Page 1 of Due Diligence

Chapter 1: Cass

The guy fast asleep in my bed was named either Wren or Paul.

Yes, I was aware those were two completely different names—names nobody in their right mind could ever mix up. And yes, I was aware those two names didn’t even share any of the same letters. And for the last time,yes, I was perfectly aware this scenario might have been a little, let’s say,muchfor a Monday morning. But none of those things concerned me because last night was incredible. One for the history books.

Well, maybe not for the history books, but definitely worth remembering in lurid detail.

Wren/Paul moved against my pillow, eyes shut tight, as he adjusted his sculpted arms. A contented exhale escaped his lips. I knew from experience that he was nowhere close to waking up. Tentatively, I reached down and squeezed his shoulder, my hand resting on the edge of the gigantic tattoo of angel wings that spanned his toned back and arms. When he didn’t stir, my fingers drifted lower and traced along the swirling wind patternsthat spread from his back to his sides. He was more tattoo than skin at this point, inky and decorated over hard muscles.

Yeah. I was going to think about this guya lotwhen trying to fall asleep at night.

Gently, I tickled his sides, barely caressing him. That did it. He jolted and heaved himself up on his hands, flexing his arm muscles as he elevated his massive body. Squinting against the morning light that peeked through my faded blue curtains, he looked left and right before he spotted me over his shoulder. He flipped onto his back and stretched sinfully. As he moved, he treated me to the sight of his marvelously ridged abdomen, which was adorned with tattoos of crashing waves.

“Look at you. Shapeshifter over there,” he commented, nodding his chin in my direction. His voice came out low and scratchy, likely from his hangover and from the number of times he groaned and cried out while he was on top of me last night. The mere sound of his voice lit me up, igniting a desire in my core.

Playing it cool, I glanced down at my white chiffon blouse and the thick navy pencil skirt I was wearing. “You like my corporate uniform?” I asked, lackadaisically flicking the loose fold on my top where the hem tucked into my skirt. “Nothing says competence like spending the lion’s share of your paycheck on something so plain you could be buried in it.”

Wren/Paul smiled at my remark, still gazing at me with hooded, sleepy eyes. He had a good smile. It contrasted nicely with his dusky neck tattoos and the septum piercing in his nose. “I like you better in what you were wearing last night.”

His words stoked that blossoming heat in me as I thought back to the ravenous look on his face when we locked eyes at the bar. The agreement was tacit:I’m game if you are.We had barely exchanged names before our tongues were twining together andhis hands were grasping my thighs, right there in the dark corner by the ATM.

I managed to keep my expression neutral and unreadable before I said, “Some workplaces might be pro-fishnets, but Davenport-Ridgeway is definitely not one of those places.”

“That’s where you work?” he asked, pierced eyebrow raised. He released a low, breathy whistle. “Never would have guessed.”

“And why is that?” I knew exactly what he was getting at, but I had decided I liked to listen to this guy talk. He said nothing of substance; every word that came out of his gorgeous mouth was a veiled attempt at seduction.

He wasexactlywhat I liked in a guy.

Lazily, he gestured at me to come towards him. It was a small tick of his fingertips, curling in his direction. It looked practiced, like he had offered that motion to dozens of women before and they had all flitted over to him without objection. I shouldn’t. There was a good chance he was going to make meverylate for work if I went over there. But then he mouthed, “Come here,” at me before he glanced down at the rumpled bedspread covering his lap. Then he pulled his lower lip back with this top teeth.Stop. Still, I was like a moth to a flame—a hard, colossal, tattooed flame with thick blond hair and rough hands that knew exactly where to touch me.

Screw it.

I climbed onto my bed and straddled him, letting my skirt ride up high on my thighs. His eyes went there and stayed there, fixating on the inches of tan skin I had just revealed to him without hesitation. His hands went to my waist and caressed me over the thin fabric of my top, drawing a sharp, involuntary inhale from me.

“Girls who go to clubs on a Sunday night and bring home guys who look like me typically don’t have fancy, corporate jobs,” he murmured before he leaned forward and kissed me. The tasteof last night’s whiskey still lingered on his lips. His kiss was scratchy from the stubble around his mouth. The small hoop piercing through the side of his lower lip rubbed against my skin. I couldn’t keep in a groan—as much as I tried to. Hearing that sound, he tightened the hold on my waist and he tugged me closer to his immaculate, naked body. Heat radiated between us, clouding my brain.

Somehow, I managed to stop the kiss much sooner than I wanted to. I deserved a medal for that. A certificate of achievement, at least. Channeling willpower I didn’t know I had, I broke away before his tongue could find its way between my lips. I didn’t want to. I could hate myself for it. I was viciously fighting every horny, insatiable instinct in me in a gruesome, pre-season-finale-episode-of-Game of Thrones-style battle. But I had to. Once I got going, it was hard for me to stop.

“It’s just a job,” I responded, verging on breathless from his kiss. I forced myself to look into his dark eyes, instead of at that luscious mouth. One more look at that mouth and I would lose my resolve. “I work to live, not the other way around.”

“I bet you liveverywell with a job like that.”

“You have no idea,” I replied, drawing my gaze away from his face. I didn’t bother to tell him how much debt I still had to pay. I didn’t bother to tell him I was bound to this job by a set of sturdy, golden handcuffs. Instead, he could cling to his fantasy. He could brag to his friends about the aloof, ambitious, rich girl he screwed three times in one night. He didn’t need the truth.

I was none of those things—aloof, ambitious, or rich. Maybe once. Not anymore.

I offered him one last kiss, something of a parting gift, before I slid off my bed again. The distance between us was both welcome and necessary. This guy was devilishly sexy and single-mindedly interested in screwing his way through life. Bottomline: He was my type, like a textbook definition. And if I didn’t steer clear, I could fall hard for him.

I wouldn’t do that. Not again.

“Last night was fun,” I said, talking for the sake of talking as I fished my work heels out of my closet. “If you give me your number, maybe we can do it again.”

“Yeah, definitely.” His voice was tinged with satisfaction. As it should have been.

I unlocked my phone and I tossed it to him. “Put your number in.”

When he finished, he sat up and leaned forward to hand my phone back. That move made his abs tighten in ways that could have doubled the divorce rate in New York. Striving to look casual, I checked out the name he just added to my contacts.Yikes. Apparently his name wasJackson, which was obviously different from Wren and Paul. And while I probably should have been embarrassed I missed the mark so badly, it honestly wasn’t the first time.

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