Last night was stupid. Such a juvenile word, but I can't think of anything better. Fucking stupid.

I'll blame it on the alcohol. A low groan travels up my throat as I move away from the floor-to-ceiling window in my office. The hustle and bustle of the streets below is what drives me to keep moving. This city never sleeps, and the work never ends.

Last night was about taking a moment to unwind from the shitshow my life has become. From my father, the arrogant prick and criminal that he is. The lines separating right and wrong have blurred, and the awareness of just how ruthless my father is has never hurt me more.

That's what it really is. Pain. Coming to the realization that your father's a disgusting excuse for a human being and should be locked away behind bars is... difficult to handle. What's worse is when you're tied into his bullshit.

I sink into the leather desk chair. Unlike my father's office, traditional and smelling of polished wood and old books, my office is the opposite. It's airy and open with the model of our newest development in the very center.

That's what started all this shit. A celebration for my company's first suburban development. No more apartments downtown. We're ready to take over and start creeping into uncharted territories. I'm a fucking idiot for thinking this would change things between my father and me. I really thought things would be different. I'd attributed the tense relationship with him to my own doing. I was a rebellious child with pent-up anger over my mother's death. Born into this black tie bullshit with no choice or say.

I was always supposed to act right. Always supposed to say the right thing, stand the right way, behave and pay attention. Well, I didn't fucking want to. I crack my neck, remembering the fights I started. A smile kicks my lips up. Four boarding schools and hefty donations from my father still couldn't keep me in line.

Working in construction was just another "fuck you” to my father.

Higher education? Fuck that. I wanted a physical job... but it didn't last for long. I'm just not made to work for someone else. So I started Grays Homes with Liam nearly three years ago. He had the schooling, and I had the designs. I didn't think it'd be this successful, or grow so quickly. So much so that I ran out of cash flow, and so did he. We did what we had to in order to keep growing and taking advantage of the momentum we had. I took out loan after loan, investing in myself and I'd do it all over again.

But I wish I hadn't agreed when my father came to me and offered to invest in me, too.

Just having him backing me made everything easier and run smoother. I knew it was too good to be true.

He just wanted to hold it over my head. He wanted to own me. I narrow my eyes at the model in the center of the room. It's all because of this. Now I'm in debt, I owe more than I'm worth and everything's hanging in the balance. This one project is the key. I should cancel it all now that I know the truth, but that would mean bankruptcy and more people than just myself being affected. Liam and all of our employees and contractors would lose everything.

I pull my eyes back to the computer screen, back to all the bills that have been paid. Everything's moving accordingly, but only because of the income from my father's loan.

I fucking need him. If I turned him in...

I run my hand over my face, knowing I'm just as much of a fucking prick. I don't deserve to breathe the same air as someone as sweet as Jules.

The thought of her shy smile and innocent looks... God, it does something to me. The guilt and anger are minimal compared to my desire. I want to feel her again. I want to get lost in her touch, fascinated by the fact that I do the same to her.

I can make it all better.

She has no idea how fucked up it is. My father would, but not nearly to the same extent.

He may be a piece of shit and deserve to live behind bars, but if the world knew what I'd done, they would think the same of me.

I click the mouse to light up the screen as it goes dim once again. I can't think; I can't focus.

As my temples throb and irritation grows, I think back to last night. Back to Jules.

Out of every possible way for this morning to start, I never guessed she’d sneak out.

I imagined how we’d leave things over and over again while I watched her sleep, her long hair a beautiful halo on the pillow. She looked so peaceful and beautiful.

I’ll never forgive myself. I couldn’t get over how fucked up it was. How selfish of me. But it turned out to be everything I wanted, and more. It was fucking worth it.

As she slept, exhausted and spent from the raw fuck, my fingers longed to travel along her curves. My dick was still hard for more.

Staring at her lush lips, the visions of her eyes shut tight, her head thrown back, and her mouth parted with soft, strangled moans spilling between them were etched in my memory. It was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Jules was a woman utterly in rapture from what I was doing to her. She was completely at my mercy, and I know she loved every minute.

I tugged the blankets over myself and lay there watching her, debating how I’d end it in the morning. I could crave her more than anything, but it was over. And it never should have started to begin with. As I thought about exactly what to say to ease the sting, I watched her steady breathing and my lungs filled with her sweet scent.

Just once more. I should have spread her legs and taken her again. Had I known that I’d wake up alone, I would have.

I sit back in my leather seat, letting out an aggravated sigh as I watch the security tape again. She slipped out, only leaving a note behind. I watch in amusement as she keeps looking up from the small Post-it she’d found on my kitchen counter. The pen never even touched the paper for a full two minutes as she contemplated what to write.

She’s lost and confused. She doesn’t even know what she wants.

But I do.

I move the sticky side of the Post-it from my middle finger to my pointer and back again mindlessly.

Thank you.

If last night was more than just last night…

I trace the curves of her letters; it’s a feminine script. She was made to tempt men. I’m convinced of it. Everything from the soft sighs to the way she carries herself are clear signs.

It’s as if she was designed to lure me in unknowingly.

Even the way she’s written her phone number. Each gentle sweep makes my fingers yearn to punch in the numbers on my phone.

Weakness. Stupidity.

Last night was a mistake. I don’t have to call her. I don’t owe her anything, and I’m fairly sure she doesn’t expect a damn thing either.

Why does that bother me even more?

The sticky note continues to move from finger to finger. I know I shouldn’t call her. Nothing good can come from this.

My eyes trail back to her message. Again I stare at her phone number.

Selfish. So fucking selfish.

That’s the problem though, isn’t it? I just don’t give a damn about anyone else. The thought is what strengthens my resolve. It’s all going to come crumbling down around me soon. I deserve to enjoy what little time I have left.