𝗙𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗸𝗶𝗲

4 - Savage Pursuit.

"My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die!"

- William Goldman

My eyes cracked open, and I instantly regretted it. The warmth of another body beside me made my skin prickle, the reality of yet another fucking lapse in judgment hitting hard. Great. Who was it this time? And, more importantly, why the hell did I let her stay the night? I rolled over just enough to catch a glimpse.

Long, blonde hair spilled over bare shoulders, framing a body that was, I'd admit, fucking stunning with a natural hourglass curve. She was beautiful, no doubt, but her name? That was somewhere in the fog. Hailey? Holly? Damn, it was in there somewhere.

I eased myself out of bed, careful not to wake her. Morning chit-chat wasn't my thing, especially not before coffee. I slipped into the bathroom, closed the door, and let the shower drown out the remnants of her perfume faded. After a quick shave and putting my hair into some kind of order, I suited up in black. Classic, no-fuss—like I preferred everything else.

When I walked back into the bedroom, she was still sprawled out, fast asleep and blissfully unaware of my growing irritation. Her name nudged at my memory again. Hailey. Right. Hailey.

I crouched down and nudged her shoulder gently. "Hey. Time to get up."

She shifted, stretching out in the sheets, her eyes slowly opening and then lighting up when they landed on me. A lazy smile crept over her face as she looked me over—hair slicked back, the silver necklace with my ring resting against my chest, leather boots new and polished. "Good morning, handsome," she murmured, the memory of last night obvious in her eyes. "Last night was... amazing."

Alright, the night had been fun, no arguments there. But the fun part was over, and she had lingered well past her welcome. One night, no repeats, and definitely no sleepovers—that was the rule. This was on me for not sticking to it.

"It's time for you to go," I said, my tone gruff.

Her smile slipped, and she sat up slowly, pulling the sheet around her naked body. Her hand drifted through her blonde waves as she looked at me, those green eyes searching, maybe for a reason or a hint of regret on my part. "You're kicking me out?"

I stood up, turning my back to her and leaving the room. The silence said it all.

My mood took a nosedive the second I glanced at her again. Something about the way her golden hair spilled over the pillow dredged up memories I'd kept locked up. The same golden hair once belonged to someone else—someone who used to lie beside me, her warmth sinking into my chest, making me feel like I could be a better man. My wife. But that was a lifetime ago. She was gone, buried with my heart and all that was left was this fucking hollow, bitter shell of a man.

The elevator doors chimed open, yanking me out of that dark tunnel. Marqus stepped outside. "Boss," he greeted with a nod.

"Go on," I prompted, knowing he wouldn't have shown up here without reason.