Chapter 15
It’s not waking up in an empty bed that bugs me. It’s that he didn’t say he was leaving first thing in the morning.
Not that he owes me anything. Other than my payday, that is. But still. Isn’t it just good manners to mention leaving first thing? But then I laugh at myself for thinking Anderson West might have good manners. Still, though, he is nothing like I thought he was.
And maybe neither am I.
I sold my body. Granted, it was for an absolute ton of money, but still. Maybe it’s societal programming or some other thing, I’m not sure. But I sold my body, and something about it feels wrong. Deliciously wrong. Does that make me some sort of deviant? Maybe. But how much do I really care about that?
I’m not sure.
Whatever the case, I have to get out of here. I’m the lucky associate who gets Saturday meetings, because international venture capitalists don’t really care what day of the week it is. Standing up is a feat. My hangover rings through my head like a bell, and every muscle in my body aches like I ran a marathon. Even my toes are tired, but I blame Anderson’s smirk for that.
By the time I’m dressed and looking halfway presentable, Cesar is at the door with my purse and phone. He smiles politely. “Was it what you thought it would be?”
I laugh harder than I thought possible and discover my abdominal muscles are so angry from all the exercises of last night that laughing feels like punishment. My cheeks hurt, too, so laughing and smiling are pretty much out for the day. “Uh, no. Not even close. Nothing like what I expected.”
“Yet you smile as though the unexpected is a good thing.”
“In this case, it is.”
“I am glad to hear it. Follow me.” He leads me out of the mansion through a warren of tunnels that lead to a garage. The garage has several cars, and he takes me to a Bentley with black tinted windows and a driver. Cesar instructs him, “Wherever she wants to go.”
The man behind the wheel merely nods.
Cesar says, “This is where I leave you, Six.” He passes me a card with information on it. “Go to that website, type in the passcode, and the transfer will hit in three business days. I wish you all the best. If you are interested, feel free to return for next year’s auction.”
Next year’s auction? Pretty sure this was the only auction I had in me. Probably.
“Thank you, Cesar.” I give the driver my home address, wondering if that’s a bad idea. But it doesn’t matter now if they know who I am. What am I thinking? Of course, they know who I am. There’s no way they haven’t checked me out to see if I’m with law enforcement. I wonder if I even needed to give the driver my address or if it was plugged into his navigation before I got into the car. Classical music plays low during the drive, and I use my phone to follow Cesar’s instructions. I’m three business days from my dreams coming true.
On my way from the car to my apartment building, it is freezing cold. I should have taken Cesar up on last night’s offer of clothing. But I’m inside fast, and take a blitz of a shower, pin my hair up, and dress within ten minutes, then it’s back to work.
After such a long day and an even longer night, by the time I reach my desk, I am almost dead. Last night’s sleep was really this morning’s sleep, and that was less than two hours. Anderson was a machine with no stop button. If I’d wanted to go again, he was ready, willing, and able. But I was a boneless mess by five in the morning, and he let me drift off in his arms.
It’s almost uncomfortable to admit to myself just how comfortable I was falling asleep in his arms.
I’m in my second meeting by the time I realize I haven’t eaten anything all morning. Between the champagne hangover and a total lack of food, not to mention all of the last twenty-four hours’ activities, it’s a wonder I can string two sentences together to discuss risk and tax shelters.
Not to mention that my head isn’t in the game. I keep flashing back to last night. From fear to rage to curiosity to denial, and finally, to the best sex of my life. There is no denying that part of things. Anderson West is an animal in the best way possible. The way he moved and kissed and touched, it all worked for me, and not only because it had been so long since I’d gotten laid. He is amazing at sex. A simple fact.
Funny how he’s paying me for it. I feel like I should have been the one paying for everything he did last night.
The thought makes me smile, but the smile fades fast. It’s a strange sort of feeling—knowing what I’d done. Conflicted doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel. I’m not sure if the conflict in my mind is more the hangover or the fact that I’d slept with Anderson West—my sworn enemy—or the fact that I’d sold my body. To Anderson West. Whatever the case, I am too foggy to be at work.
The whole situation feels messier than I like my drama, but focusing on what’s important will get me through the day. I hope. After another meeting, I check my emails and find one from my student loan servicer. Those numbers used to give me indigestion. Now, they seem small. If?—
“Oh my gosh,” Callie whispers behind me.
I spin around. “What?”
She giggles, looking at me. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
“For all intents and purposes, no. No, I did not.”
“For a good reason, I hope.”
Slowly, I nod as my cheeks burn. “And in three days, this,” I point to my loan email, “will be history.”
She eyes the page. “God, is that really the size of loan people take for law school?”
“And mine isn’t even all that bad. I had some scholarships and grants to help.”
“Damn.”
I nod. “Soon, last night will be in my rearview, and so will this place. You’ll still text me after I leave, right?”
“Of course, silly. Just because I won’t be able to see you here all the time doesn’t mean we’re not friends.”
“Wait, why are you here on a Saturday? You’re never here on the weekends.”
She laughs. “I had to know how it went, and you haven’t returned my texts.”
“Oh, shit.” I grab my phone and look. There’s a dozen from her. “I’m so sorry. I’m not really here right now?—”
“No worries, I promise. I was hoping good sex was the reason.”
“Not just good. Life altering.”
She giggles. “I’m so happy for you!”
And right now, so am I. “Three business days before the money hits … so, like, Wednesday at the latest?”
“I guess so. But considering everything, maybe wait until Thursday before worrying about it.”
Nodding, I wonder aloud, “And Daniel? Did he text you this morning?”
She smiles. “After he made sure three dozen roses showed up at my door.”
“Are you kidding me?” I’d once sent a dozen roses to my mom for Mother’s Day when I couldn’t be there, and it cost me damn near a car payment. Three for missing a date? Good god. “Wait, why three?”
“One dozen for every month he’s loved me.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“I know, right?”
“That is the sappiest thing I have ever heard.”
She giggles and nods. “And I love it. He’s a big romantic.”
Wonder what that’s like. Last night was not exactly the stuff fairytale romances were made of. What am I thinking? I do not want a fairytale romance. Especially not with Anderson. Never him.
Love is a minefield as it is, and fairytale romances never appealed to me, even as a girl. The reason they always ended once the prince, and the girl got married was because, “Happily Ever After,” was easier to write than, “Over the years, he grew to hate how loudly she chewed, and she loathed that he left his socks on the floor.” Fairytales are not real life.
But the googly eyes Callie has when she speaks about Daniel are real enough. I’m worried her fairytale romance will end in tears.
So, I give a simple, “I’m happy for you, hon.”