I head straight to the elevators and press the call button, waiting.
The elevator door opens. When I’m inside, I hear the click of heels on the tiled floor.
Please don’t be Morgan.
I really don’t want to be stuck in a small space with her while my cock is acting up like it has been.
But it’s not Morgan. It’s a brunette who I don’t recognize.
I should be relieved that it’s not Morgan, but I’m not because a tiny, sadistic part of me was actually hoping that it was Morgan.
“Which floor?” I ask the brunette.
I slide a look at her. She’s cute. But I don’t know her, and I know everyone who works here. Maybe she’s here for an early meeting with one of the teams.
“Fourteen.”
That’s my floor. My brows come together in confusion as I reach out to push the button. Then, it dawns on me. She must be Morgan’s new PA.
“Your Morgan’s new PA,” I say as the door closes.
I dip my chin to look at her and find that she’s already staring up at me.
I feel a jolt of familiarity.
“I did wonder if it was you when Morgan told me the name of the CEO. Wilder’s not a name you hear often. And it is you. Clearly, you don’t remember me.”
Her green eyes flash with something, and she tips her chin up and takes a step closer.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She knows me. And I have a sinking feeling I know exactly how she knows me. Because I’ve had sex with her. Most women only know me for that reason.
But I don’t remember her. Not even a flicker.
Have I screwed that many women that I no longer remember them?
Honestly, I think I already know the answer to that question because it’s standing right in front of me.
I’m starting to sweat. “Of course I remember you.” I swallow roughly against the lie.
She laughs. It tinkles in the small space, which feels like it’s getting smaller by the second.
“Wow. Was I that forgettable?” Hurt flashes through her eyes. “It was less than a week ago when you were in my bed, screwing me senseless. But I guess it makes sense that you didn’t call me if you’d forgotten me the moment you left my place. I’m guessing that’s why you snuck out while I was still sleeping.”
Less than a week ago? The only women I’ve had sex with this past week were the waitress from Friday—and she’s definitely not her because she was a redhead and a true one, as the carpet matched the drapes—and this chick…
Oh, fuck no.
Arlington Heights. The shirt-writer.
“Arlington Heights,” I blurt out, feeling a shot of familiarity, the more I stare at her face. “You wrote on my shirt.”
“That’s me. And my name is Sierra,” she says in a haughty voice. She folds her arms over her chest. “I’m the girl from Arlington Heights who you hooked up with last week and never called.”
“And you’re…” I can’t bring myself to say the words.
“Morgan’s PA,” she finishes for me.
Oh, fucking no. Just fucking no.
The elevator pings its arrival, and the door opens, but I can’t stop staring at Sierra. The shirt-writer from Arlington.
It’s like the worst kind of joke. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so goddamn bad.
“Oh, hey!” The chipper tone in Morgan’s voice makes me nearly shit my pants. “You two have already met.”
I turn my head to look at Morgan standing there, outside the elevator, smiling and looking sexy as hell, and my dick shrivels up and dies in my pants.
Well, I wanted him to quit getting hard around her. I guess screwing her new PA has done that.
Granted, I didn’t know she was going to be Morgan’s PA when I fucked her. But I somehow don’t think Morgan would see it that way.
“Yes, we’ve already met,” Sierra says in a sweet tone. But there’s nothing sweet about the look in her eyes as she walks past me and out of the elevator. She looks like she either wants to punch me in the mouth or kiss the shit out of it. Either way, it’s not good.
Shit. Fucking. Shit.
“You staying in there?” Morgan chuckles, bringing my eyes to hers.
“No.”
I step out, and she gets in the elevator.
“Oh, Wilder, can we chat later? I’ve got an idea that I want to run by you.”
“Sure. I’m here all day,” I say. My mouth is dry. I feel like I’m talking through cotton wool.
“Great. I’ll call Chrissy and have her schedule me in.” She reaches over and pushes the elevator button.
My eyes move to the retreating figure of Sierra going through the door to the executive offices.
I hold back the sigh I feel.
“Hey.” The sound of Morgan’s soft voice pulls me back. She’s watching me, a little furrow in her brows, her head tilted to the side. “You okay?”
Well, let’s see. The chick I screwed last week after I got hammered because I was pissed about you coming to work here—thus being the reason I was late to our meeting, where I found she’d also left me a sex note on the back of my shirt—is now working here, for you. That kind of puts a kink in my strict rule of never sleeping with employees. And, also, I have this maddening urge to fuck you on every surface of my office and home until neither of us can walk straight.
So, to answer your question, no, I’m not okay.
“Yep.” I smile wide. “I’m great. I’ll see you later.” I turn and speed walk in the direction of my office.
Chrissy isn’t at her desk when I get there, and for once, I’m relieved not to see her, as conversation isn’t something I’m up for at the moment.
I get into the safety of my office, close the door, and lean back against it. I cover my face with my hands and let out a groan.
Fuck my life.
What are the odds? First, Morgan, the girl who hated my guts in college, comes here and takes half of my job. And, now, one of my recent one-night stands is here, working for her.
I swear to God, you couldn’t write this shit.
If I were a superstitious person, then I would seriously be thinking that the universe had it out for me.
I spend the rest of the day hiding out in my office.
I’m a pussy. I know.
But I just don’t want to run into Sierra. Or Morgan. Or my mother.
That woman is like a sniffer dog when it comes to knowing there’s an issue with me.
She’s still not fully forgiven me for the whole shirt incident, so I definitely don’t want her knowing that it was Sierra’s handiwork.
Morgan wanted to see me, and when she called to schedule a meeting, I had Chrissy tell her something had come up and that I couldn’t see her until tomorrow.
Chrissy raised a brow when I told her to blow Morgan off until tomorrow, but she never questioned my motives.
It was a shitty thing to do, but I just don’t want to face her right now.
I’m all confused about wanting to fuck her. Okay, so I’m not confused about actually wanting to fuck her. I’m perplexed about how much I want to fuck her and also the fact that I have a feeling, even if I did have her, once wouldn’t be enough.
And, also, I need time to figure out how to handle the Sierra problem.
I could be overreacting; maybe there won’t be a problem at all.
Oh, who am I kidding? There’ll definitely be an issue. I saw the look in Sierra’s eyes as she left the elevator. In her mind, I’d run out on her while she slept, and I apparently never called her.
Not like I’d said I was going to. I’m pretty sure I’d had the talk with her—the one where I tell the women that I’m not in it for anything more than that night. Even though I had been hammered, the talk is as essential as wearing a condom. But, as I can hardly remember anything about that night, I can’t be a hundred percent sure of it.
And I know women, especially pissed off women, and Sierra’s definitely pissed at me.
I just don’t know to what level of pissed-off-ness.
I need to carefully handle her; otherwise, she could cause me a headache at work—namely, with my mom and Morgan—and I could really do without that.