Chapter Two

You know how I said I never wanted anything to do with a man from this city?

 Yeah, I lied. 

The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes was the pristine white walls. They were blinding.

 The second thing I noticed was the headache that was threatening to split my skull into two. 

I tried to stretch but my body was too tired. 

My eyes snapped open. 

This was not my room. 

I sat up so fast, my heart started racing. 

From the floor to ceiling windows to the expensive furniture, the walk-in closet and the faint smell of his perfume. 

None of these were mine. 

 Panic set in quickly.

I looked down at myself.

 The black dress I had on from last night was gone.

 I had on an oversized shirt and old pajamas. 

My heart sank.

Did I have sex with Derek? 

Did I just have a one-night stand with a man I met at a freaking bar?

I could hear mama's voice in my head asking me where my self-respect was. 

This is exactly why I avoided situations like this. 

I threw the blankets off me and stumbled out of bed. 

My dress and heels were folded neatly on the couch. 

At least whoever had undressed me had the decency to fold them.

As if on cue, the bedroom door opened.

Derek walked in. 

A tray of food was balanced on his hands.

 He had on grey sweatpants that hung loosely around his waist and nothing else. 

What a wonderful sight to wake up to. 

His broad chest was covered in tattoos. His hair was messy, like he had just woken up too.

I quickly looked away.

  “You’re awake, finally,” he said calmly. “Good afternoon, Eloise,”

I glanced at the clock on the bedside table, it was thirty minutes past twelve. 

What the heck?

I stared at him hard, a million questions going through my head at once.

  “Why do you look like you’re about to call the cops on me?”

  “How did you know my name?”

 “I checked your ID to get your address.”

I froze.

 “You checked my ID?”

 “You were too drunk to tell me where you lived.”

“Oh,”

Well, that explained it. Except it didn’t explain why I was in his house.

  “What happened last night?”

He set the tray carefully beside me. 

There were eggs, pancakes, oatmeal and fresh orange juice.

I stared at the food.

Did he really make all of this?

  “Well, you got really drunk,” he explained.

   “I know,” I cut him off.

 “I tried to drive you home but you couldn’t give me directions to your house,”

I covered my face in shame.

 “Oh my God,”

“Not to mention that you threw up in my car. So you owe me,”

I was beyond mortified by all I did. 

I was usually a responsible adult, I never got drunk. 

I groaned.

Heat rushed to my face. “I’m so sorry,”

  A low chuckle escaped him. Unfortunately, I did find it attractive.

   “I promise I’m usually very responsible,” I said, trying to defend myself.

My embarrassment faded when I looked down and remembered I was in his clothes. 

  “Did you…”

  “The housekeeper changed you,” but his tone was now serious.

  “So we did not…”

He looked disgusted. 

“No, we didn’t,” he said. “I would never ever take advantage of a drunken woman. I slept in the guest room and you slept here.”

He almost looked offended by the question.

“If I ever sleep with you, it’ll be because you want me to,”

My shoulders relaxed slightly but the weight of his last sentence hung between us.

I wondered if he had the same effect on every woman.

I swallowed hard and avoided his eyes. 

It would have helped if he had a T-shirt on. He was distracting me.

I cleared my throat nervously.

“Okay,”

“Okay?”

“Yes.” I raised a brow.

 “That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I could use a thank you,”

“Thank you,”

He smiled.

I rolled my eyes playfully.

I don't know why I trusted this stranger.

 He was rich, that was obvious.

What did he do for a living? 

What if he was dangerous? 

The only thing I knew was his name.

   

He nodded towards the tray. “You should eat, your hangover is going to get worse.”

I looked down at the tray. 

  “You made all this?” I asked.

He leaned casually against the wall. 

 “Why do you sound surprised?”

“You don’t look like you cook. I assume you have a chef and even a butler,”

He laughed. “Are you judging based on my looks?”

I could feel his eyes on me but my eyes were focused on the food.

I couldn’t help the kind of thoughts that were coming to my head when he was just there, a few inches away from me in only loose-fitting sweatpants.

I was in his old college shirt. 

The shirt was big but not big enough to make me feel completely covered. 

I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly conscious of how my breasts looked.

  “You’re staring,” he said.

“I’m not,”

“You are,”

I could hear the amusement in his voice. He noticed I was trying to cover my breasts.

My cheeks heated.

I picked up the glass of orange juice and took a sip. 

Freshly squeezed, very perfect for my hangover.

“You owe me,”

I raised a brow. “Do I?”

“Yes, for throwing up in my car,”

I mentally started calculating how much money I had in my account and how much I could spare realistically.

Derek drove an expensive car. I remembered it even though I was too drunk to appreciate its beauty.

I was going to empty my account repairing his car.

“We can work up some payment plan,” I suggested.

“No. I don’t want that,”

My shoulders dropped.

“I can’t afford to pay for it all at once,”

“I want something else,”

My eyes narrowed.

“I want a date,”

I almost choked on the orange juice.

“A what?”

“A date,”

“I threw up in your car and you want to take me on a date as payment?”

“I know you’re new here. I know good places you’d like other than the bar. Let me show you,”

I looked down at my plate, trying not to smile.

I remembered I had sworn off men but if going on a date with him was going to save me from spending thousands of dollars on his car, I was going to take it.

“Fine. It’s just one date,”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Thank you, Eloise,”