HAYLEY: TODAY

(Present Day)

San Francisco, California

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I OPENED MY EYES AND groaned as the rays of morning sunlight stung my face. My head was throbbing in pain, and my throat felt itchy and dry. Even my lips and nipples felt sore.

I brought my hand up to my face to shield the sun and noticed a white note attached to my tennis bracelet:

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Miss Statham,

I’m sorry to hear that you weren’t feeling well last night.

There are bottles of water and two aspirin on your nightstand.

A cold breakfast (and two plates of strawberries) are in the refrigerator, as you requested.

If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask.

Thank you for staying with us!

—Executive Suite Management,

Four Seasons Hotels & Resorts

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I REREAD THE NOTE, wondering when I’d requested any of the things that were mentioned.

I rolled over and looked around the room. My purple dress from last night was draped over the master chair, and loose glitter from my stilettos was sparkling all over the suite’s hardwood floor. My hands immediately went to my chest, and I realized I was wearing a white robe I couldn’t remember putting on.

I couldn’t remember much of anything. Well, except seeing Corey on that roof.

All I knew for sure was that I felt awful, and I was in desperate need of a shower.

Tossing the covers off my body, I walked over to the nightstand and took the aspirin. I untied my robe and slipped into the stone shower, letting hot streams fall over me.

“Ah ...” I leaned back against the rocks and let out deep breaths.

I shut my eyes and tried to remember how the hell I'd gone from bidding on a painting for my brother, to seeing Corey, and getting back to my suite without blinking an eye.

Images from last night began shuffling in my mind—Corey on the roof, a shot of cranberry and vodka, a conversation with the concierge, but the more I tried to process them, the more my head hurt.

As the water fell harder and hotter over my body, a much longer memory began to play: I was picking up my sixth glass of vodka and cranberry juice from a waiter’s tray and forcing myself to laugh at some random suit’s joke. I was seconds away from calling a cab when I turned around and felt my entire world stop.

All evening I’d heard whispers about a certain “Mr. W,” and how unbelievably sexy he was. How a single glance was all it took for any woman to want to sleep with him, and how he was the most desired bachelor in the entire city.

The second Corey’s eyes met mine, I knew for a fact that he was exactly who everyone was talking about. He wasn’t the cute and chubby Corey with messy bed-hair anymore, the boy who wore T-shirts and ripped jeans for any occasion. This Corey was the utter definition of a wet dream.

Cocky and confident, he was standing there all alone—completely oblivious to the lust-filled gazes and whispers that surrounded him. His dark brown hair was cut low, but long enough for a woman to run her fingers through during sex. His chiseled jawline made him appear far more intimidating than I remembered, and his full and defined lips caused butterflies to flutter against my stomach. I couldn’t help but fantasize about how they would feel pressed against mine.

The black suit he was wearing—a three-piece with an emerald silk tie, perfectly complemented his deep, green eyes. And I could tell by the way the fabric clung to his body, that he was hiding a perfect set of abs underneath.

When I approached him, he’d looked me up and down—as if he wanted to undress me on the spot.

I remembered asking him a few questions, setting my drink down after he left, and asking the concierge to get me a cab. That was it. No matter how hard I strained to think of what could’ve possibly happened after that, no other memories from last night came.

Turning off the water, I sighed and hoped the rest of it would become clear later.

I managed to get back to my suite just fine ...

I stepped out of the shower and put on a T-shirt and jeans. I downed the breakfast the hotel staff left for me, savoring each one of the strawberries, and before I could head out for a walk downtown, the room phone rang.

“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 [email protected]

Corey?

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

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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

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I GASPED AND DROPPED my phone to the floor.