Margot looks utterly betrayed, but she’ll thank me in the morning.
“But I’ve only had…” she narrows her eyes at the bottle then at the little paper cup, trying to calculate exactly how much scotch she’s consumed. “Fifty.”
I’m not sure if she means fifty ounces or fifty dollars’ worth. Either way, she’s wrong.
Leave it to Margot to crunch numbers when she’s drunk. When she started as my assistant two years ago, I was the CFO of the company and Margot was freshly out of grad school. She lacked experience, but I took a chance on her, and it paid off. She’s brilliant when it comes to numbers. With a little more experience—and some convincing of my brother, who still owns a sizable share of the company—I’d like to see Margot running our entire finance department.
“Can we order spaghetti?” she says, eyes twinkling with hope.
“We’ll get you something to eat on the way.” I don’t have the heart to tell her it’s past ten o’clock now, and nowhere that serves spaghetti is still open. Hopefully, her face will light up just the same for a burger and fries. She needs something to soak up all that alcohol.
“Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?” I ask.
Margot’s eyes lose their glimmer as she ponders the answer to my question.
Normally, I’d take her to Emma’s house. Not only is she Margot’s best friend, but she’s also my brother’s fiancée. Their house is just a few doors down from mine. It’s the obvious choice. Unfortunately, Emma is currently leading a wilderness excursion in New Zealand with my older brother, Garrett, and there’s no way I’m leaving Margot alone at their house in her current state.
As far as I can tell, Margot doesn’t have a very wide social circle here in Denver. Her parents live in Utah, and her siblings seem to be scattered all over the country. I’ve never heard her mention anyone else.
“Home is fine,” Margot answers quietly.
Nope, not a chance. She’s way too intoxicated to deal with her ex-boyfriend right now.
“I have a better idea,” I tell her.
She perks up slightly. “Spaghetti?”
“Yes, spaghetti.”
3
Margot
Iwake up with a throbbing headache, a rolling stomach, and a deep sense of confusion.
Where am I, and how did I get here?
The luxurious sheets glide across my skin as I drag myself upright. My hand lands on something small and familiar: my glasses, tangled in the bedding. I pull them free and slide them onto my face. Morning sunlight filters through sheer white curtains to my right, illuminating the room around me. It reminds me of an upscale hotel room, immaculately decorated and spotlessly clean.
Am I in one of the spare bedrooms at Emma’s house?
No, that can’t be right. She’s in New Zealand with her fiancé, who happens to be Ethan’s brother.
Oh no.
Ethan.
His name triggers a flood of memories from last night in my brain and a fresh wave of nausea in my stomach. I don’t remember the finer details, but I’m fairly certain that I gotdrunk, spilled my guts to my boss, and now I’m waking up in a bed at his house.
Fortunately, it doesn’t appear to behisbed.
Most women would jump at the opportunity to wake up beside Ethan North, but I can’t imagine anything worse. It’s not that Ethan is unattractive or unlikeable. Quite the opposite, actually. A local magazine even named him Denver’s Most Eligible Bachelor last year. Objectively, he’s averygood catch. But he’s also my boss, and the idea of drunkenly hooking up with him makes my stomach revolt.
Tossing the covers back, I drag myself out of bed and pad across the chilly wooden floor. There’s an ensuite bathroom attached to the room. Flipping on the light, I’m prepared to slurp copious amounts of water straight from the faucet when I notice the bottle of fancy water sitting on the counter. Beside it, there’s a bottle of ibuprofen, a sealed toothbrush, and a small tube of toothpaste. There’s also a note, scribbled in Ethan’s slanted handwriting:
Margot,
There are more toiletries under the sink. Text me if there’s anything else you need.