Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Piper
My eyes widen when he offers me his hand. I don’t accept because I have no idea what the hell is going on. “You’re not Griffin Kent.”
His brows arch as he looks at the woman standing next to me before his gaze falls back on my face. “I am Griffin Kent. You’re standing in my office, so I’ll ask again, who are you?”
I suddenly feel very confused. If he’s Griffin Kent who the hell did I spend the night with?
I look down at the business card in my hand.
It must belong to the tall man standing in front of me in the expensive black suit.
He’s what I would imagine when I think of an attorney in Manhattan, not the guy who I met last night.
That guy was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a brown sweater.
“This young woman found your business card after she was robbed, Mr. Kent.” The woman next to me pokes me in the arm as if she needs to clarify which of the three of us she’s referring to. “Apparently, she was with a man at a hotel. He took her belongings and left behind your card.”
“What did he look like?”
I know the question is directed at me, but I wait for a beat to see if the woman who works for him will keep talking.
She doesn’t.
“He had blond hair, brown eyes and he was my height so about five nine.” I give my full attention to Griffin Kent now because maybe he knows who the man is. “He had a beard. Men with beards aren’t usually my type, but he seemed nice.”
Shut the hell up, Piper.
He looks me over from head-to-toe before he points at the business card in my hand. “Is there anything written on the back of that?”
I turn it over to show him. I studied the card on my walk from the hotel. The back is blank.
“I always write my personal cell number on the back of those cards when I give them to clients.” His jaw sets. “You found this in a hotel?”
I nod in silence.
“Which hotel?” He digs his cell phone out of his jacket pocket when a chime rings through the air. His gaze skims the screen before he looks back at me. “What’s the name of the hotel where you found that card?”
You’d think I’d know that. I could have stored it to memory before I stormed out the door and made my way here. I didn’t. I blame my anger for that. It left no room for logical thinking. “I can’t remember.”
“You can’t remember?” he repeats. “I’d say that’s a rather important detail in your story.”
“Story?” I take a deep breath, pushing back the urge to ask outright if he thinks I made up the experience. Instead, I go for a much more civilized approach. “I just arrived in New York three days ago. I may not recall the hotel’s name, but I can tell you exactly where it’s located.”
That seems to appease him for now. “Did you go to this hotel room with the man in question voluntarily?”
Is this an interrogation? I’m tempted to ask if there’s another attorney available who can represent me.
“I did,” I answer truthfully without adding the detail that I hesitated briefly when I was in the hotel’s elevator because it smelled like old pizza.
“What happened once you got to the room?” he asks matter-of-factly.
Am I supposed to run through the itinerary?
We kissed.
We had sex.
I didn’t come.
I opt for a question of my own to save both him and the woman standing next to me the gruesome details of my bad sexual experience. “What do you mean?”
“Did he hurt you or threaten you in any way?” There’s not a hint of concern in his voice.
I consider the question. He threatened to fuck me again after he came the first time, but I pretended to be sleepy to save myself the torture of another round of that. “No, it wasn’t like that. He didn’t hurt me.”
“Is this a one-night stand gone wrong?” His eyes give nothing away as he looks into mine.
I take a steadying breath to calm myself before I respond. I know that I don’t have to tell him anything, but since he’s the only link I have to my missing wallet and phone, I answer. “Yes. We met last night.”
He cocks his head as if he’s absorbing what I just said. “Joyce will help you sort this out. If I can be of any assistance, she’ll let me know.”
That’s great but who the hell is Joyce?
“I should have introduced myself sooner.” The woman next to me speaks as if on cue. “I’m Joyce Treadwell, Mr. Kent’s assistant. What’s your name, dear?”
“Piper,” I say softly. “I’m Piper Ellis.”
“Good luck with everything, Piper Ellis.” A smile eases across Griffin’s lips, as he looks me over. “And welcome to New York.”