Page 26 of Win Big

“What are you sorry for?”

“For being like this. I feel so shitty and I hate it.”

Probably lecturing her isn’t going to go over well. “I’ll get you some water.”

“Bathroom’s right there.” She waves a languid hand.

I flip on the light and enter the bathroom. This is a great place—gorgeous stone floor and wall tiles, a huge glassed-in shower with a bench. I run water into a drinking glass sitting on the vanity and carry it back into the bedroom. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” She pushes up onto one elbow and guzzles down the water.

I sit again near her feet.

“You really don’t need to stay. I’ll be fine. This happens all the time.”

“It does, huh.” I bite the inside of my lip.

She scrunches up her face as if she regrets saying that. “I just need to sleep it off.”

“Right.” I eye her. She still doesn’t look well. “You know, I think I’m gonna crash in your other bedroom.” I assume there’s a bed there.

I know she’s not doing well when she doesn’t even argue.

“You should get out of that dress.” It’s beautiful—sheer layers of pale pink with beads and sequins on the bodice. It looks expensive and probably not something she wants to sleep in.

“I don’t care.”

“You will tomorrow. Sit.” I tug gently on her hands and lethargically she lets me pull her up. I reach behind her for the zipper and lower it. The narrow straps fall down her arms and the dress loosens, giving me a view of her strapless bra and cleavage. Damn. That is some sweet cleavage.

I help her the rest of the way out of the garment, revealing a lacy beige thong. I swallow hard as I take the dress and carefully lay it over the back of a nearby chair. “There you go. Get under the covers and go to sleep.”

Without a word, she crawls under the duvet and practically disappears, just the top of her dark hair showing. I shake my head and walk out, leaving the door half-open.

I poke my head into the other bedroom. Yep, a functional guest room, perfectly decorated.

There’s even another bathroom, this one smaller but just as nice. I make use of it, then strip to my boxers and climb into the bed. With my hands stacked behind my head, I stare up at the ceiling in the darkness.

This isn’t how I envisioned the evening ending up.

I was in a crusty mood when I got to the banquet, having left Owen’s party early, driven through insane traffic to the arena, where I changed into a goddamn tux in the dressing room. Then I saw Everly practically cheek to cheek with Dan Diaz, the mayor of Santa Monica. And I remembered that they’d been seeing each other. And it pissed me off.

He’s a good-looking dude, considering he’s old enough to be her father. Tanned skin, dark hair, decent build. Wears his tux well.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter to me who she’s seeing.

Does it matter that she gets trashed every time she drinks?

I’m not being judgmental. I like to get trashed too, every chance I get. I like to party and have fun, because life is fucking short. We’re here for a good time, not a long time. That’s my motto.

Idon’tget trashed every chance I get, though, because I take my career seriously, even if I take nothing else seriously. And I’m surprised Everly’s not like that.

Don’t judge, asshole.

And while I’m lecturing myself, might as well admit itdoesmatter to me who Everly is seeing. Because I’m so damn attracted to her it hurts.

Another man’s girlfriend. The boss’s daughter. What a cliché. I snort out a laugh. And she’s a gorgeous, bossy little lush. What more do I need to convince me to stay far, far away from her?

Why does that feel so impossible?

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