“Hello?” I answered.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Statham.” It was a female’s voice. “Your driver is here.”

  “I think there’s been a mistake. I wasn’t expecting a driver.”

  “It’s not a mistake, Hayley.” Jonathan's voice came over the line. “I came back early so I could personally show you to your permanent house.”

  “Okay, well—” I looked around my suite. “I’ll need a few minutes to pack everything into my suitcase. Is that okay?”

  “Of course,” he said. “I’ll send a bellman up for your things and meet you in the lobby.”

  I ended the call and packed my things in record time.

  Twenty minutes later, I was sitting across from Jonathan in the backseat of a town car.

  Dressed in one of his custom black suits, he was glaring at me in a way that never ceased to make me feel like I was a little child.

  "So," I said, trying to distract him from grilling me. "Did you propose to your girlfriend, Claire, yet? Any wedding venues picked out thus far?"

  "Why the hell did you drop out of school, Hayley?" He immediately shot down all hopes of this going my way.

  "I wanted to start my own business."

  "Was this business the coffee shop that you had to close?"

  "It wasn't a coffee shop. It was a coffee and wine bar."

  "Answer the question."

  "Yes, Jonathan." I tried to look away from his glare, but I couldn't. "The business I started was the coffee and wine bar."

  He tapped his fingers on his knee, and the diamonds in his designer watch gleamed against the rays of sunlight.

  "Let me get this straight one last time," he said. "I pay your tuition so you can go to business school, so you can learn how to run a successful business, and you drop out before learning how to run a successful business?"

  "It sounds stupid when you put it that way."

  "There aren't too many different ways to put it."

  "I wasn't learning anything in school," I said. "I learned more from the baristas and managers around town than I did from my professors. It was all finance, tax, and bankruptcy laws. And, yes, I know I went bankrupt, but that's not the point."

  He shook his head. "Why didn't you ever ask for money or help from my executive team?"

  "I wanted to make it on my own—just like you did." I looked at him. "You also tend to dominate everything you get involved in, Jonathan.”

  "That's not true." He said the words, but I could tell from the look on his face that he didn't believe them. He moved closer to me, and I instinctively rested my head on his shoulder like I used to when we were younger. I knew right then he was silently asking me to tell him more about my failed venture.

  "It was a really pretty place," I said. "You would've been impressed. Me and Kelly are going to open another one after we save money and take a few specialty classes. We may not open the first one in Seattle again, but we'll establish one there after we launch a few successful ones. We'll just make sure it's nowhere near a Starbucks." I smiled at our plans. "Oh, and I took pictures of the bar before we closed. I'll have to show them to you once she brings the rest of my stuff up in a few weeks."

  "I'm looking forward to meeting her."

  "Just don't give us any special treatment while we're working at your company. We both agreed that we're going to handle the corporate world as best we can without too much of your help."

  "Okay, Hayley." He nodded. "I understand."

  "Do you, really?"

  "Not at all." He laughed. "You sound as ridiculous as the future Mrs. Statham right now. Do you know she made me spend three hours looking over different types of paper for wedding invitations?"

  "Really? Did you choose a paper with a glossy finish or a matte look?"

  He gave me a blank stare, and then we both laughed.

  The town car continued moving through the city, and we filled the time discussing his upcoming wedding.

  As we left the city limits and approached a remote area, I pulled out my phone and snapped pictures of white tipped waves crashing against a sun-burned coast. The beautiful homes that dotted the jagged hills were the perfect scenic backdrop for a new start. Then again, the loud sound of seagulls screeching for miles made me wonder if I’d ever be able to truly enjoy the view.

  "You'll learn to tune them out eventually," Jonathan said as the car began to slow. "It usually takes two weeks at most."

  "I hope so."

  "We've arrived, Mr. Statham." The driver stopped the car, and I looked out the window, feeling my jaw drop lower and lower with every second that passed.

  The house in front of me was more beautiful than anything I could've imagined. Painted light blue with crisp white shutters, it was three stories tall and perched right on the beach. Bright purple balloons clung to the verandah’s beautiful wood railing, and a “Welcome to Your New Home, Hayley!” sign hung from a white brick mailbox.

  The driver stepped out of the car and opened the trunk, but I remained glued to my seat. I was still in awe.

  “Are you okay, Hayley?” Jonathan asked, getting out of the car.

  “How much did you spend on this house?” The words rushed out of my mouth. “Like, how much is the rent and will I be able to afford it with the salary I’m getting?”

  He laughed. "There is no rent. I bought it, and it's yours. You can do whatever you want with your salary."

  “The whole house is mine?”

  “I didn’t stutter. You should come inside with us now.”

  The front door to the house swung open, and his fiancée Claire stepped outside, waving at me from the doorway and smiling. Surprised, I got out of the car and hugged Jonathan tighter than I ever had.

  "Thank you so much," I said, still in disbelief.

  “I’m still going to demand more answers from you.” He hugged me back, laughing. “A rare, extended hug from you won’t make me forget.”

  “I know.” I let go of him, and he led me into the house.

  “It’s good to see you, Hayley.” Claire hugged me as I stepped inside. “I hope you’ll love living here as much as we do.”

  "I hope so, too." I glanced at her and my brother. She was a drop dead gorgeous redhead, and she was supposedly eleven years older than him. (I still refused to believe that.) She looked thirty—at most, and I knew from experience that whenever the two of them were in the same room, everything else around them ceased to exist.

  Rolling my eyes as they kissed, I made a mental note to make sure she was around whenever Jonathan sat me down for more questioning.

  I stood in front of the floor to ceiling windows and pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming as I took in the stunning view. The ocean was a stone’s throw away from my backyard’s dock, and there was a small white boat swaying against the waves.

  This home was a far cry from the double-wide trailer I'd once grown up in, and a stark contrast to the awful basements my foster families kept me in when my parents were first sentenced to prison. It was even better than the first condo Jonathan bought for himself when he started his company in Cambridge. When he made me spend the rest of my high school years with him.

  “Every room is fully furnished, and I handled your first round of grocery shopping for you,” Jonathan said, interrupting my thoughts. “Have you talked to dad recently?”

  “No, his prison is on lockdown this week.” I shook my head. “You talk to your mother?”

  "She's your mother, too."

  "No, she's just the woman who gave birth to me."

  “Fair enough." He didn't push me on that. He never did. "Yes, I spoke to her. We’re taking new counseling sessions together. If you ever want to talk to her, or finally allow me to give her your phone number, let me know.”

  “No,” I said. “Never. But I sincerely hope she doesn’t disappoint you this time.”

  "Noted." He nodded and changed the subject. "When exactly is your friend Kelly coming again?"

  "Four or five weeks from now."

  "Why so long?"

  "Because she also has an overprotective brother who wants to question the hell out of her before she restarts her life in San Francisco."

  He smiled. "Is her brother the CEO of a high-profile tech company as well?"

  "Worse," I said. "He's a hedge fund manager on Wall Street."

  He laughed and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

  “Thank you again for the house, Jonathan.” I smiled at him. “For everything.”

  “You’re very welcome,” he said. “Let’s walk through the house together and make sure everything works for the night before we leave for dinner.”

  “After I get some water.” I pulled a cup from the cabinet and filled it from the tap. “My head is still killing me.”

  “Drink too much last night?”

  “Not more than my usual,” I said. “But I blacked out before I returned to the hotel because I don’t remember anything.”

  “Do you want me to have my team pull the security footage?” He looked concerned.

  I shook my head. "No, I checked my phone, and I didn't send Kelly any SOS messages. And before you ask me, the answer is no.”

  “No, what?”

  “No, I didn't leave the party with anyone. I'm just a super lightweight."

  “I’ll take your word for it this one time.” He opened a separate cabinet and handed me a bottle of aspirin. “I’ll get you a cold towel.”

  He walked away, and my phone buzzed in my pocket. An email from c.walters@statham.net.

  Corey?

  Curious, I opened it—expecting to see a “Hope you’re feeling better,” but it was a letter of some sort.

  SUBJECT: DELETE THIS message after you read it ...

  Dear Hayley,

  I'm assuming you're still hungover, so I'll make this brief.

  Last night, you slipped under my sheets (without my permission), and we almost had sex. I got the hell out of the bed once I realized it was you, and I took you home.

  That's the story.

  The end.

  Period.

  Just in case you've forgotten, you're my best friend's little sister. We will never be anything more. (We can't be anything more.) Our previous friendship is still unresolved—or "over" in your terms, so I'd prefer if we worked on becoming 'just friends' again since you're in town.

  Nonetheless, I'm not a man who leaves questions unanswered—even the drunken ones, so to properly close our inappropriate conversation:

  1) Yes, I liked the way your lips felt against mine when you were on top of me.

  2) Yes, I do "prefer" rough sex, but I'm pretty sure I wasn't rough with you.

  3) No, I had no idea you were still a virgin ...

  This message never happened,

  Corey

  I GASPED AND DROPPED my phone to the floor.

  COREY: TODAY

  (Present Day)

  San Francisco, California

  MORNINGS LIKE TODAY made me question the so-called "geniuses" who created social media. I was sitting in my office, halfway listening to a clueless interviewee tell me what little she knew about the tech industry.

  Dressed in an "I'm the SHIT" T-shirt and khakis, she was conducting a "Reasons Why You Should Totally Hire Me at Walters, Inc." presentation with pink glitter posters and Facebook page printouts—all while snapping selfies every few seconds and giggling like a teenager.

  Refusing to believe she'd graduated from college, I glanced at her application to see how old she was.

  Twenty-seven.

  I shook my head and leaned back in my chair. I was somewhat grateful that I didn't have to give her my full attention since I was still having a hard time getting this weekend off my mind.

  It'd been four days since Hayley crawled on top of me in bed, and the memory was making itself at home in my brain instead of getting the hell out.

  I could still hear her soft moans in my ear, could still feel the wetness of her pussy against my fingertips. And the very thought of her plump lips against mine had forced me to take two cold showers this morning and six in total yesterday.

  Knowing that she was going to be working here only made me envision the two of us entwined in places the security cameras couldn't see. But since the Human Resource portal had listed Hayley "Smith" as a new hire in Jonathan's department, I was happy to know I wouldn't have to see her every day whenever she started working here.

  "Now for my last part of my presentation!" The brunette's shrill voice brought me back to reality. "I invite you to look at poster board number four. This is my top ten list of things that I think will make your future, private company better."

  I blinked to make sure I was reading the words right. The third thing on her list was "Making all the hard, techy words easier for people like me to understand. #breakitdown #nobodyunderstandsthatstuffanyway"

  I couldn't take anymore. I raised my hand before she could discuss the fifth thing on her list.

  "That's enough, Miranda."

  "It's Mariah."

  "Close enough." I shut her file. "You can go now."

  “You’re not going to let me finish showing my proposal? I’m not done.”

  “I’ve heard more than enough.”

  “How? You cut me off twice in the middle of my presentation!”

  “Because you stopped to send text messages on your phone.”

  “Those weren’t text messages.” She scoffed. “It was Snap-Chat. If I don’t post an update every hour, my followers will worry about me.” She held up her phone. “I wrote, giving a kick-ass interview with THE Corey Walters at Statham Industries. Hashtag, I’m focused. Hashtag, Getting a new job today. Hashtag, He’s so sexy. See?”

  I rolled my eyes. “How many followers do you have?”

  “A hundred, but that’s five more than I had last week. They usually increase whenever I post shots of my bra. Speaking of which, where’s the closest bathroom?”

  “Okay.” I flipped her resume over. “It’s been interesting meeting you, Miss Thomas. I’ll be in touch.”

  “That’s the end?”

  “No, it’s the beginning.”

  “Really?” She smiled. “So, do I just pick up where I left off?”

  “No, that was sarcasm—one of the things you mentioned being well versed in, ironically. Your interview is over. You can leave.”

  “Now?”

  “Right now, preferably.”

  She sucked in a breath. “You know, I used to really admire you, Mr. Walters.”

  “Don’t forget to take your glitter posters with you.”

  “When I read that you were starting your own firm in TechCrunch and using your office here for interviews, I thought you would be open to hiring someone like me. Someone young, motivated, and willing to help you grow your social media followers.”

  “I don’t have a social media account.”

  “That’s exactly why you should hire me, don’t you think?”

  I tapped my fingers on my desk and waited for her to stop staring at me. I was pretty sure she expected me to let her challenge my decision, but I wasn't the type. I'd sat through thirteen interviews this morning, and her interview was sadly one of the better ones.

  “The door is right behind you, Miss Thomas,” I said. “Would you like me to open it for you?”

  "For the record," she said, huffing as she walked toward my door. "I didn't really admire you. I've heard you're an asshole, and I heard your big ego is a cover-up for having a subpar cock." She stormed out and attempted to slam my door, but it was too heavy, so she simply threw up her middle finger.

  I called my secretary, Tillie.

  “Yes, Mr. Walters?” she answered on the first ring.

  “Was Miss Thomas the last interview I have scheduled for the day?”

  “Yes, sir. Which ones would you like me to send follow-up letters to?”

  “None,” I tossed all the resumes into the trash. “But can you please call HR and tell them to stop fucking with me?”

  “Absolutely.” She laughed. “I’ll do it right now.”

  I ended the call and hit "not interested" on every one of their online applications. Years ago, I might've considered giving a few of them a chance, but I wasn’t that type of man anymore.

  I’d become far more ruthless, but it wasn’t by choice. Always by circumstance. Whenever I was nice and accommodating, people took advantage—begged for more than they deserved. When I was firm and unrelenting, people took only what I gave and never asked for anything more.

  “Don’t make me call security on you!” Tillie’s loud yelling suddenly made me look up. “You can’t just go into his office without an appointment! Stop! Stop!”

  Deep laughter followed from the intruder, and I didn’t have to guess who she was talking to.

  “I need a favor.” Jonathan walked into my office. “Actually, I need three favors.”

  “Sir, Mr. Statham completely disregarded me and barged right past the reception area.” Tillie rushed in behind him. “I tried to stop him this time.”

  “That’s more than okay, Tillie. We both know Mr. Statham has the mind of a toddler when it comes to getting what he wants, whenever he wants. Next time, please call security. He deserves to be kicked out of one of his own buildings at least once.”

  “I will.” She glared at Jonathan before shutting the door.

  “Like I was saying,” he said, laughing, “I need three favors.”

  “I’ll consider doing one.”

  “Fair enough.” He took a seat in front of me. “Before I get to the favors, did you manage to hack into the security cameras from Hayley’s hotel?”

  “I did.”

  “Well, did you notice anything? Was someone else with her when she got back from that art auction party?”

  "I didn't. Nothing at all." I'd hacked into the hotel's system and deleted the hell out of that footage seconds after I left her suite that night. I highly doubted Jonathan would've believed any of my reasons for carrying a passed-out Hayley across the lobby and up to her suite.