Page 20 of The Plus One Contract

Nathan is kneeling right in front of me.

Nathan, as in last night’s extremely questionable decision.

Nathan, as in six feet and then some of devastatingly attractive, soul-wrecking trouble.

Nathan, as in the man who had me screaming his name in a way that could have gotten him evicted.

He’s dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit, somehow even more attractive than he was last night, which puts me at a distinct disadvantage.

Unlike last night’s full of liquid courage Sienna, this morning's Sienna is hungover, emotionally compromised, and extremely aware of her day-old mascara.

He freezes, his eyes locked on mine.

Oh my God.

Is he following me?

No, Sienna, don't be ridiculous.

Nathan doesn’t look like the type to chase down one-night stands. He looks like the type to have them on speed dial.

He holds my brother’s wedding invitation in his hand, eyes flicking down to it before moving slowly back to my face. Something unreadable shifts in his expression. Something infuriatingly calm.

Neither of us speaks for several painfully long seconds because, honestly, what the hell is there to say in this situation?

I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again. Still, nothing comes out.

Nathan’s lips twitch into a slow smirk, the kind that sends heat straight to places I do not need to be feeling it right now.

When he finally speaks, his voice is achingly familiar.

“Well,” he says smoothly, handing me the invitation, “I was wondering where you disappeared to.”

I might actually die here.

Right here, in the first-class lounge, clutching my brother's wedding invitation, hungover, humiliated, and facing my one-night stand.

Because if there's a God, he's clearly punishing me.

Eleven

Nathan

Inever expected to see her again. That's how nights like ours are supposed to work.

One night.

A few hours of indulgence.

Then we're meant to fade seamlessly back into separate lives, never crossing paths again. Yet here she stands looking as if she's just dropped out of the sky.

For several seconds, neither of us speaks. We're both thrown off balance, clearly struggling to grasp what the fuck is happening.

In a city this big, with flights going everywhere, the fact that she's here, right in front of me, is…impossible.

Sienna leaves out a shaky exhale before she slides onto the stool at the bar with a resigned sigh. “I don't know what kind of joke this is, but I probably owe you a drink. Please,” she says, gesturing to the stool next to hers but not meeting my eyes. “Have a seat.”

I take the seat beside her, studying her closely. This isn't quite the same woman who approached me last night. That Sienna moved with ease, radiating confidence, completely sure of herself.

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