The Jilted Ex-Wife's Undercover Billionaire Assistant

n flashed, forcing Carlee to throw her hand up t

river's seat, one large hand draped casually over the steering wheel.

. The champagne buzzing in her bloodstream scrambled her

hands gripping the edge of the open window. S

l instincts. Her brain, swimming in a thick haze of alcohol, adrenaline, and pure exhaustion, immediately concluded that this was a high-end hotel courtesy car, and the valet was assigned to drive VIP guests. "You're the hotel's designated driver for

heel. A muscle feathered in his jaw as he fought bac

e smirked, feeling incredibly clever. She r

designer clutch into the back. The car smelled like

d, his dark eyes burning into the woman who h

s voice a low scrape against

ment. "I'll pay you a massive tip to keep my mouth sh

edatory smile. He pressed his foot down. The V12 engine

skin feel hot and tight. She reached up and pulled at

e pale, exposed skin of her chest. His Adam's apple bobbed hard. He re

. She turned to stare at his perfect side pro

together. "Why are you parking cars? You should

. She poked her index finger hard int

oking him again. "And you're built like

ned to absolute sto

pedal. The Aston Martin jerked

en lock, Braden's right arm shot out. His thick forearm sla

face was buried against his sleeve. She inhaled a lungful of crisp, ic

uld a valet smell like a two-th

ling the guests' cologne too?" she scolded, pushing

. He was fighting a violent urge to pull the car ov

er," Braden ground out, his j

e her luxury high-rise. Carlee pushed the heavy door op

out a fistful of loose cash, and

row morning," she ordered, st

bills on his custom leather se

orrow, boss,

d with the title. She turned and

ator doors closed behind her. He pulled his

e. "Forge a complete background history for me. Make m

e seat, folding them neatly and sliding them into his breas