Chapter 2

Olivia's POV 

Light. Too much light. It was aggressive, stabbing through my eyelids like tiny, golden bayonets. 

I groaned, trying to pull the duvet over my head, but my arms felt like they were made of lead. My mouth tasted like I had spent the night licking a dusty carpet. I rolled over, expecting to feel the familiar, lumpy mattress of my trailer or the overpriced silk sheets of my penthouse. 

Instead, I felt high-thread-count Egyptian cotton, the kind that costs more than most people’s rent, and the distinct lack of a hangover-curing smoothie. 

I pried one eye open. This was not my room. My room was a "shabby-chic" explosion of pink velvet and discarded scripts. This room was... gray. Very gray. Minimalist. It looked like the inside of a high-end refrigerator. 

Then, the memories hit me. The club. The tequila. The man with the greasy hair. The man with the granite jaw. 

I bolted upright, gasping, and immediately regretted it as my brain did a slow-motion somersault inside my skull. "Oh, god." 

I looked down. My micro-mini skirt was gone. The leather jacket was gone. In their place, I was wearing a white button-down shirt that was large enough to be a tent. My legs were bare. My dignity was also nowhere to be found. 

"No, no, no," I whispered, clutching the collar. "I did not. I could not have." 

The door clicked open. 

Gabriel Moreau walked in. He wasn't wearing the suit jacket anymore, but his white shirt was perfectly pressed, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that had no business being that attractive. He was holding a tray with a glass of water, a bottle of aspirin, and a plate of very green-looking toast. 

"You're awake," he said. His voice was just as deep and annoying as I remembered. "The theatrical gasping suggests you’ve realized you aren't in your own bed." 

"Where are my clothes?" I demanded, pointing a finger at him. My hand shook slightly. "What did you do to me? Did we... did we do the thing? The 'tabloid headline' thing?" 

Gabriel set the tray down on the nightstand with a precise clink. He looked at me, his gaze traveling from my messy, bird-nest hair down to the oversized cuffs of his shirt. 

"If by 'the thing' you mean did I sleep with you, the answer is no," he said, his voice flat. "I have standards, Miss Rayne. I generally prefer my partners to be conscious and not smelling of bottom-shelf tequila." 

I narrowed my eyes. “Then why am I wearing your shirt? And where is my four-thousand-dollar micro-mini skirt?” 

“You threw up on your four-thousand-dollar micro-mini skirt,” Gabriel replied. He sat in a chair across from the bed, crossing one leg over the other. “And then you tried to eat my tie. After you finished weeping about someone named Sunshine, you demanded I change you into something 'less scratchy.' Since I am not a monster, I called my housekeeper. She changed you. I stayed in the guest room." 

I sank back into the pillows, pulling the duvet up to my chin. "Oh. Right. Sunshine." I winced. "I mentioned the yoga instructor?" 

"Extensively. I now know she has a tattoo of a lotus on her ankle and that she 'stole your light.' Your words." 

I groaned into the pillow. “Please, just let me disappear. Cover me with this expensive duvet and let everything stop. It feels like my career is over. Maybe I should step away from the world for a while.” 

"Eat the toast, Miss Rayne," Gabriel said, ignoring my drama. "It’s avocado and sourdough. It will help with the poison you put in your body." 

I peeked over the covers. "Is it organic?" 

Gabriel actually rolled his eyes. It was a very small movement, but for him, it was practically a tantrum. "Yes. It’s organic." 

I sat up, reaching for the water. I took the aspirin and shoved a piece of toast into my mouth. It was delicious. I hated him for it. 

"So," I said, my mouth half-full. "You rescued me. You’re like a knight in shining armor, but with better hair and a stick up his... well, you know." 

"I am a man who didn't want a dead actress on his conscience," Gabriel corrected. 

"Well, you've got me now," I said, my brain starting to spark with a terrible, wonderful, brilliant idea. I thought about Justin. I thought about the paparazzi who were probably lurking outside my building right now, waiting for a shot of me looking depressed. 

I looked at Gabriel. He was wealthy, handsome, and the complete opposite of every guy I had ever dated. If the world saw me with him... Justin would lose his mind. 

"Gabriel," I said, using my 'red carpet' voice. I slid out of bed, the oversized shirt fluttering around my thighs. I walked over to him, leaning against the arm of his chair. "I have a proposition for you." 

Gabriel didn't move, but I saw his jaw tighten. "The last time you had a proposition, it involved me dancing to a song called 'Wiggle It.' I declined then, and I decline now." 

"This is better," I said, circling him. "You need a distraction. You’re always working. You're 'disciplined.' People think you’re a robot. And me? People think I’m a mess. I need to show Justin, and the world, that I’ve moved on to someone... superior." 

Gabriel looked up at me, his eyes dark. "You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend." 

"A fake relationship," I said, waving a hand airily. "It’s a classic. I’m an actress, Gabriel. I can make people believe anything. We go to a few events, we get photographed looking 'intense' at a vineyard, and then we 'amicably part ways' in two months. You get a humanizing PR boost, and I get my revenge." 

Gabriel stood up slowly. He was much taller than me, especially when I was barefoot. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable. 

"No," he said. 

"No?" I blinked. "Did you hear the part where I'm Olivia Rayne? I have fifty million followers. I’m an icon!" 

"You are a headache," Gabriel said, walking toward the door. "Your clothes are in the laundry room, cleaned and pressed. There is a car waiting downstairs to take you home. I suggest you take it before I change my mind about the 'not a monster' part." 

"You have a secret," I called out after him. 

Gabriel stopped in the doorway, his back stiffening. 

"Everyone has a secret," I said, stepping closer. I could smell his cologne now, sandalwood and something cold, like rain on stone. "You were at that club for a reason. You were looking at your tablet, but you were checking the door every five minutes. You’re waiting for someone." 

Gabriel turned his head just enough for me to see the sharp line of his profile. For a second, the mask slipped. There was a flicker of something. Pain? Longing? Duty? 

"Go home, Miss Rayne," Gabriel said quietly. 

He left, the door clicking shut behind him. 

I stood in the middle of his gray room, wearing his white shirt, and felt a thrill I hadn't felt in years. He was hiding something. And if there was one thing I knew how to do, it was how to find a man's weakness and poke it until he did exactly what I wanted. 

I took a selfie in his full-length mirror, making sure the 'Moreau' crest on the shirt pocket was visible. 

Caption: Morning light hits different when you’re in good hands. 

I didn't post it. Not yet. But I tucked it away in my drafts. 

"Checkmate, Wine Boy," I whispered.