Ding. The familiar sound of my phone receiving a text pierces my skull.

Groaning, I reach in the direction of my night stand. My fingers brush against a pillow instead.

Wait a second.

In a flash, it all comes back. I pop my eyes open, taking in the mess of sheets and blankets surrounding me. Last night… The bar… Ryan…

Warily, I sit up. The bedroom is empty, the curtains drawn to let in the morning sun. There’s no sign of Ryan, though.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, pressing my palms against my face. I slept with my article’s subject’s assistant… Talk about using your womanly wiles to get ahead.

Except that’s not why I slept with Ryan. The two of us had a real connection. It’s just that now, in the light of day and without any liquor in my system, I clearly see how what happened the night before might look.

“Good morning.”

I drop my hands from my face to see him standing in the doorway, straightening his tie. He’s just as delicious-looking as he was twelve hours ago.

“Hi. What, uh… What time is it?”

“Almost seven.”

Seven. That leaves me just enough time to run home and change before I have to be back at work, so long as I order a car and don’t bother with public transportation.

I scan the room, finding my clothes folded in a neat pile and my purse and notebook sitting next to them. From inside my tote, another ding sounds. Whoever is texting me really has something to say.

“You probably have to get to work,” I say, quickly climbing from bed and snatching my clothes. I yank my panties and skirt on, conscious of his eyes on my back the whole time. There’s a nervous knot forming in my stomach. Despite what we did last night, or maybe because of it, I’m now super nervous.

Deftly pulling on my bra and blouse, I take a seat to slip my high heels on.

“Sorry if I’m keeping you. I’m ready to go now.”

His hands are in his pockets, his cool eyes on me.

“It’s fine. I run on my own schedule.”

“Mr. Garner won’t be mad if you’re not in the office at a certain time? Even if he’s not there?”

“No.”

“Okay.” I walk to him, taking all of my things with me. “So, Ryan, I had a really nice—”

“Actually, Ryan is my middle name.”

“Oh. Okay…”

He looks down at me, perfect jaw and lips only mere inches away.

“My first name is Zach. It’s Zach Ryan Garner.”

My stomach drops, all the way from the penthouse to the bottom floor.

“W-what?”

The slightest hint of a smile plays on his mouth, but a full grin never emerges.

“Zach Garner,” he repeats. “CEO of Zarner Technologies.”

“Why did you…? How can you…?” I’m babbling, unable to mask my anger. For someone whose job is asking questions, I suddenly can’t get so much as one out.

Ryan—Zach—puts his hands on my shoulders. There’s something condescending about the action.

“I had a great time last night.”

“Okay.” I shake my head. “What does that have to do with anything?”

He blinks, his expression impossible to read. Maybe I’m being mean, but I couldn’t give less of a fuck. This guy lied to me, misled me. He had me thinking he was someone he wasn’t.

What’s worse is that I just had sex with the subject of my article. I was already feeling guilty about doing it with Zach Garner’s assistant, and now I’ve found out I’ve actually done it with Zach Garner himself!

“Why would you do this?” I ask. “Why would you lie to me about who you are?”

His hands drop.

“You said yourself that Zach Garner is elusive. He doesn’t just give it up to the media.”

My face warms. “So instead you pretended to be someone you’re not, someone who doesn’t exist…” I stare him down. “Or does Ryan exist?”

“I have several assistants, none with that name.”

“Good to know,” I dryly snap.

His face is closed off, the opposite of what he showed me the night before.

“I haven’t gone this long flying under the radar without knowing how to play the game, Noelle.”

“You still didn’t have to lie to me, to…bring me back to your apartment while letting me think you were someone else.”

“When the night began, I had no intention of bringing you back here.”

“Huh.” I cross my arms. “You don’t have to explain to me. I think I understand perfectly what’s happened here.”

Pushing past him, I stomp my way down the hallway, shame coursing through me. Not only did Zach Garner deceive me in order to evade an interview, but he employed the same tactic to use me for sex.

Was anything that happened in that bar real? Were his smiles genuine? His claim that he also likes the outdoors true?

At the end of the hall, I spin on my heel to face him.

“Thanks for a night of complete lies.”

He wasn’t smiling before, but now his face falls.

“I have to—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Protect your assets, blah, blah, blah. You didn’t have to take advantage of me in order to do that.”

His jaw tightens.

“Have a good day at work, Noelle. Once you get there, maybe you can deliver a message to your boss for me. Tell Ethan Ford that the next time he wants to send one of his lackeys to get some dirt on me, he should try being a little more subtle about it.”

I open my mouth to respond, but I’m nothing more than a fish gulping against the air. He knew. How did he know?

I haven’t read anything in the trade magazines or blogs about Mr. Ford taking over the Franciscan Tribune. The public shouldn’t know anything about his newest acquisition. Yet, somehow, Zach does…

He stares at me, that unreadable expression making my blood boil.

I wish I could tell him off, wish I could flip him the finger and tell him to go to hell. But I can’t. Despite the fact that he just pulled the wool over my eyes, he also showed me an amazing time last night—one that was full of connection and passion. And even if it was all a lie, I can still feel the aftereffects of the high. I want to hate him. But I can’t just yet.

Without another word, I leave the penthouse, letting the door slam shut behind me. I repeatedly jab my finger against the elevator’s call button, keeping one ear cocked, waiting to see if he’ll come after me.

But of course he doesn’t. Why would he? I’m nothing but a lackey to him—his word, not mine. I’m no good for anything but a little bit of fun. Oh, yeah, and for being his personal delivery service.

The elevator opens, and I quickly step in and close my eyes. It’s not until I’m on the bottom floor that I open them.

Around the corner from the building, in a semi-safe spot between a bakery and a lawyer’s office, I pull my phone from my purse to see who’s been texting me. There’s nothing but a long stream of messages from my best friend, Claire, asking me if she left her phone charger at my place, because she ‘really needs it’ and she will ‘probably die’ if her phone does.

“Not now, Claire,” I mutter, putting the phone away.

I stare out at the busy street, my head buzzing. How did Zach know so much about Mr. Ford? And, better yet, why does he even care?

Is there something else going on here? Could they…know each other?

Suddenly I get the sense that there is a real story here—a juicy, potentially life-altering one. But it’s hidden deeper than a newbie like me can hope to dig.