The sound of my cell phone ringing is what wakes me up, but the midday sunlight streaming through my window is what blinds me.

“Fuck.” I cover my eyes with one arm and reach for the phone with the other, blindly searching on my bedside table. 

It’s not there.

In fact, the ringing is coming from the other side of the bed entirely. I force my eyes open a crack and turn over, a thundering pain in my head. 

Last night was a mistake.

The phone stops ringing, and I fall back onto the pillow in the blessed silence.

Then it starts ringing again.

I snatch it up.

“What.”

“Good morning, Mr. Blake. Actually—” There’s a pause, a quiet shifting. “Good afternoon.”

“What can I do for you, Clarissa?” My voice is gravelly and harsh.

“You don’t sound very well.”

“That should explain why I’m not downstairs.” There are many advantages to having one’s penthouse in the same building as one’s office space. One disadvantage is that there are hardly any viable excuses for not showing up to work. My only saving grace right now is that I own the entire place—business, building, penthouse. All of it. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” She manages to keep her voice in check. I could make up some lie about suddenly having come down with the flu, but Clarissa saw me enough yesterday to know that’s not true. “How did you want me to handle Storage Room Two?”

“Storage Room Two?”

“Yes.” There’s another shuffling sound, like she’s moving papers. “You sent me a text message last night at about one. There are instructions here to...empty Storage Room Two and arrange for immediate buyers.”

My heart crashes against my rib cage, and I force myself up from the pillows. It’s as much of a mistake as going out last night was. My head spins, and I let myself fall backward again, squeezing my eyes closed against the nausea. 

“Are you still there?”

“Yes,” I croak, and then I clear my throat. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t empty that storage room?”

“No. Under no circumstances should you do that. Ignore that message.”

“Will do.” I move to hang up the phone, but Clarissa’s voice coming through the speaker makes me put it back to my ear. “What?”

“Will you be in today?”

“No.” I hate to be abrupt, but I’m in desperate times. I end the call before she can ask any more questions and turn onto my side.

The sensation of vertigo fades after a long few minutes clutching the pillow, and then I try to get up. Tentatively. Carefully. Like I’m damaged goods. 

Which I may be, after going to such stupid excess.

Jasper is a good man. He made sure I got into bed last night, saving Phillip the embarrassment. There was no saving me.

Once I’m certain I can stand, I decide immediately on a shower. I can still smell the alcohol on my own skin, and even if I don’t leave the penthouse today, I can’t live like this.

The hot water is restorative, and when I get out, my stomach has settled enough to consider breakfast. What I see when I pick up my phone to text my chef, though, has me off-balance all over again.

It’s Ruby’s name. It’s Ruby’s name on my screen. She sent me a message.

I don’t hesitate. I’m not going to waste a single moment being nervous about opening a text message on my own damn phone.

I’m sorry.

That’s it. That’s all it says.

I stare down at the phone, trying to decide what the hell it means. On the surface, it should be simple. But in true Ruby fashion, this is a thing with layers of meaning.

If I text her back, the first thing it’s going to mean is that I’m still attached to her. It’s going to mean that the guiding principle I’ve lived by all my adult life is different now, and it’s different because of one woman. No matter how this conversation turns out.

“I can live with that,” I say out loud. My voice is still terrifying. I’m glad she didn’t call.

I decide to play it cool.

For what?

It takes two to do the nonchalant, vague-text tango.

I don’t have to wait long for her to reply.

For the way things went between us last week. I’ve regretted it ever since.

My heart is instantly pounding, so hard I have to sit down on the ottoman at the foot of my bed. Ruby doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what I had planned for her, and she’s sending me this text. I don’t know whether to be exhilarated or wary. 

Are you saying that you need me after all?

What possesses me to write that—and then to send it—I’ll never know. But it doesn’t seem to have the world crumbling around me in a fall of ashes, because Ruby writes back. Again.

I don’t know if I’d go that far...

I laugh, and it feels so good to laugh, a soft heat moving through my chest, that it’s all I can do to answer her.

We could talk, if you wanted, I text.

I’m not in the city.

I’ll come to you.

Are you sure about that?

There’s hardly any traffic right now. It’s less romantic than it sounds.

That’s a gutsier text, because I really don’t know what kind of ground I’m treading on. Ruby sounds flirtatious, that’s true. But I saw her eyes when she realized what I’d done. It wouldn’t be completely shocking if she just wanted to get together to give me a piece of her mind.

No. That’s not it. Ruby wouldn’t need to lure me in like this. She would tell me to my face. I’m the one who went behind her back, even though I had a pretty good idea of how she felt. 

I won’t stop you, comes her reply.

Where are you?

I’m where it all began.

I’ll be there in an hour.

An hour, because I’ll need five minutes to get dressed while Phillip brings the car around, and then I need to make one stop. There’s something I need to finish, and it can’t wait another day.

But every other day depends on it.

“No pressure.” I say the words out loud, like that might make them true.