Page 43 of The Playboy Billionaire

Is that my phone?

It stops only to start again a second later.

I prise open my eyes to stare at a room, not my own. Although I recognise it, which is a positive.

Tristan’s spare room.

I throw my legs over the side of the bed and stand up, my head spinning.

How much did I have to drink last night?

I search for my clothes. My jeans lie on the floor in a heap. The night before comes creeping back as the endorphins of my morning wake-up wear off. I pinch the top ofmy nose to stem the headache that is threatening to split my skull in two.

My phone rings off again as I pull it from my jeans.

I stare at the screen.

06:30

Shit, I need to get ready for the office.

There are twenty missed calls from Wes. Bloody hell, is this the apocalypse?

Please tell me he’s not grovelling after Friday’s ambush.

I run a hand through my hair. The fact I slept through that number of calls indicates it must have been a good night, although the details are a little hazy. It’s then I notice someone has switched it to silent.

There is a knock on the door, and Tristan enters carrying a steaming cup of coffee before grimacing at my naked form.

“God… put some clothes on,” he huffs, shielding his eyes with his free hand. “I thought you might need this,” he says, indicating the coffee and the two painkillers he has placed on the side.

“My phone?” I ask, grabbing my jeans and pulling them on.

He grimaces.

“Sorry about that. You were out for the count,” he says. “When I couldn’t wake you… You really went for it last night.”

I groan, snippets of the night before coming back to me. I’d come back from the track yesterday. I’d been right. Racing at high speed had worked as a distraction, or at least I thought it had. Tristan called and asked me to join him at a club he’s looking at purchasing.

“Thanks,” I say, memories of my dream fading fast, being replaced by those from the night before. I’d gone to Tristan’s for a few drinks and to catch up with my friend. It had clearly been a long night.

Tristan leaves me to finish getting ready.

I grab my t-shirt and coffee before dialling Wes’s number.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he yells down the phone.

I flinch as his voice shoots through my tender head.

“Remember who you’re talking to,” I say calmly. “What has you screaming at six thirty in the morning?” I ask.

“There’s been a major fire.”

His words get my attention, a sinking feeling taking root in the pit of my stomach.

“Where?”

“Sunny Down. The entire building has gone up. The roof collapsed. Firefighters have been working all night to get the blaze under control, trying to stop it from spreading to the surrounding buildings.”

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