Chapter 3
A strand of her long, brunette hair slips between my fingers.
Soft. Silky.
It has the perfect amount of wave and bounce, making her look like a fucking goddess as she rides my cock.
Those hazel eyes, sharp and knowing, hold me captive while she moves.
Slow. Deliberate.
Like she’s in control.
Like she owns me.
And her mouth?—
God, her fucking mouth.
Lips swollen from my kisses. From the way she took me deep, her tongue flicking against the head before she swallowed me whole.
I groan, gripping her hips, my fingers digging in as I thrust up to meet her movements.
She feels fucking amazing.
Tight. Hot. Like she was made for me.
She’s close—so close. I can feel her body tightening around me, her breath turning into soft, desperate gasps.
Her head falls back, her spine arching, and her mouth parts?—
A sound slips from her lips.
It’s muffled. Unintelligible.
My brow furrows, but I keep my hold on her hips.
She’s coming, her body trembling, but that sound?—
What the fuck was that?
Then it happens again—louder this time.
It’s sharp. Persistent.
It doesn’t belong here.
BZZZT. BZZZT.
The sound drags me under, distorts everything?—
BZZZT. BZZZT.
I jolt awake, jarred by the too-bright room.
Blinking, I exhale sharply, my pulse still fucking pounding in my ears.
What the fuck?—
BZZZT. BZZZT.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand, rattling against the crystal glass.
The culprit that disturbed what was about to be an amazing fucking dream.
Christ.
I drag a hand down my face, forcing myself to sit up.
My muscles are tight.
My cock is rock fucking hard from the dream I just had—about her.
Turning around, I look at the barely disturbed bed next to me.
I can see the divot on the pillow where she laid her head.
The gentle scent of her perfume still lingers in the air, like a ghost of our night together.
Only my clothes litter the floor.
Hers are gone.
I exhale slowly, clenching my jaw.
Of course, she’s gone.
One night.
No names.
No expectations.
It was exactly what we agreed on.
So why the fuck does it piss me off?
I shake it off when my phone vibrates again.
I grab it?—
And immediately swear under my breath.
Lucian Vale.
Shit.
I overslept.
I never oversleep.
“You’re late.”
Lucian’s voice drips with amusement, and I already want to hang up.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling sharply.
“I’m aware.”
“Shit, did hell freeze over? Damien Wolfe oversleeping? I thought you didn’t do things like sleep in, take days off, or—God forbid—have fun.”
I grunt, looking toward the window, drapes thrown back, letting the bright sunlight fill the room.
The city sprawls below, glittering with morning light, but I’m not seeing any of it.
“Didn’t oversleep,” I mutter, rubbing the heel of my hand against my temple. “Just got behind this morning.”
Lucian’s chuckle is way too entertained for my liking.
“Morning? Try again, lover boy. It’s almost noon. ”
Noon.
I never sleep this late.
The tension pulls tight in my chest, and I swing my legs over the side of the bed, pressing my forearms to my knees.
Lucian hums, way too entertained. “Uh-huh. And what was her name?”
“What’s the point of your call?”
Dead silence.
Then—a bark of laughter. “Holy shit. That good?”
“Lucian.” Warning.
“Do I know her?”
Lucian’s still talking, oblivious to the fact that I’m one comment away from throwing my phone across the room.
“I assume she was spectacular, considering you went full Sleeping Beauty over there.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Drop it.”
“Oh, come on. You expect me to just ignore this? Damien Wolfe, sleeping past sunrise? Canceling meetings?”
A pause. Then, with mock concern?—
“Do I need to send your assistant with an emergency espresso?”
I exhale sharply, already done with this conversation.
Lucian gasps in all seriousness this time.
“Wait, was it Vanessa? ”**
His voice pitches on the end of her name before he starts whispering like someone is eavesdropping on our goddamn phone call.
“Did you fuck your assistant?”
“Christ, Luc. I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”
Speaking of which ? —
I pull my phone away from my ear, texting Vanessa.
DAMIEN: Clear my calendar today.
VANESSA: Everything? Are you sure? Is everything okay?
DAMIEN: I don’t pay you to be my therapist.
VANESSA: Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it.
“I swear I’m interviewing for new assistants as soon as this fucking merger is done.”
I mutter it more to myself than Lucian.
Lucian snickers.
“Poor girl.”
“She’s fine.”
“You say that, but I’m pretty sure she cries into her designer notebooks after every conversation with you.”
I don’t respond.
Because the crystal glass—half full of water with a red lipstick smear on the edge—has me frozen.
One more remnant left behind of the woman I should stop thinking about.
I shouldn’t think about the way she fit against me?—
Soft and warm.
The way her lips parted under mine.
The way she looked at me like she knew exactly what she was doing—like she was playing the game and winning.
But I do.
And I fucking hate it.
The call goes quiet for a second.
Then—
“You still there?”
I drag my gaze across the room, searching for anything else she left behind.
Nothing.
No forgotten earrings.
Not even a fucking note.
It’s like she was never here.
Except she was.
I feel her absence, and it’s irritating as hell.
“Yeah,” I say, voice flat. “I’m here.”
Lucian is too perceptive for his own good.
“Alright, Moody Judy. You coming in, or should I start sending out condolence letters for your tragic demise?”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Good. I hand-picked this contract for you myself. She’s sharp, elegant, knows how to play the game. She’ll be perfect.”
I drag a hand down my face.
“She better be.”
Lucian chuckles.
“See you soon, lover boy.”
The call ends before I can tell him to go fuck himself.
I slam the phone down a little too hard.
My chest is tight with something I refuse to name.
I step inside the shower, hands braced against the marble wall, head bowed beneath the scalding spray.
She left.
Like we said.
So why the fuck does that bother me?
Why do I feel like I lost something I never even had?
I get some food in my stomach and caffeine in my system as I check my emails and fire off a few more orders for my assistant.
I’ve been staying at the Wolfe Grand more often than my own fucking penthouse, so I pull a black suit with a crisp white shirt from the closet.
I’m straightening my black tie and spritzing my cologne when my phone chimes.
LUCIAN: Tick-tock… you know… since you’re having a hard time with your punctuality today.
Asshole.
Snatching last night’s pants from the floor, I fish through the pockets while using voice assistant to order a car. I shove my money clip and other contents into my pockets while checking my watch one more time.
Fuck. I needed to leave five minutes ago.
In no time, my driver is pulling away, heading to The Black Ledger’s sleek high-rise about thirty minutes from my hotel.
I ring the concierge at Ember & Ash.
The steakhouse is reservation only, so my little mystery woman can’t hide for long.
“Hey, Cal.” I greet the general manager, knowing they’re getting ready to open for dinner. “Can you check the reservation log for me from last night?”
“Of course, Mr. Wolfe. Anyone in particular you’re looking for?”
“Yeah. A woman, table for one around eight.”
I wait, knowing he’s sliding his finger along the tablet, eyes scanning for my request.
I pretend like there’s no reason I’m holding my breath.
“Doesn’t look like there was one.” He sounds confused. “Was there a complaint last night? The staff didn’t?—”
I cut him off. “No. Nothing of that sort.” The words trail off. “If there was a walk-in?”
“Ah, likely it. We don’t add the walk-ins typically since they’re usually regular guests, Mr. Wolfe.”
A regular.
Could this get any easier for me?
I almost grin in early celebration.
I’ll know her name before dinnertime.
“Can you ask around? See who sat her last night?”
“I’ll be happy to, Mr. Wolfe. Anything else I can do for you?”
“That’s it, Cal. Thanks.”
I end the call before he answers.
Cal’s a great guy, but I’m in no mood for pleasantries today.
God help this poor contract Lucian set up for me.
Only days ago, I called him needing one of his girls for a two-week contract.
My multi-billion-dollar merger is on the line, and the CEO’s wife wants a family man to take over her husband’s business.
Well… I can’t buy a family, but I can buy a fiancée.
Especially when my good friend owns the world’s most prestigious escort agency.
The Black Ledger
Fifteen minutes later, the elevator doors open, and I’m greeted by The Black Ledger’s marble entrance.
“Welcome to The Ledger, Mr. Wolfe.”
The receptionist is clearly a pro, greeting me by name instead of asking who I am.
Only the best from Lucian.
“Right this way.”
She stands, leading me through a set of heavy, opaque doors where my old friend is already walking toward us.
“Ah, Mr. Vale for you. Enjoy your contract, Mr. Wolfe.”
I nod at her, then give Lucian my best eat-shit expression.
Lucian—tattoos covering his forearms and neck, slate-blue eyes that match his dress shirt, three days’ stubble—looks every part the man who has connections everywhere.
He’s a hard businessman and a damn good friend.
Self-made, just like me.
And we’re both at the top of the pyramid in our respective fields.
“’Bout time, Moody Judy.”
“I’ll throw you out the window of your own high-rise.”
He throws his head back, laughing loudly, drawing a look or two from a few women in red—the signature color of a Black Ledger companion.
“Okay, okay. I’ll stop busting your balls now.” He greets me with a familiar handshake and one-armed hug.
“You’re getting old.”
I gesture to his tight cut.
His salt-and-pepper hair seems to have more salt than pepper these days.
He’s only thirty-eight, six years older than me, but I need something to toss back at him with all the jokes he’s been spouting today.
“Speak for yourself.”
He turns, and I follow him toward his office at the end of the hall.
He holds out a closed folder. “I’ll be young forever.”
He nods at one of his girls—another wearing the signature red ensemble, signaling she’s meeting her new contract today.
They’re all beautiful, pampered, and perfectly poised for the billionaires they’re contracted to.
The women set the terms of the contract, and God help the person who tries to break it.
Lucian came up hard, and he won’t hesitate to spill blood over the safety of his enterprise.
I peek inside the envelope, seeing printed papers I’ll look at later. “My contract is clear? No physical needs. Only public appearances? Big fucking bonus at the end.”
“Hey, who are you talking to here?”
Lucian holds his hands out in mock offense. “The contract is perfect. I’ve got my top girl for you. Background checks on your CEO cleared. Your romantic backstory is in that envelope. She’ll handle the rest.”
We pause at his door, his hand gripping the matte-gold handle.
“She’ll treat you so nice, you’ll never want to let her go.”
He winks at me, pulling the handle and holding the door open wide.
“It’s two weeks, and trust me, I will let her go.”
I turn from Lucian to the woman in red before me—and instantly swallow my words.
Fuck me sideways.
It’s her.
It’s Trouble .
My heart surges in my chest like a stampede of galloping horses, and I feel the blood drain from my face.
Long brown hair with the perfect amount of wave and bounce.
A figure that makes my cock twitch.
And hazel eyes that look just as surprised as I feel right now.
I see it—the flicker of recognition.
The way she hesitates, just for a second.
But then—nothing.
She smooths her expression into polite indifference.
Poised. Professional.
Like she doesn’t fucking know me.
Like she didn’t have my cock down her throat last night.
Like she wasn’t in my bed, moaning my name, looking at me with those same hazel eyes that are now pretending I’m just another client.
Lucian, oblivious, gestures to her like this isn’t a fucking disaster.
“Damien, meet Elena Moreau. Your fiancée.”