Peeling myself off the marble floor, I used the wash basin to pull myself up and peer at my bedraggled appearance in the mirror.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
My makeup was smeared halfway down my face and my hair looked like something seen on the wife of Sasquatch, with a crusty patch of vomit dried into the ends.
Worse. I was practically naked. All I had on was the little black lace thong from the night before. Where was my bra? My dress? Wait, I hadn’t been wearing a bra under that dress. Rubbing my face with my hands, I frantically tried to remember the night before. After the tequila and the dancing and the drive home...
Ohshit.
Beck’s car. I threw up in Beck’s Bugatti!
Groaning, I sunk back to the marble floor in a puddle of shame. I vomited in Beck’s goddamn million dollar car.He’s going to murder me and rightfully so.
But then what happened? My memory was totally blank, and that made me feel even more ill. Had I passed out on the side of the road in a pool of my own vomit?
“Jesus fucking Christ, Riley,” I muttered, dragging myself back to my feet again. I still needed to use the basin for balance because the room was dipping and swirling something awful.
Cold water would help. I turned the faucet on and splashed my face a few times before giving up and staggering over to the shower. My hair desperately needed washing anyway.
“Ugh, gross.” I cringed at my image reflected back at me from the full length mirror directly outside the shower. It was not a pretty sight, and I could only hope the steam would obliterate my own image soon.
Just as I squirted a handful of shampoo into my palm, something caught my eye in that narcissistic shower sex mirror.
“What the fuck...” I mumbled, peering down at my body to find the unfamiliar mark. My hair was everywhere so I pushed it over my shoulders to get a better look at my chest.
Sure enough, there was a small, blue pen ink drawing on the side of my left breast.
“Motherfucker!” I screamed when I saw what it was. A fuckingbutterflydrawn mere inches away from my nipple. If there had been any question about who took my dress off, Beck had made sure I damn well knew it was him.
Dripping water everywhere, I stomped back into my bedroom in search of my phone. That fucker was about to catch a piece of my mind for this invasion of privacy. It didn’t faze me that I didn’t have his number. A man that arrogant would have put it in my phone, I had no doubt. He probably installed a tracking device too.
Finding it on the bedside table, plugged into the charger, I snatched it up and paled. It seemed Beck had also taken the liberty of changing my clock to twenty-four hour time because the numbers thirteen thirty flashed at me.
Thirteen thirty. That meant I had thirty minutes until this jet was scheduled to leave on some mysterious Delta mission which I was supposed to be partaking in.
Well, fuck it. I didn’t want to go anyway.
But something wasn’t sitting right... I stared at my phone a bit longer. Beck had changed the clock to twenty-four hour timeandturned my phone on silent. Why?
Suspicion burned in my belly. That fucker turned my phone on silent so I would sleep all day, then made sure I would see the time and know I’d missed the flight when I woke up. Which meant he didn’twantme to go.
“Sebastian fucking Beckett. When are you going to learn?” I shook my head, tossing my phone on the bed and hurrying back to the shower. I had a flight to catch in thirty minutes.
11
My borrowed car came to a screeching halt beside the shiny white Cessna at fourteen hundred hours exactly.
“Suck it, bitches.” I snickered to myself as I climbed out of the white Mercedes and left the keys in the ignition. I had no doubts someone would see it safely back to the Deboise McMansion.
Grabbing the railing, I skipped up the steps and ducked into the jet with a supremely smug grin on my face. I wasn’t sure what reaction I expected, but it wasn’t the casual indifference they greeted me with.
“Oh great, the spare made it,” Evan muttered as he sipped on an amber liquor in a crystal rocks glass. “Thought you said she’d still be asleep, Beck.”
Beck didn’t reply to Evan’s bored sounding enquiry, instead flicking a glance over me from head to toe, then turning back to his laptop open on the table in front of him. The bastard looked incredible, which was only made worse by how utterly dog shit I was feeling.
I’d managed to drag myself through the shower, washing my hair and cleaning my teeth, but then I’d had little time to do anything more. I’d thrown on my comfort clothes—jeans, converse sneakers and a wonder woman t-shirt—but my hair was still wet and my face totally devoid of makeup.
“Yikes, you look like crap, trailer trash,” Jasper sneered, grinning at me from behind the girl who was seated in his lap. One of his hands was buried up her skirt and from the speed of her breathing and the flush to her cheeks, it wasn’t hard to guess what was going on. “Didn’t you get the memo, this is a business meeting? Right now you barely look old enough to handle a fucking Chuck E. Cheese party.” He tilted his head back to watch the chick again. She let out another moan. “Celia here can help you sort out your appearance before we get there, can’t you doll face?” He pressed a possessive kiss to her neck, and she just moaned.
