Page 20

Roxanne

“ H oly crap,” I murmur, trying to open my eyes.

My head is pounding like an entire work crew hammering in my brain.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nausea without much success.

It’s been a long time since I had a hangover like this.

I remember the fantastic steak Leonard grilled, the bottle of wine, and the second one.

I also remember his gin collection and the tasting.

We were on the patio, enjoying our night. But I don’t remember much after that.

Especially not ending up in this bed.

“Where the hell am I?” I whisper, finally opening my eyes and looking around. This is definitely not my home. This room is as big as half of my new apartment.

I’m not ready to do the walk of shame in front of Leonard.

He’s the only one that could have put me in this comfy bed.

I look down, and fortunately, I still have my clothes on.

I’m glad I didn’t try to seduce him. At least, I hope not.

Luckily, I don’t remember him turning me down. That would have been embarrassing.

I sit up and take a moment to give my stomach a bit of a rest. On the nightstand, I notice a glass of water and a couple of aspirins. I smile. He is quite the attentive one. A flutter in my stomach I don’t want to acknowledge makes me nervous. It’s the hangover. It’s definitely the hangover.

I stand up and look around for a bathroom.

It’s easy to spot the door that leads to it, and when I catch my reflection in the mirror, I cringe.

My makeup has run, forming dark streaks under my eyes, and my hair is a tangled mess I’ll have some difficulty fixing without a shower.

But Leonard thought of that too. On the counter sits a comfy robe and fluffy towels.

“It’s like being in a spa,” I murmur. Must be nice having all this money. I could never afford something this expensive at home. My towels have seen the washer and dryer so many times that they’re not even recognizable.

I turn on the hot water and step into the shower, taking my time rinsing away the signs of the night before.

I use the shampoo and body wash I find inside, and I’m sure this is a guest bedroom.

They are expensive and coconut-scented. A far cry from the manly fragrance Leonard’s skin smells like.

The fact that I know how he smells should be a concerning enough sign I spend way too much time with him.

The shower is so long and hot I need to dry the mirror with a towel to see my reflection in it. Better. At least now I’m somewhat presentable. Still wearing the clothes from yesterday, but at least I don’t look like a runaway.

And now what? Should I try to sneak out of the house and drive home, or should I at least say goodbye? The temptation to disappear to avoid a potentially awkward conversation is strong, but we have to meet anyway tomorrow. It’s better if I face the shame now.

After walking in circles for a good ten minutes in this massive mansion, I finally find my way to the kitchen where Leonard sits at the counter sipping coffee and reading his iPad.

I stand in the doorway to admire him, but he doesn’t notice me yet.

He is gorgeous. With his dark hair and sculpted physique, it’s like staring at the perfect human being.

It’s like one of those Artificial Intelligence pictures where you ask the computer to generate the perfect male specimen.

Everything about him fits the quintessential sex appeal attractive to both males and females—from the bulge of his biceps under the polo to the cupid’s arc of his lips.

The only thing that makes me stay away from him is his personality, but I’m not sure about that anymore.

“There you are. I was starting to think you were dead up there,” he says with a smile.

“Nope. I wanted to die, but no such luck.” I grimace.

He chuckles. “Why?”

I should just get the awkward conversation over with. It won’t get any better if I wait. I study his face. He doesn’t seem angry or embarrassed, but he has a poker face to begin with, which could explain his blank look.

“Because I don’t remember half of last night and don’t know if I made a fool of myself,” I confess, and he chuckles.

He puts his iPad on the counter and looks me straight in the eyes with a smug smile on his face. I’m not used to his happy face, and it unsettles me. Where is the stern mogul I hate so much? I almost don’t remember him anymore.

“If by making a fool of yourself you mean rambling on about the weirdest facts you know, then yes, you did.” He grins.

“That’s it? Just rambling?” I want to be sure I didn’t act on my attraction to him. No matter how much I convince myself I don’t like him, he is someone I would approach at a bar if he were a normal person.

“Just rambling. You know you’re interested in the weirdest things, right?”

I pour myself a cup of coffee and sit next to him. “I know. It’s my happy place when I’m stressed. I look up random facts online and go down the rabbit hole of how pink flamingos can stand on one leg for hours.”

“That was an impressive explanation.”

I chuckle. “They’re cool.”

He stands up and walks around the counter. “Breakfast?”

“Yes, please. I need to put something in my stomach to avoid fainting in your kitchen.” I groan.

He studies me for a long moment, and I swear I can read the worry on his face. It’s strange coming from him. I expect him to scold me for getting drunk, but the harsh words never come.

“Is it too much to ask you to work today? Try and tackle the problem you discovered last night?” He asks almost hesitantly.

“Do you even have a personal life? It’s been a while since we started working together, and I’ve never seen you doing anything for fun on the weekend besides that boat trip.” I have no concern about sticking my nose in his private life, apparently.

He frowns, clearly caught off guard. “I usually catch up with emails, news, and everything else I don’t have time to do during the week. It’s usually not work-related—not directly, at least.”

“Oh, really? I’m a bit surprised. I thought you might have some other hobbies or interests outside of work. Isn’t there anything you enjoy doing in your free time?” I ask, trying to sound genuinely curious.

I’m a workaholic, I can’t deny that, but at least I take some days off. Even if only to get a break and recharge to work harder later.

“Keeping up with the latest tech innovation is fun!” he complains, his voice laced with a hint of frustration as he deftly turns the sizzling bacon in the pan.

“No, that’s research and development. Work,” I point out.

He opens his mouth twice, trying to come up with a reply, but then he closes it without a word, maybe realizing I’m right.

“You know what? Today, we don’t work. We are tourists.” I say resolutely, not accepting a no for an answer.

Of course, he has to fight. He raises an eyebrow and stares at me. “ We are not. You do whatever you want. I can’t force you to work, but I’m going to try to figure out what is going on—not in just one of my companies but all sixteen of them.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to plug the hole, identify the culprit, and find out what actions were taken during the past year?”

“No, but I can start breaking down the issue,” he asserts.

“But won’t tomorrow be the same, just another day added to the year when the system was compromised?” I can be more stubborn than him.

He nods. He doesn’t look defeated, but I know he is fuming because he hates to admit that I’m right.

“There you go. You have no reason not to take the day off.”

“Fine. Can you shut up about it now?” A small smile tugs at his lips. I don’t think he’s totally against taking a break; he just needs someone to tell him it’s not a waste of time.

He strikes me as someone who was scolded as a child for “being lazy” in front of the TV and grew up as an adult who feels guilty for relaxing and taking some time for himself.

I grin as I steal a piece of bacon from the plate where they’re resting while he’s scrambling eggs and moan. “This is amazing. You’re an extraordinary cook, you know that?”

“Of course, I know. I may have a personal chef for practical reasons, but I don’t eat shitty meals when she’s gone,” he points out.

I roll my eyes. “And you’re so humble too.”

“I never pretended to be humble. It doesn’t suit my tycoon image.” He grins, and I laugh.

“No, absolutely not. You made me dress like an idiot, I won’t ride in that piece of crap too,” he complains when I open the door to my car and get ready to drive him around the city.

“You’re far from looking like an idiot, trust me.” If I’m being honest, he is hot as hell. With those cargo pants, polo, sneakers, and baseball cap, he looks like an athlete on vacation. Even the backpack suits the image of a carefree tourist.

He raises an eyebrow and mumbles something I can’t discern while I jump into my car. I wait for him to get in too, and smile when he finally decides to humor me.

He puts on his seatbelt while I admire his figure. He is so big that his knees almost touch the dashboard. Our elbows brush together for a moment, and I tingle from the contact all the way down to my core. It’s the hangover , I need to remind myself.

I drive out of his property and down the canyon road leading to Beverly Hills, rolling my eyes when he grabs the handle over his head like his life depends on it. I’m not that bad of a driver—most of the time.

“You can relax, you know,” I say after the umpteenth grunt he lets out.

“You just hit the third curb since leaving my house. How can I relax?” he complains.

“Jesus, you’re so dramatic sometimes. This is Los Angeles. We all know that curbs are always in the way. How often do you see someone hitting one parking on these narrow hilly roads?” I glance at him and see disbelief plastered all over his face.

“Never! It’s literally never happened to me, and I’ve never witnessed anyone else doing it.”

“Because you have a driver, and you don’t pay attention.”