Fall Into You (Morally Gray Book 2)
Fall Into You: Chapter 19

I awaken to the sound of someone knocking on the hotel room door. I don’t know how long they’ve been doing that, but I suspect it’s been a while, because each succeeding knock grows louder. I sit up in bed, groan at the soreness in my body, and look around.

Cole’s gone.

Even before I opened my eyes, I knew he wasn’t here. I fell asleep to the sound of his steady breathing and his solid, comforting warmth at my back, and his absence is jarring. I know we agreed to one night only, but part of me was secretly hoping he’d change his mind.

Like I have.

Obviously, he didn’t.

Pushing down the disappointment, I rise from bed, grab the white terrycloth robe hanging on a hook outside the bathroom, and tie the sash around my waist. I hurry through the living room. When I peer through the peep hole of the front door, I see an unfamiliar man in a black suit standing outside in the hallway. He’s holding a white garment bag in one hand.

He appears to be in his late thirties. His dark hair is shorn close to his head. He’s fit and broad-shouldered, with a piercing stare that could give Cole a run for his money.

On the left side of his neck, a tattoo of something I can’t identify peeks out from under the starched collar of his white dress shirt.

Through the door, I say, “Yes?”

“Hullo, miss. This is for you.”

His voice is deep and has a British accent. He holds out the bag. I look at it suspiciously.

“What is it?”

“A blouse, miss.”

My breath catches.

“Don’t worry. I’ll buy you a new one.”

Remembering Cole’s words from last night after he savagely ripped my shirt off my body, my face grows hot and my heart starts pounding. Meanwhile, the man in the black suit stands there smiling patiently as if he’s got all the time in the world.

“Cole sent you?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Are you with the hotel?”

“No, miss.”

“Are you…with a delivery service?”

“No, miss.”

He extends his arm, giving the bag a little shake. Deciding he’s not dangerous—though there’s something about him that suggests he would be under the right circumstances—I open the door. “Hi there.”

“Good morning, miss.”

I take the bag, then stand in the doorway frowning and confused. “So you work for Cole, is that it?”

His smile grows wider, as if he’s enjoying some private thought. Whatever it is, he doesn’t share it. He simply says, “Have a lovely day, miss,” then turns around and walks away.

Leaning out the door, I watch him go until he disappears into the elevators. Then I step back inside and unzip the garment bag. Within is an exquisite black silk blouse.

It’s simple, the lines classic and clean, but it’s obviously expensive. When I check the label, I almost drop the bag from shock.

The blouse is a Balmain.

It’s a historic luxury French brand, renowned for the quality of its couture. Not to mention its prices. Their spring collection included a scarlet cashmere jacket that I desperately coveted but could never afford because it was thirty thousand dollars. An off-the-rack T-shirt goes for almost a grand.

I suspect this simple blouse I’m holding is priced in the thousands.

Heart palpitating, I walk back into the bedroom and carefully lay the garment bag on the bed. I stand looking at it for several moments, trying to decide what to do.

I don’t know who the man was who delivered it, so I can’t call him to come and pick it up. And I don’t have a phone number for Cole, so I can’t let him know this is much too expensive a gift for me to accept. Not that I’m seriously considering doing either of those things, because I already know I’m keeping this beautiful piece of clothing, but it makes me feel better to at least pretend to have a crisis of conscience for a moment before accepting Cole’s generosity.

I should’ve started having one-night stands years ago.

Years! Like in my teens!

Except with my luck, those encounters would’ve all turned out to be with married men or escaped felons, so my lack of experience in the area is probably a good thing.

Without anyone to call to thank for this lovely item, I call Chelsea instead.

“Shay!” she shouts the instant she picks up. “I was just about to call you. Tell me everything. Was it fantastic? Did he have a big dick? Are you walking bowlegged?”

Feeling as weightless as an overfilled balloon, I smile. “Yes to all three.”

I bend over to stroke the silky sheen of the blouse, lighting tracing my fingertips around the black pearlescent buttons. Then more knocking on the hotel room door distracts me.

“Chelsea, hang on. I have to get this.”

I hurry to the door again. When I open it, I replace a young woman in a uniform standing beside a rolling cart draped in white linens. A variety of covered dishes sit on top.

“Good morning, I’m Bettina with room service. May I come in?”

“What’s all this?”

“Your breakfast, miss.”

“You must have the wrong room. I didn’t order food.”

Bettina smiles. “The gentleman who placed the order said you’d say that. But I assure you, this is the right room.”

My breath catches. Cole.

Into my ear, Chelsea demands, “What’s happening?”

“It’s room service with my food.”

“Why do you sound so dazed if it’s just room service?”

“Because I didn’t order it. Cole did.”

A pause follows. “I take it Cole’s the guy you spent the night with?”

“Yeah.”

“The hottie you banged ordered you breakfast? That’s pretty thoughtful of him.”

Remembering how he said I wasn’t very good at adulting, I smile. “Yeah. He bought me a blouse too.”

Her tone turns incredulous. “He took you shopping?”

“No. He ripped my blouse off me and promised he’d buy me a new one. It showed up this morning—a Balmain, no less—delivered by a guy who looked like maybe he knows how to kill someone with his pinkie.”

Bettina is starting to look impatient, so I step aside and wave her in as Chelsea has a breakdown.

“Hold on a second! He had couture delivered to your room?”

“Technically, it’s ready-to-wear, but yes. And it’s beautiful.”

“Oh my God. You lucky bitch. You should’ve started having one-night stands years ago!”

My laugh is breathless with delight.

“Was that a laugh? Wow. This Cole of yours must’ve really been something else.”

Closing my eyes, I think of him and smile. “Girl, you have no idea.”

I eat breakfast, shower, and dress. The Balmain blouse fits me perfectly. My mood somewhere up in the stratosphere, I float out of the hotel and take a taxi back to my apartment.

Because it’s Sunday and I don’t have to go to work, I decide to indulge myself and visit my favorite bookstore. I’ve been going there for years, and I love the owner, but I haven’t had a chance to swing by in months.

I change into shorts and a T-shirt and drive out to Venice Beach with the top down, enjoying the sun on my face and the wind in my hair, thinking of beautiful dark blue eyes that could see straight through me. By the time I walk through the doors of Lit Happens, I’m grinning from ear to ear.

Cole and I might have spent only one night together, but the man has been magic for my self-esteem.

The shop is adorable. It’s got a bohemian, artistic vibe, with lots of overstuffed chairs to lounge in, a little espresso bar on one side, and an assortment of stray cats that wander in and out.

And the owner is a doll. I’ve always thought Emery looks like a fifties movie star, all voluptuous curves, scarlet lips, and attitude. She’s standing behind the counter when I walk in.

She looks up and smiles. “Hi, Shay! Long time no see.”

“I know, I’ve been so busy! It’s good to see you. Holy shit…that ring.” Stopping at the counter, I gape at the giant diamond sparkling on her finger.

She laughs. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? I hardly ever wear it out because I don’t want to get mugged, but I’m having dinner with the in-law’s tonight after work. My father-in-law is so old-fashioned, he’d probably think me going without my ring was a sign I wanted to divorce his son.”

“You’re married? Congratulations!”

Glancing down at her hand, she blushes. “Thank you. I have to admit, married life is pretty incredible.”

I don’t say it, but by the looks of that ring, her husband is extremely wealthy. And by the looks of that blush she’s wearing, he’s a stud to boot.

“I’m so happy for you. You deserve it.”

“Thank you. How about you? Still with Chet?”

It’s a testament to my good mood that the mention of his name doesn’t upset me. I wait for the pang of heartache to come, but when it doesn’t, I say a silent prayer of thanks to the gods of one-night stands and smile.

“No, Chet and I broke up.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“You’re sweet to ask, but I’m fine.”

“Judging by that secretive smile, you’re better than fine. Are you seeing someone new?”

I know she’s not the kind of woman who’d look down on me for having a one-night stand, but I shake my head. For some reason, I want to keep Cole all to myself. I didn’t tell Chelsea the details of my evening with him, either, an omission she most likely will never forgive me for.

Or stop trying to remedy.

“I’m happily single at the moment, but I do need a new book boyfriend. Do you have any suggestions for me?”

She grins and tosses her long dark hair over her shoulder. “Of course! Follow me.”

Rounding the corner of the counter, she leads me over to the romance and erotica section where she starts pulling books from shelves.

“I know you like erotic thrillers. This one’s a scorcher. A widow starts getting letters from a guy in prison who says he knows her, but they’ve never met. There’s a twist you won’t see coming. And here’s the latest release in that mafia series with all the hot Irishmen. Oh! Okay, I can’t remember if you’re into stalker romance, but this one’s amazing.”

I crinkle my nose. “I don’t know if I could ever replace a stalker sexy.”

Eyes shining, Emery turns to me. Her laugh is low and mysterious. “Trust me, stalkers can be incredibly sexy.”

When she laughs again, I get the feeling there’s more to that comment than just a book recommendation. “Okay. If you say so. You haven’t steered me wrong yet.”

We spend a few more minutes chatting about books and getting up to date, then I happen to mention how I’ve been thinking of making a job change.

She stares at me for a beat, gears turning behind her eyes.

“You have an accounting degree, right?”

“Yes. Good memory.”

“Do you have any experience working for a CFO?”

I shrug. “I report directly to the CFO in my position now.”

For some strange reason, Emery is starting to look excited. “How about a big international firm? Ever worked for one of those?”

“The company I work for is on the Fortune Global 500. Why do you ask?”

“Because a customer of mine is looking for an assistant. He’s the CFO at a multinational corporation.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and I think you’d be perfect.” Her tone brightens. “You’re exactly the right combination of tough and experienced.”

“The way you say that makes me think tough might be the more important requirement.”

She hesitates, quirking her lips.

“Let me guess. This customer’s a piece of work, isn’t he?”

“He’s been through four assistants this year alone.”

“Yikes. Please tell me he’s not handsy.”

She looks shocked by the suggestion. “No! Oh God, no, nothing like that. He’s very professional. But he’s…”

I laugh at the way she’s trying to replace a nice way to say something bad. “He’s a dick.”

“I was going to say temperamental. Well, no, I don’t want to make it sound like he goes around throwing tantrums. It’s actually the opposite. He’s controlled, but in a really intense way. Like it always seems as if he’s about to blow up, but he never does. He’s got this supercharged energy. Most people are extremely intimidated by him.”

A brief but vivid memory of the way Cole stared at me from across the bar flashes into my mind’s eye.

Talk about intense and intimidating. Mr. Dark and Stormy practically invented the words.

Smiling, I say, “Sometimes people who seem the most off-putting at first are actually the biggest softies once you get to know them.”

“If you’re interested, I can email you the job description to see if it might be a good fit for you. Their main office is located downtown.”

“Oh, you don’t have to go to the trouble. I can look it up on the company’s website if you tell me the name.”

“It’s not listed on the website. They’re using a recruiting firm to try to replace a match this time.”

“Ah. Because they’ll have to replace the candidate at their expense if it doesn’t work out.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you have any idea what salary they’re offering?”

Emery names a figure so high, I think she’s joking. I laugh, but when she doesn’t crack a smile and only stares at me, I realize she’s not.

“Seriously?”

“Yes. The position comes with amazing benefits too. Health insurance, life insurance, 401(k) with matching contributions, lots of paid time off, all kinds of perks.”

“It sounds like the only drawback is the person I’d be working for.”

She waves a hand in the air, smiling like a model in an infomercial. “Who knows? Maybe you two will hit it off immediately.”

Her fake smile doesn’t fool me. “Uh-huh. Or maybe I’ll want to throw myself out a window after a week.”

After a beat, she says, “Yeah, that’s more likely. But—and this is a big but—if you can make it through a year there, you’ll be able to write your own ticket for a position in any other company.”

“Why do you say that?”

This time, her smile is genuine. “Because everyone in the industry knows his reputation.”

“Jesus. Who is this guy, Genghis Khan?”

Ignoring that, she says, “So what do you think? Should I email you the job details?”

“I don’t know, Emery. I don’t want to get myself into some kind of hostile working environment.”

“Oh, he’s not hostile!”

When I narrow my eyes at her, she relents. “Okay, he’s hostile. But it’s not personal. He’s that way with everyone.”

“This is sounding less and less appealing by the second.”

“That salary is pretty appealing, though, isn’t it?”

When I make a doubtful face, she keeps trying to convince me.

“I think the problem with the other people it didn’t work out with was that they weren’t prepared for his…forceful personality. But I’m telling you, so you can go into it with a different perspective.”

“It sounds like you know this guy pretty well.”

“I do.”

“Would you work for him?”

“Oh God, no, I’d kill him before lunch on the first day.”

“You’re doing a terrible job selling this position.”

She names the ridiculously high salary again, dangling it out there like a carrot.

“What company is this job with?”

“I can’t tell you.”

I lift my brows. “Why not?”

“They’re very private. Which reminds me, you’d have to sign a nondisclosure agreement before going in for an interview. And if you got the job, there’d be another NDA.”

“Are they the Mafia or something?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it. Then, very seriously, acting as if she’s telling a big fat lie, she says, “No.”

I burst out laughing. “Okay, now I’m intrigued.”

Looking excited, she grabs my arm. “Does that mean you’ll interview?”

“No, it means you can email me the job description. It probably won’t be a match for what I’m looking for, anyway, but we’ll start there.”

We head to the register. Emery rings up my purchases while I write my email address on the back of one of her business cards. I give it to her, we say goodbye, and I head home.

By the time I get there, Emery has already sent me an email with the position’s details.

I read it over, growing more surprised by the moment.

It’s exactly what I’m looking for. The duties, the responsibilities, the growth potential…they’re all a perfect fit for me.

Absolutely perfect.

And she wasn’t kidding about the benefits package. It’s so generous, it doesn’t seem real. Combined with the astronomical salary—double my current pay—it’s a temptation I can’t resist.

I email her back saying I’d like to interview for the position.

Thus sealing the fate that first curled its dark tendrils around me the night of Chelsea’s birthday.