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 checkin 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.