Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
Morgan
The flight attendant handed me my whiskey on the rocks.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. If you need anything else, please let me know.”
After taking a sip, I set the cup down and opened my laptop.
“Let’s see exactly who you are, Mr. Roman Hamilton,” I whispered.
His picture appeared on the screen, and the woman beside me commented.
“Oh my. He’s a very handsome young man. If only I were twenty years younger.”
My brows furrowed because it was more like thirty.
He was a thirty-one-year-old man who owned a home in Pacific Palisades with expansive ocean views, for which he had paid seven million dollars three years ago. His mother, Katherine Mallory, was a well-known jewelry designer; his father, Harrison Hamilton, was a retired high-powered attorney. After several more strokes of the keys, I pulled up his tax records, which looked clean. He was all paid up, and nothing was outstanding.
“Let’s see how good your credit is,” I quietly said.
“Excuse me? Did you say something?” the woman next to me asked.
“No. I’m just talking to myself.” I smiled.
A frown covered my face when I saw his credit score—849. Who the hell has a near-perfect credit score? After a few more strokes, I pulled up his bank accounts.
“Jesus,” I said, staring at the balances of his three personal accounts.
I opened his financial portfolio through Sterling Capital and reviewed his investment balances. He certainly had a good sense of investment. This man never had to work another day in his life if he didn’t want to.
I shut my laptop, picked up my drink, and sipped it as I stared out the plane’s window. I never gave men a second thought after sleeping with them. I used sex to self-medicate and was a seasoned one-night stander with the ability to control all of my emotions. But my mind went to the night we slept together—a night that had been at the forefront of my thoughts since it happened. The way his strong hands gripped my hips. The way his fingers and mouth explored my body. I was his blank canvas, and he was a painter, stroking every curve of my body with skilled precision as if he were creating a masterpiece. But it didn’t matter how hot he or the sex was. It wouldn’t happen again, and he better understand that, or there would be issues.
When the plane landed, I stepped off and headed to baggage claim. The last time I was in this airport was with my Uncle Louie after my father’s death. I never thought I’d come back to California again, but here I was, and I honestly had no idea why I agreed to come .
Stepping through the baggage claim door, I saw a man holding a sign with my name on it.
“Excuse me, I’m Morgan Ashley.”
“Good day, Miss Ashley. Welcome to Los Angeles. I’m Ollie, Mr. Hamilton’s driver.”
“He has a driver?” My brow arched.
“Yes.” He chuckled. “Let’s go collect your luggage, and then we’ll head to the hotel.”
After Ollie grabbed my suitcase, we headed to the car—a black Escalade with a red interior.
“Wow. Nice ride,” I said, climbing into the back seat.
“Bottled water is in the cup holder if you’re thirsty.”
“Thanks, Ollie. How long have you worked for Mr. Hamilton?”
“Let’s see. It’s been about four years now.”
“And how many women have been in this backseat since you started working for him?” A smirk crossed my lips.
“A lot.” He smiled through the rear-view mirror.
“I don’t doubt it.” I stared out the window.
“Mr. Hamilton tells me you’re from New York. I’m sure it’s very cold and snowy there this time of year.”
“I am, and yes, it is.”
A young man ran over and opened the door for me when Ollie pulled up to the Four Seasons.
“Thank you.” I smiled.
Ollie climbed out and took my suitcase from the back.
“Thanks, Ollie.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Ashley.”
“You can call me Morgan.”
I entered the hotel and walked to the reception desk, where a nice young man handed me my room key.
“You’re in room 7804, Miss Ashley. May I have one of our bellmen take your luggage to your room? ”
“No. I got it. Thanks.”
I took the elevator up to the seventh floor, swiped my keycard, and nearly had a heart attack when I walked inside the suite and saw Roman sitting in the living area with a drink.
“You made it.” He grinned.
“You scared me, Roman. What the fuck? Why are you here? And how did you get in?”
“I have the extra key.” He held up the keycard.
Letting go of my suitcase, I grabbed the keycard from his hand.
“I’ll be taking that.” I shoved it into my purse, and he chuckled.
“You have five minutes to get settled, and then we have to get to the office. By the way, you look incredible.”
“Finish your drink, and I’ll be right back.” I rolled my suitcase to the bedroom.
“I hope this suite has exceeded your expectations,” he shouted from the other room.
“It’s nice.” I unzipped my suitcase on the bed and took my makeup case into the bathroom, where I freshened up from the long flight.
I couldn’t help but notice him in his expensive and tailored, dark gray Armani suit. His sexiness skyrocketed to a whole new level.
“Ready.” I walked into the living room.
“Excellent. Let’s head to my office.” He stood and buttoned his suit coat.
“Your driver is nice,” I said as we left the suite.
“Ollie is a great guy.” He smiled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t welcome you to Los Angeles. Welcome.”
“I appreciate it, but I’ve been here before.”
“Oh yeah? How long ago?” he asked .
“Fourteen years, and that’s all the information you’re getting. I’m here to do a job, not discuss my life.”
“Fair enough,” he said, sliding into the back of the Escalade next to me.
“And also, I want to make something very clear.”
“I’m listening,” he said.
“There will be nothing happening between us. Can your legal brain comprehend that?”
Roman looked at Ollie when he heard him snicker.
“My legal brain comprehends everything, Miss Ashley.”
“Good. I want to make sure we’re on the same page. This is a professional working relationship and nothing else.”
“Got it,” he said.