Page 20 of Cause of Action

“Let’s see how good your credit is,” I quietly said.

“Excuse me? Did you say something?” the woman next to me asked.

“No. I’m just talking to myself.” I smiled.

A frown covered my face when I saw his credit score—849. Who the hell has a near-perfect credit score? After a few more strokes, I pulled up his bank accounts.

“Jesus,” I said, staring at the balances of his three personal accounts.

I opened his financial portfolio through Sterling Capital and reviewed his investment balances. He certainly had a good sense of investment. This man never had to work another day in his life if he didn’t want to.

I shut my laptop, picked up my drink, and sipped it as I stared out the plane’s window. I never gave men a second thought after sleeping with them. I used sex to self-medicate and was a seasoned one-night stander with the ability to control all of my emotions. But my mind went to the night we slept together—a night that had been at the forefront of my thoughts since it happened. The way his strong hands gripped my hips. The way his fingers and mouth explored my body. I was his blank canvas, and he was a painter, stroking every curve of my body with skilled precision as if he were creating a masterpiece. But it didn’t matter how hot he or the sex was. It wouldn’t happen again, and he better understand that, or there would be issues.

When the plane landed, I stepped off and headed to baggage claim. The last time I was in this airport was with my Uncle Louie after my father’s death. I never thought I’d come back to California again, but here I was, and I honestly had no idea why I agreed to come.

Stepping through the baggage claim door, I saw a man holding a sign with my name on it.

“Excuse me, I’m Morgan Ashley.”

“Good day, Miss Ashley. Welcome to Los Angeles. I’m Ollie, Mr. Hamilton’s driver.”

“He has a driver?” My brow arched.

“Yes.” He chuckled. “Let’s go collect your luggage, and then we’ll head to the hotel.”

After Ollie grabbed my suitcase, we headed to the car—a black Escalade with a red interior.

“Wow. Nice ride,” I said, climbing into the back seat.

“Bottled water is in the cup holder if you’re thirsty.”

“Thanks, Ollie. How long have you worked for Mr. Hamilton?”

“Let’s see. It’s been about four years now.”

“And how many women have been in this backseat since you started working for him?” A smirk crossed my lips.

“A lot.” He smiled through the rear-view mirror.

“I don’t doubt it.” I stared out the window.

“Mr. Hamilton tells me you’re from New York. I’m sure it’s very cold and snowy there this time of year.”

“I am, and yes, it is.”

A young man ran over and opened the door for me when Ollie pulled up to the Four Seasons.

“Thank you.” I smiled.

Ollie climbed out and took my suitcase from the back.

“Thanks, Ollie.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Ashley.”

“You can call me Morgan.”

I entered the hotel and walked to the reception desk, where a nice young man handed me my room key.

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