A Billionaire's Mistake

13|Third Party

Chapter Thirteen: Third Party

Sienna

I wake up in the morning to the light from the bay window blaring me in the face, forcing me to blink my eyes open and squint at the brightness. My sheets are disheveled, my naked body underneath the comforter. It's not until the faint blaring of an alarm echoes in my ears that I instantly shoot up in bed, frantically grabbing the clock that reads eight in the morning.

I'm late.

So late.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Shoving the sheets away from my body, I pad across the cold, hardwood floor and throw open my closet. I refuse to think about what happened last night, because the minute that I do, I'm going to overthink it, and I can't do that right now because I'm fucking late. I'm never late. Not that it matters since I make my own schedule, but I like consistency. Having my employees see consistency makes them consistent, too.

I trip over my own two feet as I tug on a pair of black dress pants and a pink floral button-down blouse, hardly even noticing my reflection when I stumble groggily into the bathroom. My head is pounding from lack of sleep when I stick my toothbrush in my mouth, groaning when I see the girl staring back in the mirror. Despite the few hours of sleep, she looks...well-rested, which is something I'm not used to. Normally I toss and turn throughout the night, waking up once every three hours, but last night I slept like a bear in hibernation.

And my cheeks have color in them. My eyes are a light brown, and despite my hair going in a million different directions, I look beautiful and happy, and it's all because Lincoln Nash made me orgasm again.

Stop thinking about it!

Pushing the images of his huge cock out of my mind, I rinse my mouth out and tug my hair back into a tight bun, slimming down the stray pieces with a little bit of gel. My face doesn't need makeup today. I'm fresh-faced and glowing, and it bothers me so fucking much as I slide my flats on, put food in Muggle's cat dish, grab my purse and fly out the door.

My driver, TJ, takes only five minutes to arrive, and I think it's because he was already waiting for me. I'm out the door by seven every single morning Monday through Friday, and I know I don't need to apologize to him since he was just getting paid to sit and wait for me, but I do it anyway, embarrassed from how out of character I'm being today.

"No apologies necessary," he says as he pulls away from the curb, "I take it you slept well?"

My eyes meet with his in the rearview mirror, and I can't be certain, but it looks as if he's...smiling with his eyes. TJ rarely ever shows emotion, he's strictly professional so maybe I'm reading too much into it. There's no way he saw Lincoln come over last night. Did he?

"Yes," I reply. "I hope you did as well."

He nods as I sink back into my seat, closing my eyes and heaving out a sigh as the memories from last night slowly sink into my head. The son-of-a-bitch won last night. I threw myself at him, yet he didn't even touch me. He made me come just from his words.

Was it a test? Maybe, a small part of me was hoping he'd fail it so that these feelings would stop. I wanted him to try and sleep with me so that I would forget this lust and we could go back to being professional, but he was nice and caring...and he made me feel safe again. Damn him.

Damn him and his stupid toned body. Damn his tattoos that looked like a work of art. I wish I hadn't been so drunk so I could have remembered every single one. Damn his sexy words and damn his breath on my nipple that made me come harder than I had that night in my office with him. I hadn't been able to get myself to orgasm before I texted him, and maybe that's because it'd been so long since I tried, but two minutes with Lincoln Nash pushed me over the edge. I hate him for that. Hate him because he's supposed to be a client. Hate him because I shouldn't feel this way about him. Hate him because that can't happen again. It can't.