Chapter 7 The morning sun was rude as it clawed through my blinds like it had a grudge. It stabbed right into the center of my brain through my eyes, rattling my skull like coins in a change-counting machine. I groaned and rolled over, burying my face into the pillow and pulling the blanket over my head as if it would shield me from what had happened last night. Not the amount of drinks I'd had, not the money I'd spent, but the conversation I'd had with Matt. But my hand still slipped out from under the comforter, found the sleek metal card on my nightstand, and slipped back beneath the covers like I'd be caught for it. I turned it between my fingers again and again, the sharp edges scratching against my skin. One hundred thousand dollars. It echoed in my mind, taunting me, daring me, over and over and over until it was all I could think about, and the blaring hangover took a backseat. That kind of money could wipe out my credit card debt. Every last dollar of it. That kind of money could fix the leak under my shower, could replace my bald tires, could pay off the rest of my student loans. That kind of money could give me the space I needed to breathe and then some, could give me a life that didn't involve occasional weekend tutoring gigs and mental math in the grocery store. It was a trap. But it was a tempting trap. Matthew Strathmore wouldn't have offered six figures without strings, even if he claimed there weren't any outside of making Ryan feel like shit. I knew Ryan like the back of my hand - he hated his brother with a dying passion, and Matt was right that he'd lose his goddamn mind seeing me with him. So, it wasn't the money making my stomach twist. It was the wedding. It was Ryan and Lauren, my ex-boyfriend, and my ex-best friend, and it was seeing them together in a marriage ceremony I'd had the balls to think would be mine. It was seeing them for the first time after walking in on him balls deep inside of her. But if I did this with Matt... Ryan would see me. And for the first time in his life, maybe, he'd know he hadn't gotten the last word. I stared at the card in the low light under the blankets, dragged my thumb over the raised lettering of Matt's name and phone number. I didn't want revenge. I wanted Ryan to stop existing. But that required either a magic genie lamp, or a life spent in prison, and this... This was the next best thing. My phone was in my hand before I'd even thought it through, typing in the numbers and hitting the call button. It rang once. Twice. Three⁠- "Sienna." Smooth. Low. Confident in that way that made me want to fight him and get his hands back on me at the same time. I didn't let myself hesitate. "I'm in." I could hear his exhale down the line. "I thought you would be." "You don't know me well enough to assume like that," I said, but the bite I'd wanted to infuse the words with fell flat. My hangover had filed down my sharp edges. "Maybe not," he answered casually, his voice filling one ear while I pressed the other into the pillow. "But I know my brother, know what he does. What he did. And I know that you're still angry about it, like you have every right to be. So, I came to a logical conclusion." I closed my eyes. "Fair enough," I murmured. "Is there any other motive here I should be aware of before I throw myself in the deep end?" "If you're asking if this is a trick, it's not. I'm not trying to play you," he said. "You'll be paid. You'll look fucking incredible. We'll both enjoy watching his jaw hit the floor and his ego deflate." "And that's it?" "That's it." I paused, letting my lungs fill and holding it until they burned. "You hate him, don't you?" Matt didn't even hesitate. "I hate what he does to people. What he did to you. What he's done to me." I didn't say anything. I didn't have to. We both already knew we were doing the wrong thing for the right reasons, or maybe the right thing for all the wrong ones. But it didn't matter. "Okay," I whispered. "Okay?" "Yeah. We'll do it. Fuck him." He chuckled, just lightly, just enough that I could hear it. "Atta girl." My eyes narrowed into the nothingness of my comforter. "But just so we're clear," I started, hating how unsteady my voice was, "I'm not sleeping with you again." "Understood." I could hear the grin in his voice. "I won't point out the irony of you calling me from your bed." "You literally just-wait, how did you know I'm in bed?" I pulled the sheets down immediately, sitting up in a huff. "You sounded like you'd just woken up, and I could hear your blankets moving," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Another logical conclusion." "I hate you," I grumbled, pulling the comforter up to my chest. "Are you trying to hurt my feelings?" "I'm trying to-fuck, I don't know, I'm hungover," I admitted, rubbing my eye with the base of my palm. "It's not my fault that you're trying to frustrate me." "It's not my fault that you're cute when you're frustrated." "Do not flirt with me at eight in the morning after too many martinis, Matt," I grumbled. "I just told you I'm not sleeping with you. Was that not clear?" His answering laughter was soft, but it was cut short when a higher-pitched voice, too quiet for me to fully hear what they were saying, bled through the phone. For a second, a familiar feeling that I didn't dare give a name to swirled in my gut, but then Matt spoke, and it disappeared instantly. "I know, bud, just give me a minute," he said, all the patience in the world evident in his voice. There was a shuffle on the other end, the sound of a phone shifting slightly. "Yeah, I see it. That's a lot of syrup you're trailing. Did the waffle survive, or should we call time of death?" "It's okay. I only dropped half of it. The good half is fine, I think." I blinked, sitting up a little straighter in my bed. That was definitely a kid's voice-young, boyish, completely matter-of-fact in the way that only children could be. Matt said he had a kid. What was his name? Matt chuckled as a faint thud made it through the phone, like metal on tile. "That's good triage," he said, his amusement so evident I could hear it without seeing the smirk on his face. "You want me to come help or are you staging a full, syrup-covered recovery mission solo?" Zach. That's what he'd said. "I think I got it, I just need a new fork," Zach said, accompanied by the sound of a piece of metal tinkling against a plate. "Do I put the bad part of the waffle in the trash?" I didn't know what I was expecting when Matt said he had a son, but it wasn't... this. Not a syrup-covered breakfast war being fought at eight in the morning with calm, collected dad energy and a tiny voice chirping back with good grammar and total confidence. "Yeah, tiger, just-actually, shit, you've got syrup all over you," Matt laughed, full and bright, and that was probably the most surprising thing about this. "You said⁠-" "Yeah, yeah, I know," Matt grumbled, but there wasn't a bit of bite to it. "Don't repeat it." The phone shifted again, rustling like he'd had it wedged between his shoulder and his ear, and when he spoke again, it was clear he wasn't speaking to Zach anymore but was speaking to me. "I've got to go," he said. "I'm about ninety-nine percent sure there is maple syrup trailing through half of my house." I snorted into my palm, trying to suppress my grin before realizing there was zero point in that when he couldn't see me. "Good luck with that." "Yeah, yeah, thanks. I'll text you." "Okay." "And Sienna?" "Yeah?" A huff came down the line as I could only imagine he stood up, his hand adjusting his grip on the phone now. "You're going to look better than her." My brows twitched. "Have you even met her?" "No. But I don't need to." Click. ---- I took my first real breath of the morning sitting across from Jules at our favorite coffee spot. It was less of a café and more of a shed on wheels with fairy lights and eclectic, mismatched chairs out front, and a barista who spelled my name 'Ciena' every time, but it was consistent. Jules stirred her oat latte absentmindedly. "So let me get this straight," she said, blinking at me like it was a chore. "You met him on your flight to Italy that Ryan had booked. Ryan, who has a rich brother named Matthew who owns an airline. You met a rich-as-fuck man named Matt who was overly looked after by the staff and happened to know what certain buttons did, and somehow didn't put any pieces together before he talked you into sleeping with him⁠-" "In my defense, it wasn't the first thing on my mind⁠-" "And then he appeared at my birthday, offered you a hundred grand to go as his date to Ryan's wedding, and now you're doing it?" "Don't say it like that," I muttered, taking a sip of my cold brew like it was emotional support in a plastic cup. "It sounds worse when you summarize it like a plot twist from a Hallmark movie." She grinned at me. "It is a plot twist. It's kind of hot." "It's unethical and probably a horrible decision." "That doesn't make it less hot." I groaned and let my head fall into my hands. "What the fuck am I doing?" "Being unhinged in a way I approve of for once." "I'm being bought, Jules." "Nah," she laughed. "You would have agreed to do it without the money if you had enough time to stew on it. You're just being funded." I lifted my head just enough to shoot her a glare, watching as she turned the business card over in her hand. "Matthew Strathmore," she read aloud, her voice dripping with faux poshness. "Sounds like a man with a yacht and the attitude to match." "He does have a yacht," I mumbled into my palms. "God, I hate how much I want you to sleep with him again." "No." "Oh, come on," she laughed. "Tall, grey hair, hot? And he wants to ruin his brother with you? That's not a red flag, babe, that's foreplay." I groaned in frustration. She just patted my hair in answer. "I'm not sleeping with him," I said, but the irritation in my voice had turned into exhaustion instead. "But you already did once. It wouldn't hurt⁠-" "That was before I knew who he was." "Him being Ryan's brother doesn't make him any less hot," Jules said, sitting back in her chair with a shit-eating grin so wide I wanted to slap it off her. "If anything, it makes him more tempting. Forbidden fruit and all that." I pushed my hair back from my face, huffing when it fell right back in front of my eyes. "You're a terrible influence." My phone buzzed on the table beside my drink, and I reached over, flipping it face up. Shit. Matt: Booked you an appointment at Esme Salon for 1pm. Dress fittings at Regale at 6, they'll have plenty of options. Tell them your name. It's covered. Left a card for you at Regale. Buy whatever else you need. Don't abuse it. I stared at the screen like it had physically attacked me. "Apparently," I swallowed, my eyes hovering over the left a card for you like it was a lifeline, "I'm getting a makeover." "Lucky bitch," Jules snorted. Me: You didn't even ask if I had plans. His reply was almost immediate. Matt: Do you need me to reschedule? Me: ...no. Matt: Good. Jules stared at me, her brows raised, waiting for some kind of explanation or biting word. When nothing came, she just huffed out a breath instead. "You're absolutely going to sleep with him again." I glared back. Typed quickly. Me: To be so clear, I'm not sleeping with you. Just making sure you understand that. Matt: Duly noted. For the third time. Tell me, Sienna, do you always say no this insistently, or am I just special? Goddamn him.