A prostitute

Mia woke up.

She rubbed her eyes as she tried to rub away the remaining dizziness in her eyes 

She looked at the empty space beside her on the massive king-sized bed. The stranger was gone.

Panic set in fast and sharp. Mia scrambled out of bed, grabbed her clothes off the floor, and dressed with shaking hands. She didn't want explanations. She didn't want an awkward morning conversation. She just needed to escape back to her normal, predictable life before this surreal mistake ruined whatever sanity she had left.

As she pulled on her worn coat and stepped into her heels, a door down the hallway swung open.

A tall man stepped into the open living area, wringing a small towel around his wet hair. He wore a crisp white shirt, the top three buttons undone, exposing his broad chest, paired with dark suit trousers. Fresh out of the shower, he looked broad-shouldered, impossibly sharp, and dangerously handsome.

When his eyes landed on her standing near the front foyer, his expression flattened into something cool, distant, and distinctly cold.

Julian Vance tossed the towel onto a leather armchair, walking over to the marble kitchen island with an unhurried, powerful stride. He picked up his cup, took a slow sip, and set it down with a light click.

"Leaving so early?" Julian asked, his voice smooth, deep, and devoid of the warmth from the night before.

Mia swallowed hard, adjusting her strap over her shoulder. "Yes. I... I should get going. Thank you for—"

Before she could finish, Julian picked up a wallet from the counter, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills without even looking at her, and slid them casually across the marble top toward her edge of the counter.

"For your time," he said evenly, his tone completely businesslike. 

Mia froze. Her blood went from running nervous to boiling hot in a fraction of a second.

She stared at the pile of cash sitting on the sleek dark counter, then raised her eyes to meet his cool amber gaze. The fog of her hangover vanished instantly, replaced by a searing, blinding rage.

"What is this?" her voice came out low, dangerous, and razor-sharp.

Julian raised an eyebrow, entirely unfazed by her tone. "It’s payment. Is it not enough? My assistant usually handles these arrangements, but given the circumstances, I assumed—"

"You assumed I'm a prostitute?" Mia interrupted, taking a heavy step forward .

Julian didn't flinch, though a tiny flicker of surprise crossed his eyes at the sudden fire in her face. "You were drinking alone at a low-end bar late at night, letting strangers pull you into an alley, and you came home with a man you don't know. I’m simply being practical, Miss..."

He paused, realizing he didn't even know her name.

A harsh, breathless laugh escaped Mia’s throat. The sheer arrogance of this man—standing there in his multi-million-dollar penthouse, treating her like a line item on an expense report after she had spent the worst night of her life trying to survive a breakup—was too much to take.

"Keep your damn money," Mia snarled, her voice echoing off the floor-to-ceiling glass walls.

She marched towards where the bundle of cash were at tossed them directly at Jullian.

Julian snapped back, his eyes darkening instantly with genuine shock and cold anger. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I am showing you exactly what your money is worth to me," Mia said, leaning over the counter until she was inches from his face, not caring one bit about his intimidating stature or the cold glare that could probably freeze anyone. 

"I don't know who you think you are, you arrogant, condescending jerk, but I am not for sale. I had a terrible night, you acted like a decent human being for five minutes in an alley, and I made a mistake letting my guard down. That's it."

Julian stood frozen, staring at the woman with utter shock and disbelief 

Nobody spoke to him like this. Nobody looked at him with such utter disgust.

Mia grabbed her purse, slung it over her shoulder, and pointed a finger directly at his chest.

"If I ever see your face again," she said through clenched teeth, her voice trembling with raw, unfiltered anger, "I won't just ruin your shirt. I'll make you regret ever looking down your nose at me."

She turned on her heel and slammed the heavy door behind her so hard the glass panels rattled.

Without hesitation she took a cab and drove out of that god forsaken place.

By the time the cab pulled up outside the glass towers of Vance Enterprises, Mia had managed to pull her hair into a smooth, low bun and smooth down the lapels of her dark gray suit jacket. She swiped her badge at the turnstile and headed straight for the private breakroom tucked behind the 12th-floor archive office.

She needed coffee. Strong, hot, black coffee.

The glass door of the breakroom slid open, and the rich scent of dark roast hit her before she even crossed the threshold. Sitting on the counter with a steaming mug in one hand and her phone in the other was Lucy.

Lucy was the head of internal communications, Mia’s closest friend in the building, and the only person who knew every pathetic detail about Marcus's sudden betrayal.

"Mia!" Lucy gasped, dropping her phone onto the counter the second she saw her. She scrambled off her seat, her eyes wide as she took in Mia's appearance. 

"Oh my god, where were you? I called you four times last night! When you didn't answer after leaving the bar, I thought you were lying in a ditch somewhere!"

Mia grabbed a paper cup from the dispenser, her hands still faintly shaking as she pushed the button on the espresso machine. "I'm okay, Luce. I'm fine."

"You are definitely not fine. Look at you, you look like you just went twelve rounds with a brick wall," Lucy said, stepping closer and grabbing Mia by the shoulders, forcing her to turn around. Lucy’s sharp gaze swept over Mia’s face, catching the slight dark circles under her eyes and the raw, exhausted tension in her jaw. "Okay. Talk to me. Did Marcus call you? Did that absolute trash can of a man try to fix things?"

"No," Mia said quietly, staring into the dark liquid filling her cup. "Marcus didn't call."

"Then what happened? Because you look like you haven't slept a single minute, and your coat smells like..." Lucy leaned in, frowning slightly as she sniffed the air. "...expensive cedarwood? Since when do you wear men's cologne?"