Chapter 2

Sammi

5:49 AM FRIDAY

It’s so early in the morning that it’s still dark out and I don’t have a care in the goddamn world.

I love waking up early. I love the way the world is quiet and still and how the day is still tidy and clean.

I love tidy. I adore clean.

I love the feeling that everything is in order—nothing is a disaster, my life is completely sorted, and the day is bursting with the potential to be fucking great.

Of course, the Queensland heat leaves a lot to be desired. Cairns is fucking humid this time of the year—maybe every time of the year—and it’s left my long, dark hair billowing around my head like a crown made of clouds.

I guess it’s just preparation for Bangkok, where from past experiences, I know the heat and humidity will be even worse.

It’s been three years since I’ve been in Bangkok, and frankly, that’s probably for the best. The last time I was there, I got so fucking drunk that I didn’t even remember what hotel I was staying in—let alone what I got up to the night before.

It gives me a headache just fucking thinking about it. As I sit in the back of the cab to the airport, I can at least be sure of one thing: getting blackout drunk in the Las Vegas of the East is never fucking happening again.

I used to be a party girl. Hell, sometimes, I still am. They called me Slammin’ Sammy B., and when unleashed on a frat kegger with my BFFs, I had some of the best times that I’ll never remember.

But that shit is behind me now. My last trip to Las Vegas for my BFF Becky’s wedding taught me exactly how behind me all of that is. I think it took me a month to recover from that hangover alone.

And now that the BFFs and I are reuniting in Bangkok for my own wedding, one thing’s for sure: what happened in Vegas can never happen again.

The cab takes a turn to get onto the freeway, and my phone lights up on my lap with a big, goofy picture of Becky’s adorable, little face.

“Heya, Becks,” I say, answering the video call. “Pretty early for you, isn’t it?”

A redheaded beauty in a pristine hotel suite grins back at me on the screen of my phone.

“Sams! Oh, my god, don’t even worry about it. Liam and I, uh…we haven’t gotten any sleep yet, if you know what I mean.”

In the background, Becky’s scruffy-looking husband accidentally walks into the frame. He’s wearing a lot less than he ought to be—but good looking as he is, he’s way too British for my taste.

“Ah, bugger,” Liam swears, noticing Becky on video chat and his own state of undress in rapid succession. “Wotcher, Sammi! Apologies for—er. The lack of trousers.”

Becky throws a pillow at her husband and his dangling manhood, then giggles at me, looking well-fucked.

“So, we’ve got your bridal suite here at Liam’s new hotel all ready for you,” Becky reassures me. “We’ll go out for drinks after your award ceremony tonight, then tomorrow night’s the wedding.”

“You’re telling me all this like I don’t already have it down in my planner,” I say, smiling a little. “No drinks, though. We both remember what happened last time.”

Becky’s a walking disaster, but when it comes to party planning, she’s on top of things. Not that my wedding will be much of a party—after what happened in Vegas at Becky’s wedding, I’ve chosen something very down-to-earth and chill.

“Hey,” Becky pouts. “Vegas went okay!”

“You ended up married to your fiancé’s evil stepbrother,” I laugh.

“Yeah,” Becky says dreamily. “And he fucks like a dream. If you don’t want drinks though—”

I can tell Becky’s about to start pouting, but then my phone rings again.

Saved by the bell.

“Gotta go, Becks. Love!” I say, hanging up and switching over to a call from Percy, my curvaceous, blonde BFF.

“Sams! Holy shit, it’s early there!” Percy yells into the video chat. “Look who I found here at the airport, babe!”

Percy throws her arm around Mysti May, who’s looking every bit the part of a former beauty queen…but with a black cloud over her head the size of Texas.

“Hey, Sammi,” Mysti May says mournfully. “Congratulations on the wedding, darlin’. I’m sure it’ll be…great or whatever.”

“Oh, fucking stop it,” Percy says, punching her in the arm. “Myst is just still bummed that she hasn’t found The One yet, babe. Don’t listen to her.”

“Two marriages, two annulments.” Mysti sighs. “You’d think at some point I’d get better at choosing men. Or women.”

I give her a sympathetic look. In the last year alone, Mysti married a man who turned out to secretly be a Colombian drug lord and a woman who turned out to be already married to a butch lesbian truck driver.

Not the best track record when it comes to love, I have to admit.

“And how’s your love life, Perce?” I smirk as I say it. With sugar daddies in every major city in the US and otherwise, if there’s anyone with a more complex love life than Mysti May, it’s definitely Percy.

“Ughhhh,” Percy groans. “So annoying. They’re all like, ‘Marry me, Percy! Have my babies, Percy! Let me buy you a private jet, Percy!’ It’s just so laaaaame.”

Mysti May side-eyes Percy like she wants to commit murder, so I decide to change the subject.

“What about that one guy you’ve been seeing. Silver Fox, right?”

Percy rolls her eyes even harder. “He’s the worst one of all. Thinks he’s in love with me or something! I swear to God, if I ever get married, he’s the last on my list.”

The taxi pulls over, and the driver helps me juggle my suitcase as I head for check-in. Right on schedule—when it comes to flying internationally, I’m kind of a pro.

“Babes, I gotta go through security,” I tell them, blowing a kiss. “I’ll see you in Bangkok after the award ceremony?”

“Whatever,” says Mysti May.

“Definitely,” says Percy.

I’m barely through security and still putting my laptop back in my bag when my phone rings yet again—but this isn’t a call I can hardly afford not to take.

“Hey, babe,” I say as my fiancé, boss, and husband-to-be’s handsome face shows up on the screen.

“Hey, Sammi-poo,” he says, and I suppress a groan. “How’s it going?”

“You know I hate when you call me that. Going good, though. Prepping to hop on the plane. How’s the research trip?”

“Wrapping up nicely,” he says with a chuckle. I can see the rest of our team popping bottles in the background as the boat they’re on sways back and forth. “It’s been no fun without you though, Sammi-poo. Can’t wait to see the award you’ve won for us before the wedding tomorrow night.”

“Me either,” I say. And I mean it. Mostly. I think.

Until Eggs smiles and adds his final little zinger. “You’re going to make a fantastic Mrs. Eggbert Humphrey, Sammi-poo.”

Because I love the man. I really, probably, mostly do.

But goddamn does he have an awful fucking name.

I think that’s going to be the last of it. Everyone is checked in and accounted for—so I can finally slip into the first class lounge and enjoy a little peace and quiet while I catch up on some much-needed work.

But then another video call shows up on my phone.

An Australian number, but not one that I recognize. No picture, either.

“Hello?” I say, taking the call.

And then the last face I want to see in the entire universe shows up on my fucking phone screen.

“That’s it, sugar-tits,” Lachlan Williams says, plowing a busty blonde from behind while she moans and angles the phone’s camera to capture both of them. “I want you to get a nice, good video of the way I’m destroying your fucking—Sammi?”

From the looks of things, he and I realize what’s going on at the same time.

Lock Williams’ latest slut has confused his phone camera with a video call. I can hardly fucking blame her, since he’s currently so balls-deep in her pussy that her eyes have gone crossed…

But I fucking hate Lock Williams, and I hate seeing him fucking even more.

Lock has been the bane of my existence over the last three years. When I apply for a grant, he’s the asshole who ends up winning it. When I have my heart set on a research project, he’s the bastard they choose to actually go. When I have an interview, Lock is the man who fills the position.

So help me God, I’m surprised that Eggs is marrying me at all. Based on my track record with Lock Williams, I’m somewhat anticipating that my own fiancé leaves me at the altar so he can get hitched to Lock fucking Williams instead.

I’m just about to hang up the phone and shove it deep into my purse where neither Lock—nor anyone else, for that matter—can bother me for the rest of my flight. But then I walk into the first class lounge and suddenly, Lock’s weird little sex scene isn’t just on my phone screen.

It’s playing out right before me in real life.

“Fucking seriously, Lock?” I say, eyes widening in disbelief.

The flight attendant that he’s boinking has the good fucking sense at that point to push him off of her and pull down her skirt—which I should be thankful for.

Except without her there as a distraction…now Lock’s attention is turned onto me.

“Sammi fucking Brighton,” Lock says, taking his still-slick cock into his fist and turning to face me full-on. “Didn’t know you flew first class these days.”

“Class isn’t something that seems to concern you much, Lock,” I glower back.

Lock only shrugs with those big, broad, gorgeous fucking shoulders of his. “Maybe not—but that’s where you’re in luck, Sammi. Want a go? From what I recall, your pussy was the bomb…”

I ignore his sexy Aussie accent. I ignore the way he’s wagging his dick at me like it’s some kind of special treat. And I especially ignore his gorgeous eyes, the way they sparkle with amusement and glisten the color of the sea…

But what I don’t ignore is his word choice.

His word choice is my ticket out of this thing.

“Excuse me,” I say, finding the nearest security guard. I point to Lock, twisting my face up with concern. “But I think that man just said he has a bomb.”

The security guard surveys the scene—Lock tucking his dick away, the look of fear on my face and that special buzz-word—bomb.

“I’ll take care of this, ma’am,” the security guard says with a nod. “Thank you for informing me.”

A few moments later, Lock is being tackled to the ground by two 300-lb airport security officers while I’m boarding the plane.

“Sammi!” he yells out while they shove his handsome face into the mysterious patterns of the airport carpet. “I know you fucking did this—tell them that it’s a mistake!”

I just shrug and blow him a little kiss as I hand his flight attendant hussy my ticket. “See you in Bangkok, honey!” I call over my shoulder.

He’ll talk his way out of it. He always fucking does.

But for a few lovely moments before take-off, I have the satisfaction of being alone in the quiet of first class, a glass of champagne in one hand and the memory of Lock’s wrists in zip ties on my mind.

It might be ridiculous…but right now, I have a feeling like everything on this trip is going to go exactly right.