I glance at the time, noting that I only have two minutes to get upstairs and back down here before Rhiannon shows up. It’s highly unlikely I’ll make it if she’s punctual, and even worse if I’m late.
“Give me a minute, I’m running to my office now. I’ll email the doc to you in thirty seconds.”
I hang up and sprint out the door, making it to the elevator down the hallway in ten seconds. The usually fast descent to my penthouse is crawling tonight as the doors slide open to my floor and I run to my office.
My normally meticulously filed documents are scattered about in an unorganized fashion which only reminds me how completely off my game I’ve been. I rifle through everything, sweat rolling down my spine and making my suit uncomfortable where it sticks.
It takes me five minutes to find the damn file, snap a photo of it, and email it to Krystle from my phone.
By the time I’m done with the whole ordeal, it’s ten minutes past the time I was supposed to meet Rhiannon downstairs.
Fuck me.
I slump down at my desk, head in my hands, feeling like I’m out of control.
Maybe she’s not there yet.
I rake shaky fingers through my hair, frustration bubbling under my skin as the minutes tick by. My laptop screen glows faintly in the dimly lit room, mocking me with the open tab to her therapy website.
Logging back into the fake profile I created to book this session, I navigate to the appointment page and hover over the glaring cancel appointmentbutton. I click it, ignoring the pop-up warning that reminds me I’ll be charged the full amount since it’s past the appointment start time. A fitting punishment for my stupidity and a grain of sand compared to my fortune.
Well at least I know I didn’t screw over her dateandscrew over her finances.
For a moment, I consider emailing her from the fake account I created to offer extra payment for the inconvenience of it all. But then reality hits me again. I don’t have a fake bank account to match this phony email address, and sending her money directly would blow my cover.
I’m in so deep with all my scheming, I’m feeling like a creep and a stalker now. How do I even begin to make this right?
I know exactly why I booked this appointment: to sabotage her meeting with Rebel XOXO. Mr. Tattoos and Rock Music. I’m not usually this insecure. I know I’m good-looking, successful, and not lacking in the confidence department. But none of that stops the green-eyed monster from clawing at me, knowing she agreed to go out with him because of his name and title.
The truth is he’s probably more of a fit for her than I am.
And now I’ve gone from jealous to reckless. I ruined her appointment, wasted her time, made her spend money on a commute that she probably didn’t want to make in this weather, and for what? To stand her up like a fucking coward.
I head to the kitchen, grab a bottle of whiskey from my cabinet and pour myself a stiff drink. The burn of the first sip barely registers when a soft knock interrupts the silence.
Access on my level is restricted. You’d need special permission from me to be placed on an approved list, or a key card. Either that, or you work in the building and have some kind of inside clearance. Which means it’s her and she’s come for me.
I cautiously open the door and find Rhiannon standing there, fire blazing in her eyes. I knew it was her, but it doesn’t make it any less surprising.
“Rhiannon,” I say carefully. I summon my best lawyer poker face, cool and collected; completely unaffected by her sweetscent, the way her dark hair is pinned up to one side revealing that slender column of her neck, or the delicate earrings brushing against her shoulders. She looks beautiful tonight. Did she wear this for him?
“What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”
Her gaze sharpens as she steps inside without an invitation, her tone all but daring me to continue playing dumb.
“I had an appointment,” she says, her eyes roaming the space like she’s gathering evidence. “With a couple who just so happened to be staying in this hotel. Unfortunately, they ended up cancelling when I was already in the city. Can you believe that?”
I shake my head, avoiding her piercing gaze as I retreat to the kitchen, glass in hand.
“No, that’s... unfortunate.”
Her eyes narrow as she watches me, like she’s sizing me up for a cross-examination. She couldn’t know it was me. There’s no way she could know. I grip the edge of the counter, steadying myself.
Keep calm. Pretend you’re on the stand in front of your least favorite judge. Stick to the script. You’ve covered your tracks.
But because I’m a total fool for this woman I say, “I thought you had a date with Rebel XOXO tonight?”
She sighs, grabs the bottle of whiskey I pulled out and pours it into my empty glass before knocking it back.
