So much for only one shot. Fucking Cooper.
I need to get out of here and get back to my apartment to get ready to face Morgan.
I slide out of bed, careful not to wake my bed partner up. I can’t deal with the morning-after conversation.
I locate my clothes and shoes in a heap on the floor. I pick up my pants and feel my wallet and cell in the pocket.
I pull my cell out and light up the screen.
It’s eight thirty.
Shit.
And I have five missed calls from Chrissy and three from my mom, which is odd. But then again, I am usually in the office by now, and they’re probably wondering where I am. Especially with Morgan coming in this morning.
I need to get in the office ASAP. I don’t have time to go home and change. I’ll call Chrissy on the way and ask her to get my clothes ready. I keep a few spare shirts and suits at the office.
I grab my shirt and pull it on, not bothering to button it up, and I slip my sockless feet into my shoes. Fuck knows where my socks are, but I don’t have time to look for them. I creep out of her bedroom, through the apartment, and quietly let myself out into the hall.
I look up and down the hallway. I have no fucking clue where the hell I am. The only recollection I have of last night is doing body shots off some chick—I’m assuming the one I just left in bed.
I swear, I’m never drinking again.
Ignoring the pounding in my skull, I jog down the hallway and find the stairwell at the end. I’m on the third floor. I run down the stairs, my shirt flapping as I go.
Then, I’m in the empty lobby, and I go out onto the street. Stopping on the sidewalk, I look around.
Where the hell am I? Nothing looks familiar to me right now.
I spy a cab approaching, so I put my hand out to flag it down.
The cab slows at the curbside, and I climb in the back.
“Where to, buddy?”
“Stupid question, but where am I?” I ask the driver.
He chuckles and turns in his seat to look at me. “Rough night?”
“You could say that.”
“Well, it must’ve been a good one if you don’t know where you are. You’re in Arlington Heights.” He taps a finger on the sign on his dash. It reads Arlington Cabs. “Where do you need to be?”
“I’m in Arlington Heights? Jesus Christ,” I groan.
That’s about a forty-five minute drive out of Chicago.
How the hell did I get here?
I drag my hands down my face. “Look, man, I really need to be in downtown Chicago—like, about an hour ago.”
He gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry, buddy, but I don’t take fares out of Arlington.”
I lean forward in my seat. “I’ll pay you a thousand bucks to take me to Chicago and get me there in the fastest time.”
“It’s rush hour, man. The quickest I could get you to downtown Chicago would be an hour and a half, and that’s if we’re lucky. You’re looking at more like two hours.”
Two hours!
Fuck. My. Life.
“Fine. You get me there in an hour and thirty, and a thousand bucks is yours.”
His eyes light up with dollar signs. “You’ve got yourself a deal,” he tells me.
He puts the car in drive, doing a U-turn in the road.
I dial Chrissy. Tucking my cell between my ear and shoulder, I start buttoning up my shirt.
It rings once before she answers.
“Where are you?” she whisper-hisses.
“I’m in a cab, on the way to the office.”
“Please tell me you’re five minutes away.”
“I wish. More like ninety minutes.” If I’m lucky.
“Ninety minutes!” she screeches.
I wince.
“Where in the world are you?”
“Arlington Heights.”
“Arlington Heights! Jesus, Wilder. What are you doing there? Actually, I don’t want to know. But your mom is not happy at all. I’ve been running interference with her. She told me that she called you already, and you didn’t answer. Morgan arrived ten minutes ago.”
“Shit. She’s early.” Kiss-ass.
“Yeah, well, your mom’s not happy because she wanted you to meet with her before the staff meeting, which is happening in an hour.”
“An hour!” I slam my hand down on the seat beside me. “The meeting was supposed to be at ten.”
“It was brought forward. You got an email about it late last night.”
Last night—when I was in a bar, getting trashed and doing body shots off a chick, like I had done back in college.
I’m such a prick.
“Shit.” Taking my phone in hand, I lay my head back on the seat and rub my aching forehead. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just try to delay the meeting until I get there.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I hang up my cell.
I can’t fucking believe this. I need to be in Chicago in an hour to make that meeting.
Because, if I don’t, I’ll never hear the end of it from my mom.
I lean forward in my seat. “Looks like I need to be in Chicago in an hour. I’ll add another five hundred to your fare if you get me there.”
His eyes meet mine in his rearview mirror. “I’ll do my best.”
His foot presses down on the gas as I lie back on the seat and pray for a traffic miracle.
The cab gets me to the office in an hour and twenty. I pay the driver and jump out of the cab like my ass is on fire. I race my way into the building and straight into a waiting elevator.
I jab at the button to my floor, impatiently watching the door close. Then, finally, it starts to ascend.
I tuck my shirt into my pants, and staring at my blurred reflection on the shiny metal walls of the elevator, I run my hands through my hair, trying to straighten it.
The elevator reaches my floor. The door opens, and Chrissy is waiting there with a coffee in hand.
“You look like shit.”
“Thanks.” I take the coffee from her, and we start walking side by side in the direction of my office. “Has the meeting started yet?”
“No. Your parents pushed it back.”
“My mom pissed?”
Chrissy slides me a look. “What do you think?”
I think I’m dead.
“They’re waiting for you in your office with Morgan.”
“Okay.” I take a gulp of coffee.
“And your parents think that a pipe burst at your apartment and that you had to get the plumbers in, so that’s why you’re late.”
“You’re the best,” I tell her.
“Oh, I know.” She smirks.
My stomach growls loudly. I realize I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday. No wonder I got so hammered last night.
“You hungry?”
“Apparently so.”
“I think there are some muffins and brownies in the conference room, but I’ll put an order in for waffles at your usual place.”
Waffles. Best pick-me-up food ever.
“Thanks, Chrissy. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’d crash and burn. But, luckily for you, that will never happen ’cause I’m here to stay.”
“You’re due a pay raise soon, right?”
“Yep.” She grins.
We reach my office door. I take another drink of my coffee and hand it off to Chrissy.
She gives me an encouraging smile. “You’ve got this.”
I take a deep breath and pull my shoulders back. Then, I push open my door and walk in my office.
I hear Chrissy make a noise behind me, like a gasp, but I ignore her and stride confidently into my office.
“Mom, Dad.” I smile at them. “So sorry I’m late.”
My mom returns my smile, but I can see she’s pissed at me. The tightening around her mouth gives it away. I’ve seen that mouth tighten a lot over the years.
My dad greets me, coming over to pat
my back. “Don’t worry, son. It’s not your fault you had plumbing problems.”
If I’d had plumbing problems, then I wouldn’t have been so late. I swallow down.
“Wilder, you remember Morgan.” My mom gestures to my sofa.
For the first time in nine years, my eyes take in Morgan Stickford.
And, holy fuck, she’s changed.
“Yes, of course.” I walk forward to greet her, my eyes fixed on her.
She rises to her feet, her lips pressing into a smile. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen her smile in my direction. I used to get a sneer, and that was on a good day.
Dad makes a strangled noise behind me, but I’m too busy taking in Morgan to pay him any mind.
Because hello, hottie.
Morgan Stickford is all grown-up. And she’s a full-fledged babe.
She was pretty in college. But, now, she’s a fucking knockout. She’s thinner than she used to be, but she’s still rocking those curves in all the right places.
She’s wearing a pale pink pencil dress that has a slit up the front, finishing mid thigh, showing enough of her gorgeous tan legs to tease. The dress hugs her body, showcasing her amazing figure.
Jesus, her body is smoking.
She looks the same but different. Still fresh-faced. But, now, she wears a little more makeup than she used to in college. Pouty lips painted pink. Wide brown eyes lined with thick black lashes, staring back at me, not giving anything away, but they look a hell of a lot warmer than they used to look at me back in college. Her long, straight honey-blonde hair is down, falling around her shoulders.
She’s stunning.
She looks like she should be modeling our product, not selling it.
“It’s great to see you again,” I say. And it really fucking is.
Her smile widens, showing a slip of her white teeth. Then, she parts her lips to speak—hopefully to say, Please fuck me, Wilder, although that’s not likely, as my parents are here—when my mom’s voice slices through the air.
“Wilder! What is on the back of your shirt?”
I stop at the shrill tone of my mom’s voice, my eyes jerking in her direction. “What?” I ask, confused.
“Your shirt!” Mom starts to advance on me, clear anger in her eyes.
My shirt? What the hell is she talking about?
Before my mom can reach me, I turn to look at myself in the wall mirror on the other side of my office. As I move, I see Chrissy’s wide eyes, her lips pressed tightly together. I catch sight of my dad, and his fist is pressed to his lips. He’s clearly fighting laughter.
What the fuck is going on?
Then, I hear Morgan gasp. I swing my eyes back to hers, and the warmth that was in them has been replaced with barely concealed disgust.
What the hell is happening here right now?
Pulling my eyes from Morgan, I turn my back to the mirror, looking at it over my shoulder, trying to see what everyone else is seeing, and—
No. That can’t be. Surely not.
I squint my eyes, trying to take in what I’m seeing. I back up, so I’m closer to the mirror, my eyes glued to it, and all too soon, it becomes clear.
“What the hell?” I hiss.
How did that get there?
Well, I have a pretty good idea how it got there. I just don’t know when it was put there. Or why the fuck someone would do that.
How the hell did I not see this when I was getting dressed?
I know I was bleary-eyed, and the room was semidark, but it’s not like you can frigging miss it.
Because written there, on the back of my light-gray shirt, in clear black ink is…
Last night was incredible! You really are Wild. ;)
Call me if you want to fuck again.
847-206-7841
xoxo
Holy. Frigging. Hell.
Morgan
Thirteen Years Ago
Sitting in my seat in the front row of the lecture hall, I try to listen as Professor George starts to talk, but my neck is sore and aching. I roll my head, hand pressed to the back of my neck, trying to ease the pressure.
It doesn’t work.
My neck is stiff because I spent the night on the floor of my best friend, Joely’s, dorm room—and not by choice.
Joely and I had gone to high school together, and we’d decided to come to Northwestern together. We’d agreed that we’d room separately, so we could meet new people.
Joely had gotten an awesome roommate—Hannah.
I’d gotten the roommate from hell—Tori.
And I had to crash on Joely and Hannah’s floor because Tori had locked me out of our room.
The thought alone makes me grind my teeth in anger, and I ignore the ache in my chest when I recall the reason she’d locked me out of our room.
Wilder Cross.
The guy I stupidly have a crush on. Not that he even knows my name. A girl like me doesn’t register on the radar of a guy like Wilder.
He’s ridiculously beautiful with a head full of dirty-blond hair and bright blue eyes, the kind that you just want to fall into, and along with all of that is a tall, muscular body that tells me he visits the gym often. He’s the full package.
He’s part of Northwestern’s elite. The rich, beautiful crowd.
And he spent last night in my dorm room, screwing my roommate.
It makes sense that he would go for someone like Tori. She might be a bitch, but she’s gorgeous. Thin, big boobs, long, dark hair, and olive skin. She looks like she just stepped out of a L’Oréal commercial. And she comes from a wealthy family. Her dad’s the head of some bank or something.
She’s Wilder’s kind.
I, on the other hand, come from a working-class family. My dad is an electrician, and my mom is a beautician. I’m here at Northwestern on a scholarship. I’ve always been too focused on schoolwork to care about boys, but the moment I saw Wilder, there was just something about him. Something I liked.
Until last night, that is.
Of course, I’ve heard the gossip—that Wilder is a player and a self-righteous prick—but I’ve always chosen not to listen to rumors.
My mom has always said that what people project isn’t necessarily a true reflection of themselves. She says most people will only ever show you what they want you to know, and if you want to know more, then it’s up to you to dig a little deeper and get to know them properly. So, I never make snap judgments about people.
Maybe that should change.
Because I was clearly wrong about Wilder. Not that I had known much about him before last night. But, in the little I’d gleamed from him in my time at Northwestern, I’d thought he seemed nice. He was always smiling and joking around with his friends. And I’d figured, even if he was a man-whore, it didn’t make him a bad person, so long as he was up-front with the girls he was man-whoring with.
But I was wrong.
Wilder isn’t a nice guy.
He’s an asshole in the first degree.
Late last night after a long-ass shift at Starbucks, I was tired, and all I wanted to do was fall facedown on my bed and sleep. But, when I got home, I couldn’t get in my room. The door was locked, and my key wouldn’t turn, like the lock had been jammed from the other side.
Stupidly, I had a flash of worry for Tori—until I heard a load moan come from behind the door and the sound of Tori giggling. That was when I realized that Tori had locked me out of our room. It wasn’t the first time she’d pulled this kind of shit on me. So, I saw red. I hammered on the door, and when Tori finally opened up, wearing only her bra and panties, she had a scowl on her face, her dark hair all tousled up.
Then, I saw Wilder lying on her bed, naked, except for his boxer shorts.
And I wanted to throw up.
“What?” Tori snapped, like I had no right to even be knocking on our door.
I blinked at her in surprise. “Um, I’m really tired, Tori. I’ve had a long day, and I really just want to go to sleep.” r />
“So?” Her hand went to her hip.
“So, can you find somewhere else to…” I gestured a hand in the direction of Wilder without looking at him. I wasn’t going to say the words, and I definitely wasn’t going to look at him again.
“No,” she said.
“No?” I echoed in surprise.
“No. I’m busy, and we’re going to be busy all night, so you’ll have to find somewhere else to sleep tonight.”
While she was saying that, Wilder had gotten up from her bed, and he came up behind her, sliding his hands around her waist and kissing her neck.
All I could do was stare at them. Angry at what she’d said and crushed, watching him touch her like that.
Then, his eyes lifted, and he looked straight at me. His eyes were glazed from alcohol. “Let her in,” he said to Tori but not taking his eyes off me. “She can watch. Maybe even join in. She looks like she could do with some loosening up.”
I heard a strangled noise, and when Wilder smirked, I realized that it had come from me.
Embarrassment stung my cheeks. I curled my hand into the hem of my work shirt.
“You ass!” Tori slapped his arm as she turned in to face him. “Aren’t I enough for you?” She pouted.
“Course you are, babe.” Wilder let an arm drop from around her and shut the door in my face.
I was too flabbergasted to react.
Then, I heard Tori say from behind the door, “You didn’t mean that, did you? About her joining in?”
He chuckled, deep and low. “Course not. I was just fucking around.”
“Good, because I didn’t think Wilder Cross was into fat chicks.”
Fat? I’m not fat!
Okay, sure, I had curves, and I was a size eight or ten, depending on the store, but that wasn’t exactly fat.
Is it?
He laughed, and that hurt more than her fat comment. Because his laughter only confirmed that he agreed with her.
And it was proven when he said, “You know me, babe. Anything over a size four, and I show her the door.”
I sucked in a painful breath as I staggered away.
I didn’t want to hear any more. I’d heard enough.
He thinks I’m…fat.
I’d never been called fat before. I knew I wasn’t super skinny, but fat never came into the equation.