“Rest, sweet girl,” I hear him say. Except he doesn’t call me by endearments. He calls me Em. None of tonight makes sense. Nothing has made sense since I quit.
And sweet is the last thing I am.
I’m a type A overthinker. I’m an overfunctioning workaholic. I’m a pain in the ass who needs to be needed. I’m a lot more things, but I can’t think of them just now.
He gently guides me until I’m lying down, my head resting on something warm and hard. I turn toward the heat. His sweater is soft. Cashmere.
“Cashmere, like your socks,” I murmur.
And that’s the last thing I remember.
CHAPTER 12
Emma
I wakein my old room at the mansion. Light streams in through the sheer curtains. My eyes pop open as pieces of the night come back to me.
“Shit,” I cry, wincing at the pain in my head. And then I panic because I realize I’m almost naked against the crisp white sheets, wearing just a pair of panties. “What did I do?” I whimper to myself, trying to remember something—anything—past throwing up on my dance partner. Past Sebastian arriving at the club. But I can’t. It’s blank. I have no idea how I got to his mansion.
I’m unfamiliar with this feeling. I don’t party. But here I am, making up for lost time.
Being nearly naked is… concerning. Did Sebastian undress me? Did I fling my clothes off at him? Or did I strip after he left?
So many questions. So few clothes.
A knock sounds from the other side of the door.
“Um, yes?” My voice is hesitant, my throat dry.
“Good morning.” A cheerful Marie bustles into the room, as if nothing untoward has occurred. As if my waking up almost naked in my boss’s guest bedroom is an everyday occurrence.
I sit up, pressing the sheets tightly to myself.
Marie sets a neatly folded pile on the bed. “Your things have been sent out to be dry-cleaned. But these should suffice for today. Sebastian had clothes sent over from Darling,” she explains.
The few brain cells I have left—the ones that didn’t experience death by alcohol poisoning—struggle to keep up. Darling is one of the chicest boutiques on Rodeo Drive. Being there is like stepping into one of those old movies Sebastian always makes me watch. But I could never afford a single item. Not even their underwear.
My brow furrows. “I don’t understand. Why would he buy me clothes? And it’s…” I look around wildly for my phone. I find it sitting safely on the bedside table. I pick it up and check the time. “It’s not yet seven a.m. Darling isn’t even open.”
“Sebastian made a call last night after bringing you home. He was worried. You poor dear. It’s a shame about getting food poisoning. He explained everything. Your clothes were ruined. It’s good that he was at the same party and could help you. And he could get you back here safe and sound, where you belong.”
I let the where-I-belong part pass without comment. “He… um… took care of me himself?”
Marie’s eyes twinkle. “Of course, dear. He couldn’t leave you so sick.”
“I mean. Yes. Of course. Food poisoning.”
“Can your stomach handle anything? Coffee, maybe?”
And possibly for the first time ever, I blanch at the idea. “No,” I say swiftly.
She shakes her head. “Oh, you mustreallybe sick. I’ve never heard you turn down caffeine. Even when you had the flu. Just alittle flat ginger ale then. It was my mother’s cure-all. I’ll be right back with it.”
She bustles out. I flop back onto the bed, willing the pounding in my brain to stop. Hangovers suck.
I hear the door reopen. I think it’s Marie again, but then my senses alert me to a change. The atoms in the room shift. A prickle of awareness whispers over my skin.
I open my eyes, already knowing what I’ll find.
