I wake the morning after my meeting with Dan and the board of Winchester Properties, feeling like a Grade A piece of shit.

My mouth is full of cotton and a sour, noxious taste. My head feels like a soccer ball after a championship game. As I tear open my eyes and look at the ceiling of my bedroom, it spins before me, the sunlight casting bright white rays that slice right into my skull.

I roll over, thinking of what had gotten me to that point.

Not, what, actually. Whom.

Fucking Dan.

I’d gone out with the board, the way I usually did. Most of those men were my father’s good friends, but I’d been working them for the past few years while filling my father’s shoes, and I considered them to be, maybe not friends, but allies. Seth was there, too, as my right-hand man, and he was my best friend. So I thought I was among those who wished me well. I went in there, shaking hands, offering to buy rounds, generally working them the way I always had.

And then Dan walked in, the specter at the feast, and almost instantly—like, within a snap of the fingers—all of the attention shifted to him. At first, I though it was just curiosity and excitement of seeing him after ten years away on the West Coast. But as time dragged on, I realized that he had, in fact, been meeting with them before this, in gatherings I hadn’t known about or been invited to. When I stood up to try to insert myself into the conversation as any helm of the company would do, Dan put a hand on my shoulder, pushed me down, and whispered in my ear, “I’ve got this, bro.”

I looked at Seth, my best friend, who just shrugged, like, what can you do?

I knew right then that in Dan’s mind, he was already in control.

Me? I was nothing. Everything I’d done to build Winchester Properties was worth nothing.

The real meeting between my father and Lily should be coming up, soon, but Dan was acting like my father had already made the decision.

I hope to god that’s not true.

So what had I done? I’d deadened the pain. If all they wanted was a stupid fucking yes-man to sit on his right side, I could easily do that while drunk off my ass. I lined up shot, after shot, after shot. And every time I downed one, I thought to myself, Fuck you, Dan.

He’d noticed. He leaned over before the meeting was even half over and said, “Aren’t you drinking a little too much?”

I’d smirked into my glass and said, “Actually, I’m drinking a lot too much.”

Not that it mattered. All the men liked to drink, and several drank too much. It was normal. The only person it seemed to bother was my goody-two-shoes brother, who’d probably get ripped apart when he really tried to take on the head of Winchester Properties.

Somewhere in the haze, I remember looking over at Seth, who was getting just as shitfaced as I was, and asking him what the deal was with Dan, and why I got the distinct feeling that meetings were going on behind my back. He’d said, “If they’re going on behind your back, dude, they’re going on behind mine, too.”

I tear the sheets off my body and realize I’d stripped off everything and had slept in the buff. That’s strange. I usually wear boxer briefs, at least. But I guess I was in no condition to be thinking normally, since I don’t remember getting home. I must have taken the limo, but I can’t recall the ride, in the least.

I pick up my phone, hoping it will shed some light on the mystery of last night, and the first thing I see is that it’s open to a text window.

To Lily.

I stare at her name, confused. I certainly don’t remember texting with her last night, but I must have, likely to make plans for the next time my father summons me to his home, when I’ll finally have her meet him. I start to scroll up the messages and . . .

Holy fuck.

I read them. Then I read them again. And one more time, trying to get it through my head. And then my tongue delves into your hole and god, you’re so sweet. And then I’m fucking you with my tongue, in and out, and you’re trembling and so I fuck you harder.

What the hell?

It all comes flooding back to me, then, the way I’d sat there, feeling like hell, if my work life was falling apart, what did I have? And the first thing I’d thought of? Lily.

Right now, Lily is the most exciting part of my life.

Of course I’d thought of her. And of course I’d thought of sucking her cunt. It seemed to be on my mind most of the time, these days, getting my body between her virginal legs, even though I’d convinced myself I wouldn’t act on it, that it was better this way.

But did I really have to text her dirty messages? I’ve likely offended her delicate virginal sensibilities, and now she’ll never talk to me again.

Shit.

Backpedaling into damage-control mode, I open a text to her and say, Hello, Lily. About those texts I send you last night . . .

A moment later: Don’t worry. Already forgotten.

I let out a sigh of relief. Then, I find myself feeling shitty about it. She’s already forgotten what I texted her? Really?

I scroll back up and read her texts, trying to find some indication that my lusty messages, however misguided, were well-received. As I scan, I come to the part where, most definitely . . . I’d made her come. For the first time.

She’d been rubbing herself, getting off on me.

Score.

Though the rest of me feels as though it’s been run over by a truck, my cock throbs at the thought, ready to go. I picture Lily, lying in her bathtub, her tits all soaped up, rubbing herself between her legs.

And I know that no matter what she says, she hasn’t completely forgotten it.

Well, I just want to say I’m sorry, and it won’t happen again.

A moment later, she comes back with: No reason to be sorry. I actually kind of thought it was . . . interesting.

The breath I was holding in comes out in a rush. I don’t want to let her go. She’s meeting my father tomorrow, and I still feel unprepared for it.

Would you like to do lunch today?

I watch those three dancing dots, praying that she agrees. I need to see her.

I’m at the hospital with Joey.

Shit. Right, of course, she has her little brother to worry about. I start to type in a question about how the little guy’s doing when another text comes through from her:

But you can stop by if you want. He’s in pediatric oncology.

I find myself nodding. Yeah. Okay. I will.

I put down the phone and pad toward the bathroom, my surroundings spinning around me. When I crank on the shower, the nausea overpowers me. I vomit in the toilet, then look at the dark circles under my bloodshot eyes, my unshaven jaw, in the mirror.

I look like shit.

I hope it’s nothing that a good shower and a few strong cups of coffee won’t fix. Because I have a date.