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“Ooops, sorry.”
“Well, to be fair, you passed out on the other side of the bed, too. You landed in a diagonal.”
“I’m surprised I didn’t break something, stumbling around your bedroom half-naked.”
“You were graceful as always,” he says with a smile.
I’m sure he’s lying, but I silently applaud his chivalrous response. I return his smile as I sip on the much-needed caffeine.
“What wasn’t graceful was the way you hogged all the covers,” Tanner says. “I was lucky to get an inch of material to keep me warm last night.”
“Just like old times, right?” I say. “At least that’s what you always accuse me of in the morning. I’ve never believed it, though.”
“You’re calling me a liar?” He laughs.
“No, I’m a giver. You know that,” I say. “It’s not in my nature to deprive anyone—even you—of warmth.”
“Too bad it’s not the middle of winter,” he teases, “or I’d have the frostbite to prove my story.”
“And in this whole penthouse apartment, there’s not another single blanket or comforter you could have grabbed to keep you warm?” I volley back.
“Usually my bed partner keeps me warm. I guess you’re not as giving as you’d like to think.”
I can hear the shower being turned off in the master bedroom. From my position still in Tanner’s bed, I’ve made a little hangover cocoon for myself. The second cup of coffee is slowly doing its trick, and I feel slightly more alive than when I first gained consciousness.
I rub my face with my hands, not wanting to think what damage I’ve done sleeping with make-up on. During my modeling days, when I spent hours in heavy make-up, I always washed my face and moisturized before bed. If I had my products with me, I would have knocked Tanner over before he ever made it to the bathroom.
As it is, cleaning last night’s smoky eye look will have to wait a little while longer.
I take another big gulp of coffee and continue thumbing through The Capitalist Chronicle. I turn the page and find Lis Langley’s latest article. It’s full of details on all of our latest relationship exploits, all carefully curated for the media.
I’m about to flip the page and check out the latest stock news when there, at the bottom of her article, I see it. There, in all the awful black and white print, my day gets a whole lot worse.
“Sharpe and Blakely will meet with the press at 9 a.m. tomorrow outside of Sharpe Tower for what promises to be an important reveal.”
I look up from my paper to see Tanner walk back into the bedroom, freshly showered, looking mighty proud of himself.
“So, what do you think of the article?” he says, as he finishes securing his cufflinks.
“You’re already dressed?”
I look back down at the article: 9 a.m.
Nine.
This morning.
Fuck.
“How much time do I have?”
Tanner glances down at his watch and says, “Until we have to leave? Oh, about ten minutes, angel.”
He reaches into his closet and grabs his suit jacket. Swinging it around to slip into it, he looks sexy as hell, showered and shaved.
I stumble out of bed, my head pounding with exertion, and make my way to the still-steamy bathroom. I grab a towel to clean the mirror, only to be rewarded with what could generously be called a blonde, homeless raccoon staring back at me in the mirror.
“Chop, chop,” Tanner says behind me, a little too cheerfully, “You don’t want to be late for your own announcement, do you?”
