Angela groaned as the sharp pounding in her head jolted her awake.
"Ugh, what the hell…" she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut.
Her limbs felt heavy, her body sore in all the right places, and as she stretched, the events of last night came rushing back like a freight train.
The bar.
The stranger.
His lips. His hands. His voice.
His name—Eric .
Angela's eyes flew open.
"Oh. My. God."
She bolted upright, ignoring the sharp protest of her muscles. Frantic, she looked around.
White sheets. A king-sized bed. Dim lighting.
Not her apartment.
Shit.
Heart hammering, she yanked the covers up, glancing around the unfamiliar room. Eric was nowhere in sight, but the faint scent of his cologne still clung to the air—spicy and dark, just like last night.
Angela scrubbed a hand over her face.
"What the hell did I do?"
Okay. No need to panic. It was just a one-night stand. A crazy, mind-blowing, what-the-fuck-just-happened one-night stand, but still—nothing out of the ordinary, right?
She swung her legs off the bed and quickly located her dress, slipping it back on. Her shoes were near the door, and she grabbed them before creeping out of the room, moving as quietly as she could.
The penthouse was massive—floor-to-ceiling windows, sleek black furniture, and a view of the city that probably cost more than her yearly salary.
Of course, he was rich. Because why not?
Angela shook her head.
Nope. She wasn’t sticking around to find out more.
She slipped out the door and into the morning air, letting the cold breeze slap some sense into her.
"Just a weird, sexy fluke," she whispered to herself, striding toward the nearest street where she could grab a cab. "That's all it was."
Right?
By the time Angela made it to work, she was mostly put together—her hair was up in a sleek ponytail, her black dress professional enough to hide last night’s sins, and she had downed two aspirin to dull the headache.
She just needed coffee.
Her office was only a block away, and there was a small café she always stopped at before heading in. She pushed through the door, yawning as she stepped up to the counter.
“The usual?” the barista asked.
“Yeah, please.”
But before she could even reach for her wallet, the barista smiled.
“No need. It’s already paid for.”
Angela blinked. “What?”
“Yep,” he said, handing her the cup. “Guy came in earlier, said to put it on his tab.”
A strange chill ran down her spine. “What guy?”
The barista shrugged. “Didn’t say much. Tall, dark hair, kinda intense looking.”
Her stomach flipped.
No way.
She took the coffee and turned on her heel, stepping outside. Her eyes scanned the street, heart hammering.
For a second, she saw nothing. Just people rushing to work, cars honking in the distance—normal, everyday city chaos.
And then—
A shadow.
Lingering near the entrance of her office building.
Angela’s breath hitched.
The figure was leaning casually against a lamppost, dressed in all black, like he had all the time in the world.
And he was watching her.
Her grip tightened around the coffee cup.
What. The. Hell.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to walk straight past him without a second glance. She wasn’t about to start some awkward street confrontation.
By the time she made it to her office floor, she was still buzzing with unease.
"Morning, Angela," her coworker, Lisa, called.
"Morning," she mumbled, making a beeline for her desk.
But the second she got there, she froze.
A single red rose sat neatly on top of her keyboard. A deep red, velvety, perfect rose. Her pulse spiked. Slowly, she reached for it, her fingers brushing against a small card tucked beneath the petals. She flipped it open.
“Angela, would you be my Valentine’s date?”She frowned. "What the hell? Valentine's was yesterday."
And then she saw the signature.
- Eric