It's Monday morning and I am in a shit mood. I spend a little extra time getting ready, making sure I am completely frumpy. I want to hide away and by disguising who I am, I can do that. I spent the entire weekend bemoaning my terrible judgment. I didn't leave my apartment even once. Instead, I went on a cleaning tear. You could eat off my damn floor and lick my bathtub and not have to worry about a single speck of dirt.

I am on a mission, today. I know Dylan is going to have his little minion demand I go to his office for one reason or another and I am not going to comply. I will be buried under a mountain of work or in meetings. That will teach him to play with me and toss me out like last week's trash.

I hesitate before going into the coffee shop, not sure if Anna is still totally freaked out by what I said. Fuck it, I need coffee and I no longer care what anyone thinks of me.

I get in line, waiting my turn, when Anna sees me, she smiles, “Hey! I think you're on time! This has to be a record.”

I am so relieved she isn't being weird.

“I know,” I smile back. “I think I have turned over a new leaf. I have had some kind of aha moment or whatever the hell Oprah calls them,” I giggle.

She punches in my order without me having to tell her. I pay and move to the side, like a good little customer. The whole scene is ridiculous. We humans get in line, wait up to 15 minutes to get our coffee order, exchange a few pleasantries and then move to the side without being told. We are well-trained.

As I stand there waiting, those little hairs start to stand at attention on the back of my neck. I sense him. My body starts this slow burn, knowing he is near.

“Oh no,” I groan, afraid to turn around. I will absolutely die if he is standing behind me, staring at me like he did just a few short days ago.

I decide to ignore it. I'm not going to turn around. When my name is called, I rush forward, grab my coffee and beeline for the door, averting my eyes from where I know he is sitting.

I keep walking, full speed ahead. I am not going to look back. I get to the corner, violently smash the button, demanding the light change. The others who were already there standing, waiting to cross look at me like I have lost my mind. Obviously, they had already pushed the button.

I sip my coffee and scan the newspaper machines lined up on the sidewalk. My eyes bulge and I spit coffee all over as my eyes land on one of the gossip rags. I quickly look left and right to see if anyone recognizes me. Judging by the way they are looking at me, they think I escaped some facility. They don't know I'm the girl on the couch.

I step forward, staring at the picture in horror. There are two pictures, side by side. The first, is Dylan practically mauling me the second is moments after the orgasm that rocked my world. The pictures are in black and white and very grainy, but my face is visible. That is my O-face. Someone captured me at my absolute most vulnerable moment and splashed it all over the cover of some shitty paper.

I can't stop staring at the images. My eyes finally move away from the picture of my face to the headline. “Most Eligible Bachelor Caught Making Out with Mystery Woman: Is He Off the Market?”

I roll my eyes, before muttering, “Hell no.”

“I wanted to talk to you before you saw those,” a voice cuts in. It was the voice I had been dreading and dodging.

I groan and look at him, standing there in his expensive suit, perfectly tailored to fit his wide shoulders. He looks a little embarrassed, but not nearly as mortified as I am.

“Can't you do something?” I say in my haughtiest tone.

He shrugged, “You're the lawyer. You know this is all perfectly legal. Freedom of the press and all that.”

I shake my head, “I see it as a violation of privacy.”

A thought popped into my head and I panic. I start fishing in my purse for change. I have to get that paper. What if the cover photo isn't the only one that was taken.

“Relax,” he says, gently putting a hand on my arm. “The story is vague and there aren't any other pictures. Whoever took that picture followed us outside. They saw you leave with your friend. We didn't leave together. The story will die down. It will be old news by tomorrow.”

I nod, trying to wrap my head around what he is saying. No more pictures. There aren't any pictures of him with his hand up my skirt. Thank God.

I can't take my eyes off the paper. If my boss or anybody I work with sees this, my reputation is going to be ruined. I will look like a hussy, sleeping with the wealthiest man in the city or possibly the world, to get ahead.

“Don't give it another thought,” he says, cutting into my downward spiral.

I look at him, “That's easy for you to say. You don't have to work your ass off to prove you are more than a pair of great legs and even better tits. I have to dress like this,” I say, waving a hand over my atrocious outfit, “to hide my body so the men at work will look at my work instead of wanting to bend me over the closest desk.”

He looks down at his feet, then meets my eyes, “I wanted to bend you over a desk the first time I saw you in that get up. You aren't fooling anybody with those hideous clothes and ridiculous glasses. You are a beautiful woman and it doesn't matter if you put a paper bag over your head, men are going to want you.”

I look at him. I don't know whether I should be pissed or flattered.

“Whatever. I have to get to work—if I still have a job that is,” I mumble. I turn to walk back to my corner only to find the light has already changed. Everyone has already crossed and I have to wait another cycle. “Dammit!” I shout at the world before attacking the big silver button on the pole again.

“Alexa, I am sorry. I didn't mean to put you in that position. I sent you home alone to stop the gossip,” he said, standing beside her again.

“You what?” I ask, flummoxed by the real reason for him denying me that night.

He shrugs, “That stupid bitch from the dance floor, the one that took that picture, she followed us outside. My security took her phone, but it was too late. She had already uploaded the picture to her Instagram.”

“Oh,” I say, not sure what else to say. “Uh, thanks, I guess.”

So, he wasn't a complete jerk. It didn't change the fact he was still a little bit of a jerk or the fact he may have cost me my future at the firm. He was dangerous. I needed to get some distance between us—literally.

I can't wait another minute and dart into the street. I'm crossing one way or another. I don't bother saying goodbye. Nope. I have to get away from him. He makes my brain turn to mush and my body hum. My body craves his. Every time he is near, I get a little wet and my thoughts turn to sex.

I laugh to myself, “This must be what it's like to be a guy.”

Earl looks at me as I enter the door, “What?” he says.

I start laughing again, “Nothing, Earl, I was only saying good morning.”

He looks at me, not buying my story, but smiles anyway, “Good morning to you, Alexa.”

I punch the elevator button and prepare to face an onslaught of dirty looks from the women in the office and the lecherous eyes from all of the men. By the end of the day, my reputation as the hard working and very dull Alexa will be destroyed. I will be known as the harlot that fucks rich guys in the club.

Perfect.