"While I'm very sorry for all you've gone through, I can't help but thank my lucky stars that you are now available so blokes the likes of me will have a shot at dating an angel," Ryker says, and his compliment is genuine. Nothing about it or him is car salesman-ish or fake.
His words, the fervor behind them, the way he's staring at me gives me a boost that I would have thought to be impossible before this very minute. Ryker doesn't turn away. With an intensity that makes me blush, he continues studying me, letting what he said sink in.
Something tells me this man is accustomed to getting what he wants, when he wants it, and wherever he wants it.
He may be belly-aching gorgeous, I may have been kicked to the curb for a better model, and I may be doing things I never would have considered before, but I'm not having sex with a complete stranger.
Even revenge sex?
My train of thought reminds me of the terrible state of mind I'm in, and I look away from Ryker and his stare, one that nearly has me spreading my legs and screaming his name.
I make myself focus on something other than Ryker and the way he's boring holes into me with his gaze. Sauntering around the main room of the hotel suite, I'm reminded of the comment Ryker made earlier about his hotel room being cold. Instantly, it occurs to me that the apartment is going to feel cold and empty without Colt. Even though he was hardly ever physically there, his spirit and the knowledge he'd be coming home to sleep with me made it warm and cozy... Before today, anyway.
When my eyes begin to burn with unshed tears, I become desperate for a topic unrelated to Colt. It's at that moment that I ask the question that has been on my mind for a few minutes.
"Ryker, you seem kind of young to be important enough in your company to be put up in a room like this. Does your father own the company?"
When he doesn't answer me right away, I turn and glance his way.
Ryker offers me another lopsided grin and, this time, I can't help but think how beautiful he is.
Maybe more so than Colt, and that's nearly impossible.
His brown hair matches his eyes perfectly and is long—and sexy—enough to make its way into his face on occasion. His dimples are the deep kind a girl could get lost in. I actually resent the way his day-old and perfectly trimmed beard quite nearly hides them.
"No, Baylee. My father doesn't own the company," he says softly before hardening. "Don't mistake me for the man who left you downstairs. I've never been given anything in my life that I didn't work for... work hard for."
My mood is melancholy when I say, "Actually, the fact that you are where you are on your own merit means you're nothing like the man who left me downstairs. Colt is brilliant. Don't get me wrong. If he would've gone out on his own and become his own man, he would've eventually been able to do anything he wanted to do. Unfortunately, his need to please his father and his father's willingness to control him with his purse strings has turned him into a spineless jellyfish."
Taking in what I just said, Ryker watches me, and suddenly it occurs to me how he's gotten so far in his company. He studies people by sizing them up, using their strengths to drive them further whenever possible and their weaknesses against them as an option of last resort.
Right now, he's doing what he does best. Only I'm not a worker in his company. I'm a woman who needs answers.
"What're your thoughts about me, Ryker?" I ask casually, curiously. I'm still strolling around the apartment, making mental notes without actually touching anything.
"Excuse me," Ryker says, and I can tell I've caught him off guard.
"Well, I have to assume that you're very good at what you do. I mean, look at this hotel room. You've been studying me non-stop for a while now. I'm assuming you've come to some conclusions. Maybe if I hear them aloud, I can make the necessary changes so I'm not ever put into this position again. I mean—Jesus—I was just left downstairs so there has to be something about me that must be changed," I say sensibly.
No matter how level-headed my request is, the self-conscious and hurt woman inside of me cringes and waits for the news that men don't want women who are too tall, too gaunt, too clumsy, too... Oh hell! The list could go on forever!
Ryker says nothing. I suspect he's too much of a gentleman to tell me what he thinks.
"Go ahead. I can take whatever you have to say," I say, squaring my shoulders and preparing myself.
Even then, I can't make eye contact with him. I've been hurt enough for one day. No matter what I say, hearing anything negative about myself right now—even if it's constructive—will be another kick to the stomach.
I must be a sadist. I'm begging for this stranger to share his opinion about me because I know there are things I don't see. I'm too close to see them. Colt saw them all and decided they were terrible enough to get rid of.
"I see a smart, beautiful woman—one that any man in the country would give his right arm to have—who has gone out of her way to make the man she loves happy. While there's nothing wrong with that on the surface, I have to wonder why she was putting so much time into a relationship she knew was in trouble." Ryker pauses and lets that sink in.
I stiffen, refusing to look his way. "What makes you think I knew?"
"You told me you were doing things for him..." Ryker clears his throat. "Had body parts waxed for him in order to please him. You knew there was trouble in paradise."
Ryker's tone is not accusing, but rather matter-of-fact.
I sigh. "I suppose I did, but I hoped he'd see the light. He'd see what we have together."
"Yeah. I know because I also see a woman willing to sacrifice herself—move from city to city, quit jobs she loves and leave friends and family—in order to meet his needs. She thinks nothing of her own desires because he is her world."
"That about sums it up," I whisper.
"What I don't know or understand is why you would do that."
With that, I snap my head and cut my eyes his way.
He shrugs. "I mean... you should do whatever you want to do whenever you want to do it. If a man loves you, truly loves you, he will support you and still love you no matter what. That's the kind of man you should be looking for. That's the kind of man you should be with, Baylee. They're out there. Trust me," Ryker says.
"Are you saying that because you're one of those men, Ryker?"
Ryker sarcastically laughs. "Hell, no, I'm not. There are lots of people—including me—who will tell you I'm a complete prick, and I work too hard to be anything to anybody. The only woman who would put up with me is one who is just like me, and I can't stand myself. I sure as shit am not going to date anyone as selfish as me."
As if embarrassed by his own honesty, Ryker snatches his stare away from me. I don't ask him anything about what he's just shared. There's no reason for me to.
"If you'll pardon me, I need to see if my keys are in the bedroom, and I have a call to make. An appointment to cancel."
Immediately, I feel chagrined. "Oh my God! Ryker! Am I keeping you from your plans? I mean... you have a tux on. You must have somewhere to be. Don't cancel them. I have a friend or two who I could call to come get me if you'll let me use your phone."
Ryker shakes his head. "I don't do anything I don't want to do, Baylee. I'm canceling my appointment, and I'm driving you home. Your night has been bad enough without having to call and beg someone to pick you up and drive you home."
"Do you think it's any better for me to have to impose upon a complete stranger?" I ask sadly.
He shrugs his shoulders. "I've told you. I don't do anything I don't want to do. Now, give me a few minutes and I'll drive you home. Just like your piece of shit ex-boyfriend should have done."
The mention of Colt and the position he's left me in nearly sends my world spinning again. From the corner of my eye, I spot the bar and head straight for it.
Behind me Ryker says, "Feel free to make yourself a drink."
There's no mistaking the sound of the bedroom door as it closes, but I don'
t hear anything coming from the room after he goes in. If he's on the phone, he's being very quiet or the room is sound proof. Either way, I'm in his hotel room with a completely stocked bar and a broken heart.
Never in my life have I drunk by myself. Right now, I don't care what I normally do. Normal has gotten me nowhere. I'm not a big drinker so at first I'm intimidated by all of the choices. There are bottles in every size, shape, and color. As soon as I see the red wax dripping down the neck of the bottle filled with amber liquid, I remember the way my father always makes a toast on the anniversary of my mother's death. That toast is made with a giant shot of Maker's Mark.
"That'll do," I say aloud to no one in particular, grabbing the bottle around the neck and twisting off the lid.
Instead of getting one of the tiny shot glasses, I nab a tumbler and fill it up like I'm drinking the Cristal champagne and not ninety proof whiskey.
I don't give a flying fuck. I'm getting drunk tonight... and tomorrow I'll nurse my hangover... and the next day I'll make a plan for myself. Right now, I want to be numb.
With my glass filled to the brim, I sit down on the couch and gulp as if I'm drinking Gatorade after a five-mile run. My throat and stomach are burning like they might soon combust, but the pain is taking the focus off my aching chest, the drink is clouding the memory of being dumped, and I'm finally feeling better.
Quoting Ben Jonson, I lift my hand up in toast and say:
Drink today, and drown all sorrow;
You shall perhaps not do it tomorrow;
Best, while you have it, use your breath;
There is no drinking after death.
I'm down to the bottom of my first glass of whiskey and Ryker still hasn't come out of the bedroom. I stand up—barely—kicking off my shoes and laughing when they fly up. One lands on Ryker's desk and the other lands on the mantel.
I head back over to the bar and pour another drink and am just sitting—falling—back down when Ryker exits his room. He still has his tux on, but the tie is undone and hanging loose, and the top several buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned.
"Good Lord, Ryker. Who did you have to cancel a meeting with? You look like you've just been through a battle royale. Maybe you should rethink not going," I say, and even to my own drunk ears, I hear the slur of my words.
"It was a party that was going to end up being more political than productive since two former presidents and a governor were going to be in attendance." Ryker chuckles. "I'll get more done during individual meetings later. Don't worry about it."
My eyes widen. "You were supposed to go to a meeting with two presidents and a governor and you canceled. What the hell are you doing?"
I try to get up because I plan to demand that he take me home right now so he can go to the party with three of the most influential people in the nation, but my legs don't cooperate. I stumble forward and would have done a carpet face plant if Ryker hadn't dashed forward, caught me, and helped me up.
"I left you alone for half an hour and you're falling down drunk. I'm not sure what you would do if I left you alone for the entire night, Baylee," Ryker says tenderly, stroking my cheek and kissing my hair.
"It's too soon. There's a big black hole inside of me that might be empty, but it hurts... and it hurts real bad. I have to do something to make it stop. If I don't, it might kill me."
My words are louder than I expected because I'm quite nearly squalling. I hadn't planned to get emotional until I was by myself, but my feelings are raw and the hurt I've been holding in has just burst from its seams. There's no shoving it back in. Following close behind my breakdown are two tears that slip down my cheeks when I close my eyes.
Proving he really is my hero, Ryker pulls me tighter into his arms and squeezes me like he'll never let me go. Suddenly and thank God above, I feel cared for and cared about. For the first time in a long time, I'm in a place where I can give in to the grief that I've been ignoring for far too long.
Soon, I'm sobbing like I've never sobbed before.
CHAPTER 6
THE MORNING AFTER
Baylee
Dammit!
I wake with the sun blaring in my face and a headache unlike anything I've ever experienced. I slit just one eye open and look around, trying to figure out where I am and how I got here.
I remember the hotel, the breakup, and Ryker, and I remember following Ryker to his room to get his keys so he could take me home. Judging by where I am—his bed in his hotel room—and what I have on—nothing but my black lace bustier and its garter—he never drove me home.
Oh my God! What have I done?
Jumping up and planning to cover myself with my dress that just happens to be chaotically hanging half on and half off the dresser, I'm hit by excruciating pain as the contents of my head shift and my skull threatens to explode. Instantly, I grab my temples and moan louder than I mean to. When I do, the door to the bathroom is thrown open and suddenly Ryker is standing in front of me, soaking wet with a towel wrapped around his waist.
My head aches, but there's no denying the fact that he's a perfect specimen in every way. He's tall with sinuous muscles so tight they look like they're exploding from beneath his skin. For a brief moment, I forget what I was doing, the view too stunning to look away from.
Holy hell! What have I done!
"Are you o—" Ryker is anxious and is stopped midsentence when he sees that I'm standing in front of him in nothing but the underwear I bought to seduce Colt.
After a gulp loud enough for me to hear, he glances awkwardly around the room, looking anywhere but near me or my vicinity.
I'm just as awkward as him as I stumble over to my dress, ignoring the way my brain aches, revolting against the champagne and whiskey I greedily gulped down last night. Right now, I have no idea what I did—we did—while I was drunk, but I do know I'm ashamed of myself for it.
Ryker clears his throat. "Uh... um! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to walk in on you. I heard you and thought I better check on you. That's it. I swear," Ryker says, turning his back on me while I shimmy into my dress.
"Don't worry about it," I say, pulling the hem as far down as possible.
Mid-thigh! Was it this short last night?
"Do you need in here?" Ryker motions toward the bathroom, moving to the side in the event that I do.
"No. It's your bathroom. You finish," I mumble.
My face feels like it is the shade of the sun. I've never had a one-night stand in my life because I've never slept with anyone on a first date.
Even though I was instantly attracted to Colt, I was able to hold out a solid week. Jesus! What have I done!
Shamefully hanging my head, I slip out of his room and stand staring around Ryker's temporary living room, wondering how I'm going to get home.
First thing's first. I have to find my shoes.
I glance around and see the first patent leather peep shoe on the mantel. I walk over and grab it, shaking my head and wondering how the hell it got there without breaking any of the vases and figurines lining it. I scan the room and see the other Louboutin sitting on top of Ryker's computer like it is Cinderella's glass slipper. I hobble over and snatch it from the display.
Slipping them both on and feeling just a little better now that I'm at least dressed, I slump down on the couch and put my aching head into the palm of my hands.
This is a new low for me. I made it all the way through college without ever having one of these morning-after moments and look at me now. My boyfriend who I loved—always will love—has left me for another woman because his father hates me enough to demand that he find someone better. In retaliation, I sleep with the first stranger to come along. He may be a man who is more beautiful than Colt, but he's a stranger nonetheless.
I've never been so irresponsible in my entire life, and I can't believe I've done this now.
"What the hell would Dad say?" I think aloud.
My father, the illustrious Dr. Aaron Messenger, spends every summer workin
g for Doctors without Borders and treating the HIV epidemic in Africa. Since the day I turned thirteen—the day he decided to tell me about the birds and the bees—he's drilled in my head the importance of not getting drunk so I wouldn't put myself at risk for having sex unprotected and getting HIV. A pregnancy was the least of his concerns. Don't get me wrong. He would have regretted it, but a life-altering disease was his biggest fear.
I swore to him a million times I wouldn't ever put myself in that situation... and look at me now.
I sigh wearily. I'm more mortified over this transgression than I am over my very public and absolutely humiliating breakup with Colt.
I need to go to the nearest emergency room and talk to a doctor about prophylactic HIV drugs. Surely, unprotected sex with a stranger qualifies as a condition whereby you would begin the treatment.
The one thing I know is that I can't call my father and ask. He'd be more disappointed in me than I am.
A few seconds later, I hear the door to the bedroom open and close. I glance through the fingers covering my face and eyes and see Ryker. I barely conceal a groan. He's dressed in cargo shorts, a polo, and boat shoes. He's model beautiful and obviously looks amazing in anything he wears.
I may have been presentable the night before, but right now and sight unseen, I'm positive I look like the scorned woman I am. I'm sure the fact that I have a hangover, no hairbrush, a disgusting case of cotton-mouth, and the remnants of mascara tears staining my face makes me all the more repulsive.
Before Ryker has a chance to say anything, there's a knock on the door. I jerk to an upright sitting position and glance around like someone I know might soon find out what I've done.
"Don't get up. I took the liberty of ordering breakfast for us," Ryker says cheerily.
Given my predicament, I'm anything but cheery, and there's a tiny part of me that resents his jovial mood.
Ryker opens the door, and an equally jolly bellhop rolls in a cart covered with a half of a dozen dome-shaped plates and two buckets of ice. One of the buckets has an old-fashioned milk bottle filled with orange juice and the other has a brand-new bottle of Cristal.
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