Ego Trip - Tabatha Kiss

Chapter 1

Paige

What the hell?

He looks like my boss. He sounds like my boss. And yet...

“Have a fun weekend?” he asks. “How’s Mom?”

Graham Botsford stands beside me outside the elevator with his arms wrapped around his ex-wife, a woman I’ve seen a grand total of one time since I became his assistant over a year ago. In fact, I’ve never seen him this way with any woman. To be this close to a woman, a man has to have a certain level of fun and Graham is not the kind of guy who has any sort of fun.

Though I’m not too sure I’m one to talk lately.

I slide my sunglasses off. “She’s good,” I answer. “The rest is a very long story...”

I look them up and down. A bouquet. Happy, smiling faces. A loving, adrenaline-fueled embrace.

“How were the nature documentaries?” I ask.

“Very educational, actually,” he answers, his hand not-so-subtly making its way around her waist.

“Yeah, I bet.”

“Jen,” he says, gesturing at me, “this is my assistant, Paige.”

“Hello!” She gives me a wave. “I’ve heard good things about you.”

I bob my head. My head hurts too much for this much excitement. “Greetings.”

“Paige, this is my wife, Jen.”

No, she’s your ex-wife.

Wasn’t she? She was when we checked-in two days ago.

Flowers. Smiles. Adrenaline-fueled embrace.

Oh, dear god.

My jaw drops. “Your wh—?”

“Also, you were right,” he says.

“I was?”

“There was something I hadn’t done in Vegas yet,” he says. “I’d never re-married my ex-wife, so... you were right. Though, I shouldn’t be surprised. You usually are.”

I’d laugh if I could do anything vocal. I’d cry if I hadn’t already done enough of that this weekend.

Graham raises a finger. “Oh, and she’s going to be palling around with us for the next while, so make sure you update our travel itineraries for three instead of two. No need to book extra rooms, she’ll be staying with me. Is your passport up-to-date?” he asks Jen.

“Maybe,” she says. “I’ll have to...”

Their voices fade off somewhere in the back of my head. I just stand and stare, desperately trying not to let my shock turn to anger. Not at Graham, of course. He’s great and, once the dust of this weekend settles, I’ll be happy for him.

No, I reserve my anger for the same person it’s always reserved for.

Little old me.

“Right, Paige?” Graham asks.

I blink twice. “Of course,” I answer.

“And that’s Paige,” he says. “She takes care of me. You two will get along great. I have a good feeling.”

Jen smiles. “Looking forward to it.”

The elevator opens and the two of them step on, still clinging to each other like teenagers at the prom.

“You going up?” Graham asks me.

“Actually...” I take a step back. “I think I might hit the bar first...”

“All right.” His lips graze her ear. “Just make sure you’re all sobered up and well-rested in the morning. Big week ahead.”

Yes. Big week at the Botsford Plaza Vegas with the annual Botsford Corp shareholders’ convention. That means five days of countless meetings and long presentations, but throw a rock and you’ll hit an eligible, rich bachelor. It’s usually a fun time.

Just not in the mood for it this week.

I need a drink.

I make my way across the golden lobby. It’s quite crowded with a wedding party by the ballroom on the north side and the aforementioned eligible, rich bachelors lounging on the center couches with their respective posses. I keep my head down. Just one second of eye contact will interrupt my quest toward the bar, and I’m still off the clock until 8 AM tomorrow.

I squeeze inside, taking great advantage of my petite form to slink around a dozen broad shoulders before finding my way to the last empty stool at the bar. Unfortunately, Doc the bartender has his hands full, constantly shuffling back and forth with a tray of fresh drinks to deliver to the over-stuffed tables.

I sit and wait. Maybe if I sit here long enough, I’ll curl into the black hole taking over my gut and disappear completely. That’ll be nice.

After a few minutes, the pair of broad shoulders sitting beside me reaches over the bar and easily snatches a bottle of beer out of the ice on the other side. He pops the cap off with the bottle opener on his own keys and sets the drink down on the empty bar napkin in front of me.

Before I can scold him for cheating and breaking the rules, I catch sight of Oliver Black’s familiar (and cocky) smirk.

The building manager can do whatever he wants.

“There,” he