What A Secret Looks Like | ✓

01: tessa

Last night was a blur.

The blinding strobe lights that made my vision dance and my head pound. The hands that roamed over my dress, if you could even call it a dress considering it covered practically nothing. The drinks that burned the back of my throat every time I took another sip. The hands that roamed over me as I wore nothing.

That much I remember as I try to focus my eyes in the dimmed room, but the pounding in my head does nothing to help me succeed in that. I know enough to realize that it isn't the hotel room I'm supposed to be sleeping in, but I have no idea where I am. Something shifts next to me and my head snaps quickly, too quickly with the headache I have, to see the mop of dark hair standing out against the white sheets.

"Fuck," I mumble to myself as I check under the sheets, only to have what I already know happened confirmed. I try to slip out of the bed without stirring him because I'd prefer to do the walk of shame on my own.

Except then I realize that the only option of clothing I have to put it back on is the slinky dress I left the hotel in. So I instead grab one of the few t-shirts out of the immaculate closet filled with a wide variety of suits, and slip it on before I grabbing a pair of pants that I know I'll swim in.

I can't believe I'm borrowing clothes from a man whose name I don't know, yet I had sex with him anyways. So I take a look at him and when the sheet starts to slip as he adjusts again, I can see exactly why I consented.

There's enough light coming through the curtains that I can see his angled face with full lips, long lashes that match the darkness of his hair. But when I slipped out of the bed, along with him moving, the duvet has slid down enough revealing a ripple of movement through the muscles in his shoulder all the way to the small of his back.

I get it completely because he's attractive as hell, but it's also the same reason I find myself walking away from him with my heels in one hand and my phone and dress in the other. I wander in the kitchen looking for a piece of paper to let him know I plan on having the clothes dry cleaned and returned, but I don't find anything because I can't bring myself to go through someone's shit.

My finger runs along the marble countertops, and there's not even a speck of dust which surprises me. The place is so clean it seems like no one lives here, but I'd sure as hell not want someone rooting around through my stuff. The least I can do is give him the same curtesy.

But then I catch the time blinking on his microwave and my heart stops. It's 8:20 and I have a nine a.m. shoot. "Son of a bitch," I groan, tucking my hair behind my ears because I chopped it thinking it would get me fired for breaching my contract. Instead, it just came to bite me in the ass, I haven't quite spent the time figuring out how to pull it out of my face. So for now I've been stuck repeatedly putting it behind my ears.

After exiting the apartment, I try to maintain my composure as I look for the elevator to take me to the entrance. I'm already bring attention to myself with the outfit I'm wearing. Thankfully there's no one in the elevator to judge me as I slip my heels back on because as much as they don't go with the outfit, I also refuse to walk barefoot through New York City.

It doesn't take long for a taxi to pull over to the curb, and I open the door climbing in without a second thought, "I need to get to Drift Studios on west twenty-sixth street, how fast can you get me there?"

The jerking as he pulls out in the street immediately gives me the answer I need. While I'm kind of afraid of dying from the aggressive driving he's using, I'm more afraid of the lawsuit they'll file against me if I'm late.

But I'm not.

By some miracle, I make it with three minutes to spare before I was supposed to report. I pop the case off my phone and grab the cash I carry that was supposed to pay for my drinks last night, but I'm not sure whatever happened with that. I hand it to him not having the time to count it out and give him the right amount because there's more than plenty there. "Thanks!"