skin. His movements were gentle, but there was a heavy, undeniable dominance in the way he held her in place. He began to wipe away the mud.
He tilted his head up. He looked at her from his kneeling position. His dark eyes dragged over her face, studying her like a predator memorizing the pulse of its prey.
Carlee's mouth went completely dry.
Desperate to break the suffocating tension, she cleared her throat.
"The cleaning efficiency at this hotel is severely lacking," she said, her voice sounding thinner than she wanted.
Braden let out a low chuckle. The vibration of his laugh traveled through the air and settled in her bones.
"My apologies," Braden said, his thumb pressing firmly against the hem of her coat. "I'm a bit inexperienced."
He finished wiping the stain. He stood up in one fluid motion.
The sudden return of his towering height forced Carlee to look up again. He tossed the soiled towel into a nearby brass bin.
Carlee slipped her arms out of the trench coat and draped it over her forearm. The movement revealed the deep V-neck of her tailored evening gown.
Braden's eyes dropped to her chest. His gaze darkened, the pupils blowing wide for a fraction of a second before he masked it.
Carlee caught the look. A rush of satisfaction flooded her veins.
She opened her clutch and pulled out a thick, gold-foiled business card. She pinched it between her index and middle fingers and held it up to his chest.
Braden looked down at the card. It read: C.B. Designs - Founder. He didn't move his hands.
Carlee assumed he was intimidated. She flashed him a confident, brilliant smile.
"A face like yours is entirely wasted parking cars," Carlee said smoothly.
She took a step closer. "I just launched my own studio. I need a personal assistant. Someone who looks presentable and knows how to read a room. Are you interested?"
Braden stared at her. A flash of absolute, staggering disbelief hit his eyes. His legal wife was standing in a hotel hallway, offering to pay him to be her assistant.
He shifted his weight, feigning hesitation.
"Would the salary be enough to survive in New York?" Braden asked, keeping his face perfectly blank.
Carlee named a figure that was double the standard market rate. "And if you perform well, the bonuses are substantial."
Braden bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
He reached up. His long fingers slid over hers as he pulled the card from her grip. He made sure the rough pad of his thumb dragged slowly across her knuckles.
He slipped the gold-foiled card into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, pressing it flat against his chest, right over his heart. The movement was slow, deliberate, and dripping with unspoken heat.
"I will give your generous offer some serious thought," Braden murmured.
The heavy chime of the grandfather clock at the end of the hall echoed through the corridor, signaling the start of the gala. The sound shattered the thick bubble of tension between them.
Carlee pulled her hand back, her skin still burning from his touch.
"Don't miss a good opportunity," she warned him.
She turned around and walked away, her hips swaying with deliberate confidence as she headed toward the ballroom doors.
Braden stood perfectly still, watching the sway of her dress until she disappeared around the corner.
He reached up and pulled the fake, clear-lensed glasses from his face. His eyes instantly turned cold, sharp, and incredibly dangerous.
Denzel, his executive assistant, stepped out from the shadows of a nearby alcove. Sweat beaded on Denzel's forehead.
"Sir," Denzel whispered. "Should I have security wipe the cameras in this hallway?"
"No," Braden said, his voice like cracking ice. "Pull every piece of registration data and financial history on a company called C.B. Designs. I want it in ten minutes."
Denzel stared in horror as his billionaire boss pulled the business card back out of his pocket, rubbing his thumb over the embossed letters. Denzel swallowed his questions and nodded.
Braden tucked the card away. A dark, predatory smile curved his lips. His wife wanted to play a game. He was going to give her exactly what she asked for.
He turned and walked toward his private elevator, ready to watch from the shadows as his proud little swan walked into the ballroom.
