"Love people who hate you. Pray for people who have wronged you. It won't change their life... it'll change yours." - Mandy Hale, The Single Woman: Life, Love, and a Dash of Sass.

+++

Silas's POV

Damn, this feels good.

I feel good.

When did my bed get this fucking comfortable?

And why does it smell so good?

I didn't change shampoos.

Why is it so soft?

Wait... What the fuck?

Shooting my eyelids up, I wake up to see I'm in my bedroom.

When did I get into my bed?

Last I remember last night was me drinking myself to oblivion. There was a shit ton of alcohol in my system so it's no fucking surprise I don't remember shit from last night.

Finally being aware of my senses, I notice one very, very, VERY obvious thing.

There is a girl in my arms.

No, that's not accurate.

I'm in her arms.

Quite literally. Her arms are wrapped around my shoulders and my head is nestled in the crook of her arm. I finally realize that my face is buried deep into her the side of her neck, so close that I can smell the sweet honey, lemony scent from her hair, or skin. Wherever the fuck it is makes me want to bottle the scent and get drunk on it every night.

Shit, she smells good.

Who the fuck is this girl?

Did I fuck someone last night without knowing?

Probably fucking did. My dumbass was so drunk last night, I probably did a multitude of humiliating things.

I'm not one to do a drunk-sex type of thing but, I mean, if the girl enjoyed it, I can't complain. Even if I don't remember jack shit of it all.

How we got into my penthouse is beyond me. I know for a fact I didn't drive because if I had, I'd be dead right now. That's how fucking drunk I was.

Removing my face from this woman's neck took all my self control because Jesus fuck, she smelled so damn good.

I mean, I know it's an asshole move to not remember the person you slept with but if she feels this soft and smells this good, maybe a repeat could be in order.

And this time, I would be fully sober.

I finally notice that my hand is placed in the base of her neck, my fingers reaching up to caress her jawline.

Is she this soft all over?

"Was it good?" I whisper huskily in her ear.

I'm not sure if my whisper was what woke her up or if she'd been awake this entire time, but what I do know is that women don't usually jump off the bed right when the sun rises.

Guess that was wrong because this mysterious stranger practically jumped off the mattress, quickly removing her legs that were tangled with mine.

I find myself missing the warmth of her body against mine.

Even if I don't remember the ongoings of last night, I would love to relish the feeling of it again. I've never felt this good with someone laying next to me, especially if it was clouded by the sex. Good and bad.

But if I get to wake up with this goddess next to me, I would do it a millions times over.

Her blond hair is messily ruffled from sleep which makes her look even sexier.

I don't even need to see her face to know that she's beautiful.

As soon as her feet touch the ground, a loud hiss elicits from her mouth. Her hands go on her knees as she slumps her spine.

"Did I hurt you last night?" Any man would have an ego-boost to think you railed a woman so hard, she's sore in the morning, but from the looks of her crouched position, I can't help but want to apologize for anything I might've done while drunk.

She doesn't reply. Instead, she straightens her back and faces away from me.

This gets me confused. "What's wrong? Did you not enjoy it?"

I hear her let out a deep sigh which tells me everything I need to know. "Oh, sorry." I feel my masculinity slightly chip off at the thought that she didn't enjoy the sex. I mean, I know I was drunk, but that shouldn't impede on my ability to make a woman feel good.

"If it's any consolation, I was drunk out of my mind last night," I try to explain, although I don't know why I feel the need to. "Maybe we could redo it, and this time I would be fully sober."

She shakes her head, still not saying anything which makes me feel even more confused and humiliated. "Do you need like an ice pack or something-"

"Mr. Sanders-"

What. The. Fuck.

That is what is going through my head right now when I hear my assistant's voice come out of this woman.

Did I fuck her?

Oh my fucking god, I fucked my personal assistant!

Jesus fuck, this is going to be awkward.

"We didn't do anything last night," she replies breathily.

I breathe out a sigh of relief.

But then reality hit me.

I fucking insinuated that I railed my assistant.

What the fuck was I saying?

Jesus Christ, this is embarrassing as fuck!

But then humiliation quickly turns to anger as I realize that she could've stopped me anytime. But no, she had to jump off the bed as if I was some fucking plague.

All of this awkward tension could have been avoided if she had opened her goddamn mouth.

"Why the fuck didn't you say anything?" I ask angrily.

"Excuse me?" She still hasn't faced me, but I don't give a fuck because I can't even look at her right now.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I repeat. "You could've stopped me anytime and you fucking didn't."

I hear her scoff which just angers me even more. But I now feel the anger slowly seeping into my brain as a pounding headache engulfs me. "I did stop you, Mr. Sanders."

Is she fucking serious? "Yeah, right after I had a fucking conversation with myself asking if you enjoyed it."

Jesus Christ, my worsening headache and this infuriating woman in front of me is starting to put me in a bad mood. "It is not my fault your assumptions did not line up with the truth."

Oh, she's getting confident now, is she?

"What else was I supposed to think!? I'm fucking shirtless, waking up next to you-"

"-who's wearing jeans and a sweater," she finishes for me.

It is now that my eyes rake over her attire and I realize, to my dismay, that she really is wearing jeans and a sweater. "Well, that still doesn't explain why were sleeping together."

I feel so fucking stupid. And embarrassed. I need a drink.

"I brought you home from the bar last night," she explains. "I was going to crash on you couch but you insisted that I stay in your room."

No I fucking didn't. I would never do that.

"That doesn't make any sense," I voice my thoughts. "I would never ask you to stay with me." My words come out harsher than I intended and I know then that I fucked up.

I mentally prepare myself for the argument that's going to ensue but... it doesn't happen.

Instead, she just stands there. She doesn't face me, she doesn't retort back, she doesn't even show any sign that she's upset or mad through her body language. All she does, is walk out of my bedroom.

That makes me even more confused.

Turning my head, I notice a bottle of water and some Advil placed on my nightstand which I gratefully ingest and make my way downstairs, which is where I assume she's going.

"Don't fucking walk away from me!" I finally reach the kitchen where I notice she is drinking a glass of water. "And who said you can touch my stuff?"

I don't know why I'm so mad. I feel as though her lack of emotion towards me is fueling the boil of my blood, and I already feel myself starting to lash out on her.

"I did," she states simply, her back facing me.

"News flash: You don't fucking live here."

She sets down the glass hard and finally faces me with a glare that could sends daggers through my chest.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Sanders, I didn't realize this was your home." I feel satisfied with her angry scowl, knowing that I was able to elicit the emotion she had now recently decided wasn't worth showing to me. "You know, I would've been in my own home, in my own bed, sleeping peacefully, if I didn't have to drag my boss to his bed."

She stops to take a breath before continuing on her rant. "I'm sure you don't remember anything from last night so let me enlighten you. A waiter from the bar called my number and told me to pick you up because you refused to leave and were scaring the customers. If I hadn't dragged you out of the place, the police would've been called which would've done loads for the reputation of your company."

What? I was that fucking drunk?

I don't get to dwell on that thought before she continues her scolding. "Not to mention I had to walk thirty minutes in the middle of the night, on the dark streets of San Francisco to get there, where I was sexually assaulted to come get you."

Now that stops my beating heart.

Someone fucking touched her!!

My lines of anger towards her quickly shift to the bastard that was going to get a beating today.

"I had a horrible night to begin with so you can imagine my frustration when I had to wake up in the middle of the night just because my boss doesn't know how to handle his alcohol. So yeah, excuse me if I want a glass of water, Mr. Sanders."

I hate the way she says my name.

It's filled with so much anger and frustration. Emotions that I had caused and I finally realize what Vanessa had meant.

I can't fucking go from being a complete asshole to her to wanting her to believe that me being nice isn't some fucking act.

Fucking look at me.

Yesterday, I had vowed to make her smile those beautiful fucking smiles and today, I've gone back to pushing her away and becoming a Grade A jerk.

I'm so fucking fucked.

I look up to see her breathing had become ragged and harsh. Her glare is still trained on me but right as I make eye contact with her, she moves.

Her feet take her to my front door, and her long strides tell me she wants to get away from this penthouse. More importantly, to get away from me.

Before she can leave, I grab her arm.

I don't want her to go.

I know, I'm fucking weird. I'm a fucking asshole to her and then I'm begging her to stay.

There's just something about this woman that makes me feel so many fucking emotions I've never felt in years.

I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't scared.

I was content with my life before she came, and now it feels as if my world has been flipped upside down.

I don't know how to act around her so I channel the only other emotion I've grown accustomed to.

Anger.

But I can't. Not with her. The more I get angry, the more I push her away.

She probably has fucking whiplash with the amount of times I've switched up on her.

I want to be good for her. I really do. But I don't know where the fuck to start.

"I'm sorry." I know she doesn't believe me. Hell, I wouldn't believe myself.

I've said that word so many times to her, the meaning has fucking evaporated.

"Thank you for taking care of me. I know I don't fucking deserve it. I don't deserve you. You don't have a car. Let me make you some breakfast and give you a ride home. I'll have a driver hired to you at all times so you can have a ride anywhere from now on"

I take a pause to wait for a response but when I don't get any, I continue. "I'm sorry for all the shit I put you through, Wilson. You don't fucking deserve it. I want to change. I want to be better, but I just don't know how."

She finally turns around and I can see the lines of emotion etched onto her beautiful features.

I don't fucking deserve her. God, I want to punch myself for being such a fucking jerk.

"You can't do that," she whispers. She doesn't look me in the eye; her gaze is set on my hardwood floor. "Do what?"

"You can't be nice to me after just acting like a complete jerk. It messes with my brain."

My heart fucking hurts at her words. I fucking did that shit.

"I know, I'm sorry, baby. Let me make it up to you." I pull her closer to me.

Jesus, after knowing what it feels like to wake up next to this woman, all I want to do is be close to her. To touch her and smell her invigorating scent. "I'm gonna go make breakfast, you can go shower. Then I'll drop you off at your place, okay?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," she mumbles.

"Why?"

"How do I know you're not going to lash out on me again? How do I know you're not going to be a jerk again? I feel like you forgot that this is highly unprofessional and if anyone were to find out-"

My lips cut her words off.

Goddamn, I love kissing this woman. She tastes absolutely amazing.

I move my lips against hers for a little bit before she finally gives in and matches my pace. Her soft fucking lips are driving me wild and all I want to do is pin her to the wall and ravish her with my mouth.

But I can't, so instead, I focus on the way her breathing becomes more intense, the more I nip on her lips. My teeth graze over her bottom lip which makes her gasp. This gives me an opportunity to explore her mouth with my tongue.

She tastes so fucking good.

A deep groan escapes the back of my throat as she bites my bottom lip and rakes her hands through my hair.

My arms find their way to her waist and I immediately wrap them around her back.

Big, fucking mistake.

She breaks the kiss instantly and a hiss of pain escapes her mouth.

"What? What did I do?" I cup her face, trying to make her look at me, but she refuses. "What did I do?" I repeat softy. I hate the idea of hurting her again. I'm so fucking done with being an asshole to the one person who makes me feel so many fucking things.

I can't hurt her. Not now, not fucking ever. I'll kill anyone who ever dares to cross her, and then take her home so that I can nurse her wounds.

I want to be that person to her. The person who she'll run to when she's hurt. It fucking aches me to know that if she were ever hurt, she'd seek solace in someone who's not me.

I want to gain her trust. Her everything. And the mere thought of ever hurting her again makes me see red.

"Nothing, you didn't do anything," she whispers. Her hands trail down from my hair to my hands.

"Bull fucking shit," I mumble. I don't know why she attempts to lie. She's fucking shit at it. Although it is fucking adorable how she tries to hide something from me.

"Baby, you can't hide shit from me," I mumble amusedly into her ear. "What's wrong." My husky whisper makes her shiver into my hands which forms a smile on my face.

Do that again.

"Nothing." She shakes her head as if that is supposed to sway me into thinking she's fine. "I'm good. Just don't touch me there."

What?

How the fuck is she going to tell me not to touch her there when I want to touch her everywhere.

Something's really up and I am going to find out.

"Did I hurt you?" She looks at me confusedly. "Last night, did I do something?"

I am going to kill myself if what I'm saying is true. I would love to relish the idea that I'm a fucking gentleman when I'm drunk but let's be fucking real, I'm a fucking jerk when sober, who knows what I could've done under the influence.

And the thought of that makes me want to put a fucking gun to my throat.

She's not replying to me. She's not even looking at me and the thought of doing anything to her is slowly starting to become a reality. "Baby, be honest with me. Did I fucking do something last night. Anything that you didn't like." I grab her chin with my thumb and tilt her head to me so that I can finally see her. "You have to tell me or I'm going to go mad."

"No, you didn't."

A relieving sigh escapes my mouth and my heart is finally able to control itself. "Fucking shit, baby, you got me fucking worried."

"I don't think it's professional to call me 'baby', sir."

That makes me chuckle. This woman is something else entirely. "I think professionalism was tossed out the window the moment we kissed at the ball. Not to mention the fact that you've slept over here countless times. And did you just forget that we were cuddling in my bedroom? Yeah, this is all unprofessional. And you know what?"

"What?"

"I don't give a flying fuck about it."

And with that, I place my lips back where they belong and Jesus, does it feel so fucking good. She responds instantly and I don't miss the fact that her hands are atop my knuckles, keeping them from trailing to the rest of her body.

After a few minutes, I detach myself from her lips and whisper, "Who hurt you?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing. I just fell in the shower. My back hit the bathtub."

"Okay." I hate that she's lying to me. I hate it so fucking much.

I mean, I know that I'm barely starting to gain her trust but it kills me to know that someone or something hurt her and she refuses to tell me.

I want her to open up to me. To be honest with me.

Gaining a woman's trust takes time, especially if you've been a jerk to her.

Vanessa's advice echoes in my head and I know I should listen to her. I know that she's not gonna just trust me overnight but I am an impatient fucking man. Me and time have a strained relationship.

"Mr. Sander, last night when-"

"Why are you calling me that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you calling me by my last name," I explain. If she's still trying to be professional, she can stop now because the ideas running through my mind right now are anything but professional.

"Well, I thought-"

I cut her off. "Wilson, right now, I am not your boss and you're not my assistant. We're just-"

Shit, I set myself up for that.

"We're what?" she eggs me on, a smirk on her face.

She really is getting confident. Or comfortable around me. And that thought alone makes me heart soar.

"We're... " Thinking, thinking, thinking. "We're whatever you want to be, baby." I give her a dazzling grin that makes her fall head over heels for me.

Yeah fucking right.

"Oh yeah? Well then I guess we're friends," she states simply, stepping away from me and heading towards the kitchen.

Oh hell fucking no.

"No."

Walking towards her, I give her waist a tight squeeze. "We are not friends."

She smirks again. A beautiful, teasing ass smirk that hardens my groin. "Oh no. You said we're whatever I want to be." She lets out a beautiful sigh. "I'm sorry, Silas, I just see you as a friend."

She pats me on the shoulder before sauntering up the stairs. Her teasing hips move side to side and I'm not sure if she's doing that on purpose or not. Either way, my body responds more to her than any woman I've ever had.

"Friends don't cuddle with each other!" I holler back

"My friends do!"

I laugh out loud.

Jesus, I could have had all of this if I hadn't been such an asshole to her.

"Do you need any help in that shower?" I realize now that I'm smiling.

I'm fucking smiling and I like it.

Sage and Sawyer always get on my nerves to ever make me smile.