by T. K. Leigh
Even more intrigued as to who this mystery man is, I consider snooping to see what else I can find out. Hell, I can’t even remember his name. I wonder if I asked for it, or if I agreed to sleep with him regardless of whether I knew it. I’d like to say I’d never do such a thing, but all bets are off.
I shift my attention to the enormous kitchen island and spy a stack of mail on the corner. When I start toward it for no other reason than to learn his name, I discern the faint echo of footsteps from down the hallway.
My pulse soaring, I spin around, hurrying out of the apartment, leaving my one-night stand where it belongs… Behind me.
Chapter Four
When I emerge onto the street, I’m enveloped by the fevered pace of midtown Manhattan, the sidewalks moving with the energy of this place I’ve grown to love. Sirens blare, horns honk, truck brakes squeak and moan. But as I revel in the mass of people walking in every direction possible, coupled with the strength of the sun on this summer day, the panic of waking up in a strange man’s bed is overshadowed with a new reason to panic… It’s Friday. And I’m most likely late for work.
Reaching into my purse, I retrieve my cell, thankful it still has a little battery life left, and spy the time. 9:35.
“Crap,” I mutter, dashing through the crowd of men and women in suits, as well as the occasional tourist snapping photos, not paying attention to the people trying to skirt around them. At least I had the wherewithal to have a one-night stand with someone who lives only a few blocks from the office. As much as I hate showing up in the dress I wore yesterday, I don’t have enough time to go back to Brooklyn and change if I want to be on time for the weekly check-in with the magazine’s editor. Thankfully, I have extra clothes at work.
I reach the building in record time and run through the lobby, my heels clicking on the marble tile. After scanning my ID badge, permitting me entry through the turnstiles, I join the mob of people waiting for an elevator. When one arrives, we all pile in, everyone glued to their phones as we ride up to our respective floors.
Having no idea how I must look this morning, I pull out the compact I keep in my purse, checking my reflection. I cringe, the bloodshot eyes staring back evidencing a night of overindulgence and lack of sleep.
I do my best to adjust my appearance with the few tools I have. I secure my wavy red hair into a fashionable messy bun on the top of my head, then pull out a few ringlets to frame my face, making it appear the haphazard style is intentional. After I put a little powder on my fair skin and line my lips with gloss, I pop a mint into my mouth to rid myself of rank morning breath, hoping it will be sufficient until I can get to the toothbrush I keep in my desk.
The instant I’m done readjusting my appearance, the elevator comes to a stop on my floor. I straighten my spine, holding my head high as I emerge into the magazine’s busy newsroom, smiling as I pass the chipper receptionist who, just like the rest of the entry-level staff, is waiting for her big break in the modeling industry. The place is bright and buzzing with energy, phones ringing off the hook, nails tapping against keyboards, music playing from a few desks.
As I continue through the rows of cubicles, I exude all the confidence I can muster in the hopes no one realizes I dragged myself out of a stranger’s bed and am wearing the same dress I had on yesterday. What am I thinking? Of course they’ll notice. This is a women’s fashion magazine. For many of these people, fashion is their life. They could probably tell me what I wore on a certain date better than I can.
Bypassing my cubicle, I head straight for the break room, needing caffeine before I face what I imagine will be a day from hell. I enter the space, the aroma of coffee making my mouth water. As I pour myself a cup, I hear a familiar whistle, followed by the sound of drawn-out clapping. I groan silently. There’s only one person it could be.
“Did you just slow clap my walk of shame?” I slowly turn around, stirring sweetener and creamer into my coffee.
“You bet your ass I did, sweet cheeks,” Chloe retorts, annoyingly chipper for what seems like an early hour.
Her hair is sleek and lustrous, her outfit stylish, her gray eyes bold and refreshed. I hate her for not suffering from the same hangover as me. Then again, she exhibited something called self-control last night, whereas I fired for effect. I didn’t drink to take the edge off. I drank to forget. It worked...a little too well.
“Based on your appearance…” She gestures to my dress, more than aware it’s the same one I wore yesterday, “it looks like you never made it home last night.”
I take a sip of coffee, briefly closing my eyes as I savor the nutty flavor.
“So if you didn’t go home, where did you have your Uber take you?”
I arch a brow, looking over my mug at her. “Uber?”
“Yeah. Uber.” She peers at me as if I’m a complete idiot. “You tried to take the subway, but we convinced you that you were too drunk, so you called for an Uber.”
“Of course! I took an Uber!” I place my coffee on the counter and withdraw my phone from my purse. Ignoring the multiple texts from my mother, I bring up the app and search my latest trip.
Chloe grabs my arm, tugging me from the break room. Thankfully, my reflexes are quick enough that I grab my coffee before she drags me through the offices.
“Do you not remember what happened between leaving the bar and waking up this morning?” she asks softly so no one can overhear.
“I vaguely recall wanting to go home and sleep off the alcohol…” I suck in a breath, my eyes flinging to my phone. “But when the Uber driver pulled up in front of our place, I couldn’t go inside.” I shove my cell at her. She takes it, looking at the map of my trip, which appears to be one large circle. “I must have had him take me back to the bar.”
“Why?”
“All I know is I couldn’t go into that apartment and be surrounded by memories of Trevor. Maybe I went back to find you and crash at your place for the night.”
“Instead of having the Uber driver take you to my place?”
I shake my head. “I can’t attempt to rationalize what went through my brain last night, other than way too much alcohol.”
“I guess I can understand that. And I said you could crash with me as long as you need to, not just one night. I’m barely there anyway.”
“That’s unnecessary.” Once we reach my cubicle, I place my mug on the desk, then open the storage cabinet in the corner, pulling out a fresh bra, panties, and wrap dress, as well as my toothbrush and toothpaste. “Like I said yesterday…” My steps are quick as I walk toward the ladies’ room, Chloe following. “I’m sure once this trial is over and Trevor is less stressed, he’ll realize what a mistake he made.”
I lock myself in one of the stalls and rip my dress over my head. I almost want to keep it on since it smells like my mystery man.
“Evie, wh—”
“I don’t remember making it back to the bar,” I interrupt, knowing all too well she’s about to ask what my plan is if Trevor doesn’t believe he made a mistake. I’m not going to think about that right now. It’s not an option. Everything about my relationship with Trevor had gone according to plan…until now. We’ve gotten derailed. I need to get us back on track. That’s all.
“Then where did you go, because the Uber dropped you back off at the bar.” She pauses. “Or at least close to the bar.” I imagine her scrutinizing the trip map on the app. “Actually, he dropped you off in Columbus Circle.”
I gasp, straightening my spine.
“What is it?”
I hastily pull the wrap dress over my body, tying it around the waist. “That’s where I woke up this morning.” I collect my things and step out of the stall.
“Where?”
“Columbus Circle. More specifically, on the seventy-something floor in an apartment overlooking Central Park that had to cost millions.” Finding my toothbrush, I squeeze some toothpaste on it.
Her eyes widen as she gapes at me. “Who the hell did you sleep with
last night? A goddamn Rockefeller?”
“I have no idea, but he was at the bar,” I say as I brush my teeth.
“He was?”
I nod, then spit into the sink, wiping the residue from around my mouth. “Sitting alone at a table in the corner. I noticed him after I did my little…act.”
“You did, did you?” She waggles her brows, crossing her arms as she leans against the counter.
“Not like that.” I turn my attention to the mirror, fixing my appearance the best I can. “But he wore this gorgeous designer suit and had even more gorgeous eyes. Any female with an interest in the male population would notice this guy.”
“I never noticed him.”
“Well, you’re missing out, because this guy…” I peer at my reflection, recalling the electricity that filled me when his body breezed by mine. The touch was so subtle, but hit me deeper than anything had in recent memory, even when Trevor and I were intimate. I blame it on the combination of the alcohol and my heartbreak, refusing to consider the possibility there’s a different reason for my reaction.
“Yes?” Chloe presses.
“Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful, Chloe.”
She places her hand on her hip, analyzing me. “Okay. So he’s gorgeous. That doesn’t explain how you ended up in his apartment in Columbus Circle.”
“I don’t know how I ended up there.” I snatch my phone out of Chloe’s hand and stare at the map of my Uber trip, seeing it wasn’t a complete round trip. The car dropped me a few blocks shy of the bar. I lean against the tile wall, wishing something would trigger a memory. As I rest my head on the cool tile, I inhale a breath, blinking repeatedly.
“What? What is it?”
“All the stop and go of the car. He was a typical New York driver, gunning the gas before coming to a screeching stop at a light.” I snap my eyes to Chloe. “It made me sick, so before I threw up in his car, I had him let me out by the Time Warner Center.”
“And did you throw up in his car?”
“I don’t think so.” I pinch my lips together, thinking. “No. I definitely didn’t.” I squint, pieces of the previous night trickling back like raindrops. “I remember feeling dizzy after getting out of the car, so I grasped a bus bench to steady myself, but it didn’t help. The world kept spinning. I think I mumbled something about never drinking again.” My eyes widen as his voice fills my mind. “That’s when I heard someone say, ‘That’s probably a good idea’, or something like that.”
“Who?”
“Him. Mr. Armani Suit.” I smile dreamily at the memory of looking up to see my knight in shining armor standing before me, his blue eyes emblazoned in my mind. Noticing Chloe smirking, I quickly wipe the smile off my face, pretending not to be affected. “After that, I don’t remember much.”
“You like him,” she comments after a brief silence.
“What?” I step back, aghast. “No. Absolutely not. I don’t even know his name.”
“That’s never stopped me before,” she answers dismissively.
“I was under duress. I drank far too much, made the mistake of going home with some random guy, then woke up practically naked in his bed. Just goes to show you what kind of slimeball this guy truly is, sleeping with someone who’s obviously drunk. So not only did my boyfriend dump me, I get to end my week with a visit to the clinic to get tested because who knows if this guy put on a condom.”
“How do you know you slept with him? You said yourself you don’t remember much.”
“I woke up in my bra and panties.”
“All the more evidence you didn’t sleep together. Who in their right mind puts their bra and panties back on after sex? Especially drunken sex. Who sleeps with a bra on anyway?”
“Again, I can’t attempt to rationalize what I was thinking last night. And trust me. I know how I get when I’ve had too much to drink. I’m sure once I saw this guy without his shirt on, all thoughts of Trevor went out the window and I only cared about one thing…getting laid. Or maybe I did it to spite Trevor…a revenge screw, so to speak…which I must have thought was a brilliant idea with all the alcohol I drank last night.”
She smirks, amused by my misfortune. I guess I deserve it. I’ve repeatedly claimed I would never have a one-night stand. That I would only sleep with someone I felt a strong connection to. I’m not a prude. While I enjoy sex as much as any other woman, I don’t feel the need to sleep around.
Then again, when most people are at the age where they’re exploring their sexuality, I was already dating Trevor. We explored our sexuality together. Is this what my life will be like without Trevor? Having to sleep around and hope to find someone I connect with? God, I don’t even want to think about having to date, especially in New York City.
“So…” She grins deviously. “What did he look like without his shirt on?”
“An Adonis,” I answer before my brain can tell my mouth to shut it. “Fuck, Chloe. Male perfection. Broad shoulders. Sculpted chest. Abs you want to lick. With a body like that, I’m sure I was all over him. Which makes me feel even more guilty.”
“Why? Trevor broke up with you.”
“Yes, but—”
“Oh, there you two are,” a voice interrupts. We whip our heads toward the door. Maggie, the editor-in-chief’s assistant, stands there, a self-important expression on her face. Sometimes she forgets she’s the editor’s assistant, not assistant editor. Big difference. “The meeting’s about to start. Viv’s waiting on you guys.”
“Sorry, Mags. We’re coming.” Grateful for the reprieve, I smile at Chloe as I follow Maggie, drop ping off my clothes from yesterday at my cubicle on the way.
As I’m about to walk into Viv’s office, a hand covers my arm. I look at Chloe, her slate-gray eyes narrowed on me. “Listen, Evie. I get that you’re hurting over what happened with Trevor, and you have every right to be. Maybe this is the opportunity you need to have a little fun and figure out who you are.”
“I already know—”
“Who you are?” Her voice is low, her expression filled with skepticism. “If you do, why are you willing to change that just so Trevor will want to be with you? I get you have a history. I can’t even imagine how difficult the next few weeks…hell, months will be trying to adjust to a new normal. I’m the last person you should take relationship advice from, considering I avoid them like the plague. But instead of wasting time concocting a plan to win Trevor back by becoming the type of person he wants to date, you should focus on finding someone who wants to date you as you are right now.”
She places her hands on my biceps, her eyebrows pulled down. “Because the Evie I know is a complete badass. And any guy who doesn’t see that doesn’t deserve you.”
Chapter Five
Chloe’s words leave me questioning whether salvaging my relationship with Trevor is the right move. How could it not be? Like she said, she’s the last person I should take relationship advice from. In the five years I’ve known her, she hasn’t been in a single committed relationship. She doesn’t understand the dynamic of a real relationship. It’s all about give and take, being in a partnership. Sometimes one person has to shoulder more of the weight. Right now, I need to do the heavy lifting. I refuse to give up so easily.
Resolved, I step into the conference room, coming to an immediate stop when my eyes fall on the spread of flowers covering the table, cards and chocolate interspersed among the extravagant display.
“What’s going on?”
I want to believe this is merely a birthday celebration for me. It probably started that way, but as I spy the sympathy covering my coworkers’ faces, coupled with the balloons that say “I’m sorry” and “Get Well Soon”, I’m positive that’s not the case.
“It appears condolences are in order.”
Vivian Wood, Editor-in-Chief of Blush magazine, is the picture of sophistication. Then again, I’m fairly certain she could make a paper sack look like this year’s latest fashion trend. Not a single strand of her platinum
hair is out of place. She’s in her sixties, but her youthful complexion, devoid of wrinkles, makes it appear as if she’s not a day over forty. She’s slender, dressed in skinny jeans, gorgeous heels, and a suit jacket. I consider myself on the tall side at five feet, nine inches, but that’s no match for Viv. That’s probably one of the reasons she’s remained single most of her life. Her six-foot height must intimidate most potential partners. Let’s face it. The majority of men would feel emasculated standing next to a woman who’s taller than them…especially a woman as confident and successful as Viv.
“Sorry about the breakup, Evie.” There’s an air of authority about her as she strides toward me, a devilish smirk crawling across her thin, pink lips. “Or I should be sorry, but the opportunist in me looks forward to how this will affect your perspective in some of your articles.”
“It won’t.”
Her smile widens. “We’ll see about that. For the past five years, you’ve been writing about sex and dating from the safety of what you thought to be a secure relationship. That’s not the case anymore. Trust me. I’ve been single in this city for thirty years. It’s a jungle out there. I’m looking forward to what new and exciting things you’ll bring to the table now.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
Chloe snorts a laugh and I shift my gaze to her. “The men in this city are a different breed altogether.”
“She’s right,” Lenora, the editor for health and beauty, offers. I head toward Chloe, sitting beside her on the couch. “Most of them are glued to their phones.”
“And forget about being chivalrous,” Dawn, one of our graphic designers, adds. “I can’t tell you how many dates I’ve been on with a guy who didn’t even open the door or pick up the check.”
Chloe turns to me. “So if you come across a man who takes care of you, go after that.” She winks, an unspoken reminder in her gaze about last night’s mystery man.