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HAYLEY: TODAY
(Present Day)
San Francisco, California
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I OPENED MY EYES ANDgroaned as the rays of morning sunlight stung my face. My head was throbbing in pain, and my throat felt itchy and dry. Even my lips and nipples felt sore.
I brought my hand up to my face to shield the sun and noticed a white note attached to my tennis bracelet:
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Miss Statham,
I’m sorry to hear that you weren’t feeling well last night.
There are bottles of water and two aspirin on your nightstand.
A cold breakfast (and two plates of strawberries) are in the refrigerator, as you requested.
If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask.
Thank you for staying with us!
—Executive Suite Management,
Four Seasons Hotels & Resorts
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I REREAD THE NOTE,wondering when I’d requested any of the things that were mentioned.
I rolled over and looked around the room. My purple dress from last night was draped over the master chair, and loose glitter from my stilettos was sparkling all over the suite’s hardwood floor. My hands immediately went to my chest, and I realized I was wearing a white robe I couldn’t remember putting on.
I couldn’t remember much of anything. Well, except seeing Corey on that roof.
All I knew for sure was that I felt awful, and I was in desperate need of a shower.
Tossing the covers off my body, I walked over to the nightstand and took the aspirin. I untied my robe and slipped into the stone shower, letting hot streams fall over me.
“Ah ...” I leaned back against the rocks and let out deep breaths.
I shut my eyes and tried to remember how the hell I'd gone from bidding on a painting for my brother, to seeing Corey, and getting back to my suite without blinking an eye.
Images from last night began shuffling in my mind—Corey on the roof, a shot of cranberry and vodka, a conversation with the concierge, but the more I tried to process them, the more my head hurt.
As the water fell harder and hotter over my body, a much longer memory began to play: I was picking up my sixth glass of vodka and cranberry juice from a waiter’s tray and forcing myself to laugh at some random suit’s joke. I was seconds away from calling a cab when I turned around and felt my entire world stop.
All evening I’d heard whispers about a certain “Mr. W,” and how unbelievably sexy he was. How a single glance was all it took for any woman to want to sleep with him, and how he was the most desired bachelor in the entire city.
The second Corey’s eyes met mine, I knew for a fact that he was exactly who everyone was talking about. He wasn’t the cute and chubby Corey with messy bed-hair anymore, the boy who wore T-shirts and ripped jeans for any occasion. This Corey was the utter definition of a wet dream.
Cocky and confident, he was standing there all alone—completely oblivious to the lust-filled gazes and whispers that surrounded him. His dark brown hair was cut low, but long enough for a woman to run her fingers through during sex. His chiseled jawline made him appear far more intimidating than I remembered, and his full and defined lips caused butterflies to flutter against my stomach. I couldn’t help but fantasize about how they would feel pressed against mine.
The black suit he was wearing—a three-piece with an emerald silk tie, perfectly complemented his deep, green eyes. And I could tell by the way the fabric clung to his body, that he was hiding a perfect set of abs underneath.
When I approached him, he’d looked me up and down—as if he wanted to undress me on the spot.
