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Chapter 1
Piper
"Griffin Kent is the worst lover I've ever had." With tears welling in the corners of my eyes, I stare at the woman sitting behind the sleek wooden reception desk. "I can't believe I slept with him. I called the police. They're going to be here any minute."
She looks past me to the frosted glass doors at the entrance of the law offices of Kent & Colt. "If it's a crime to be a dud in bed, my ex-husband would be serving twenty to life right now."
I scrub my hand over my face, mascara staining my palm. "I didn't call them because of that."
"Can I get you a glass of water?" The kind-looking woman is on her feet now. "You look about ready to pass out. Why don't you sit down? We can discuss this."
Discuss what? I went to a hotel with a man last night. We had really bad sex, and when I woke up an hour ago, he was gone along with my wallet and my smartphone.
"I don't want to talk about it." I look beyond her to the massive, exquisitely designed space that obviously houses a number of offices. "Where's the asshole? I need to see him now."
Her lips curl into an unexpected smile. "He's not here. He never gets in until at least nine fifteen."
My gaze drops to my wrist, but the silver watch I always wear isn't there. "He took everything from me."
The middle-aged woman rounds the reception desk until she's next to me, her arm slung over my shoulder. "You listen to me. I don't know what happened between you and Mr. Kent, but there's not a man on the face of this earth who can take everything from a woman."
Great.
I'm in the middle of a crisis and this woman is on her soapbox preaching about the merit of my inner strength.
Griffin Kent took that from me too.
"I don't know what to do," I mutter to myself.
The self-appointed cheerleader next to me adds her two cents even though I didn't ask for it. "You're going to calm down and let me help you. What's your name, dear?"
I feel like I should covet every ounce of personal information after what just happened to me. I was open and trusting when I met the attractive man in the bar last night. I told him my name when he asked. He reciprocated by telling me his. Kent.
An hour later we were in a hotel room and I was proud of myself for checking a one-night stand off my bucket list. I need to wipe that list clean now and focus on one thing and one thing only.
Find some common sense and use it.
"Where are the police? I used the phone at the front desk to call them before I left the hotel. They should be here by now." I stare down at my dress. It's silver shimmer, low cut and much too short to see the light of day. I'd never wear this before nine p.m. and yet, here I am.
Thank the heavens above that my parents are in Denver, completely oblivious to what their only child is doing on her third day in New York City. The move here was supposed to change my life, not drive the entire thing into a ditch at high speed.
"I think we can straighten this out without involving the NYPD."
"How?" I face the woman. She reminds me of my first art teacher in high school. That shouldn't offer me any comfort, but it does. "He needs to be arrested and thrown in jail after what he did to me."
"Were you hurt?" Her eyes scan my face, locking on my green eyes.
I know exactly what I look like. I didn't have time to shower when I crawled out of the hotel room bed, but I did catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. My makeup was beyond repair. My shoulder length dark brown hair was such a mess that I used a bright pink hair elastic to tie it up into a tight ponytail.
At least, Griffin Kent left behind my clutch purse with the hair elastic, a tube of lipstick and my apartment keys inside of it.
Either the bastard has a heart, or he overlooked my keys as he was stealing my wallet.
"He didn't hurt me." I fiddle with the business card in my hand. "He took my wallet and my phone when I fell asleep. My watch too. He took it all."
"I find it very hard to believe that Mr. Kent is responsible for this."
Of course, she'd say that. She's the first face anyone sees when they come through the doors of this law office. It's on Madison Avenue. I doubt like hell that her monthly paycheck has less than five zeroes at the end of it. I'd say that's well above the going rate for what blind faith costs in this city.
