As the peaceful serenity of my sleep faded, a scorching light and throbbing pain dragged me back to the horrifying reality. I blinked to clear my vision. With half-closed eyes, I scanned the room. "Where am I?" I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to recall the events of last night. Slowly, very slowly, my vision cleared along with my memory. I went to look for Christina. I saw her and Ryan making out in her office. Holy shit! My eyes widened. I rushed to the washroom and puked. Then, Eric came in.

I sat up in shock. "No." I gasped. Eric was there. He saw me—drunk. And that’s not the worst part. I... kissed him. The scene of that kiss replayed in my head over and over. "OH. MY. GOD." What did I do? I ran a hand through my hair. I... No, I didn’t. It must be a nightmare. I closed my eyes, rubbed them, pinched myself. "Ow!" I gasped. "This is real. I kissed Eric." I covered my mouth, my eyes widening as the scene kept replaying in my head.

Shame. Fear. Guilt. All of them hit me at once. Why? Why did I do that? It would have been better if I had jumped off the roof than caused myself this embarrassment. How will I face him now? Or, no... will I ever see him— "Oh! No." He must be typing my suspension letter right now. "Jesus Christ!" I shrieked. He is going to fire me. Or he might have already sent the email. My phone... I looked left and right but couldn’t see my phone. It was then I realized that this room is not mine. This is not Kate’s apartment.

I jumped out of bed, and the blanket fell from my legs. I glanced at my bare legs and the black oversized t-shirt I was wearing. "Whoa!" I don’t remember buying this giant t-shirt. Where is my dress? When did I change? How did I get here? And whose house is this, for Christ’s sake? There were a thousand questions exploding in my head, and I couldn’t recall anything after the kiss. Either the anxiety or the hangover—or both—were killing me. I felt like my head would explode.

Amidst all the shockers, a theory was forming in my head. What are the odds that... this house... is actually Eric’s? After the kiss, I don’t remember anything, but it’s likely that Eric brought me here, isn’t it? Yes, he brought me to his house and changed... I gasped. He didn’t... I can’t take this anymore. Before I lose my mind, I better find the owner of this house.

I wandered mindlessly through the large drawing room, searching for my so-called knight. There was literal pin-drop silence in this double-story, luxurious house, and I couldn’t see a single soul. "Hello? Is anyone here?" I shouted. No response. I turned around and collided with someone. I looked up, and my nightmare turned into reality. "Mr. Richmond?" This is Eric’s house. Oh my God!

I quickly stepped away and watched him, wide-eyed. His jet-black hair was damp and messy, sticking to his forehead. His face was gleaming, covered in sweat. He was wearing a black jacket and black trousers with white sports shoes—seems like he had just returned from a marathon. His lips formed a hard line, and his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at me with a questioning look.

"I’m... sorry." I bit my lip. I forgot what I had to ask. He was breathing hard, his chest moving up and down. "I... How did I get here?" I finally managed to ask.

He raised a finger and licked his lower lip. "Give me a second." I nodded. He strolled to the dining table, poured a glass of water, and drank it all in one shot. He put down the glass, turned to me, and let out a heavy sigh. "You were saying something?"

I blinked. "Yeah... I was wondering... How did I get here?" I asked.

He cocked his head and observed me. "I brought you here," he replied in a completely casual tone.

"Why?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Why?" he repeated.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"You were drunk and unconscious."

"I was unconscious, and you brought me to your house? Why didn’t you take me to my apartment? You know the way..."

He placed his hands on the table and leaned against it. "Isn’t that question self-explanatory?"

"What? I don’t understand—"

"Do you think it was wiser to drop you off at your apartment, where you live alone, in that state?" he inquired.

He was right. I was heartbroken, depressed, and drunk. Not a good combination. I don’t know what I would have done. Maybe jumped off the balcony. I shivered. "No, you did the right thing." I shook away that thought. "I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble." I do nothing but cause him problems.

He didn’t say anything, stretched his body, and was about to leave when another question poked me just in time.

"Wait," I said. He halted and turned back to me. "Um... where is my dress?"

"In the laundry. You puked on your dress. You’ll get it by afternoon." He informed me with such nonchalance, but I mentally face-palmed.

I took a deep breath and gulped. "So you changed my dress?" I blurted. Please tell me you didn’t. I desperately prayed in my mind.

He ran a hand through his hair. My chest tightened at the enigmatic sight before me. This is the first time I’m seeing him in his casual mode, and he still manages to look so hot, even with all that sweat. I hate sweating because it feels dirty, but he is changing my perspective. "Martha did," he replied.

"Martha?"

"My cook," he replied instantly.

Thank God! "Okay." Relief washed over me.

"If you got all your answers, then please step aside. I need to shower." His voice had shifted to cold and intimidating.

I moved to the other side instantly. He was halfway to the stairs when I remembered something. "Oh wait," I interrupted, and he turned to me. "Sorry, but I can’t find my phone. Can you tell—"

"Left drawer of the bedside table," he replied.

"Thank you." I bit my lip.

"Is that all?"

"Yeah... Also, thank you for bringing me here and—" Saving me? I thought. His gaze dropped to my legs suddenly, and my eyes widened. I forgot that the t-shirt wasn’t that long and it barely covered my underwear. I clenched the hem and tried to pull it down to cover myself. His gaze was fixated on my legs. Why is he looking at me that way? Please look away. To my misfortune, he stepped closer. I closed my eyes in embarrassment. I felt his hot breath on my throat. What is he doing? Just go away, please.

"You should take a shower," he said.

When I opened my eyes, he was already heading up the stairs. I sniffled at myself. I smelled of alcohol and puke. "Ew! Gross." I grimaced. I had crossed all lines of embarrassment.

After taking a shower, I came out of the bathroom and saw a pink sweatshirt and black pants on the bed. Did Eric leave them? I’m really, really surprised. I pulled the left drawer and found my phone, but it was dead. I noticed some tablets on top of the table. Painkillers. Eric left these painkillers here for my hangover. Seriously? A smile crept up on my lips. He is a confusing character. Bipolar, for sure.

When I went to the drawing room, Eric wasn’t there. I walked toward the dining table. Did he already have his breakfast? My stomach growled at the thought of food. I hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday evening. There was a plate covered by another plate, and a glass of orange juice covered with a lid. I picked up the plate, and my mouth watered at the sight of the food. French toast, bacon, and hash browns. I know I should ask, but I’m starving right now. And who else would it be for, if not me? Without wasting a minute, I pulled out a chair, sat down, and started eating.

Well, I don’t have anything to do, and sitting in the room was boring, so I decided to tour the hall. Unlike Eric’s gray personality, the house looked quite lively and warm. I spotted a flower vase on the table near the wall. A bunch of lavender and white orchids. Are they real? I smelled them, and a sweet scent enveloped me. I smiled.

So far, I hadn’t seen any other human being in this house besides Eric. Not even any maids. I wondered, where is Eric? Probably in his room. I want to ask him about my phone. But I don’t think it’s right to go up. As far as I’ve seen Eric, he is a very reclusive and sophisticated person. And I’m only a calamity to his private, quiet life. It sounds very strange, but he has helped me many more times than I can imagine. He helped me with my presentation and report. He dropped me home that night. He brought me here and took care of me. I would have never expected Mr. Eric Richmond to be so gentle and considerate. It seems he has more to himself than meets the eye.

"What are you doing?"

I jumped up in surprise, and the vase wobbled, but before it could fall, he grabbed it. "I’m so sorry," I said, turning around to face him. He was standing too close, so I took a step back, but the wall prevented me from retreating any further. "I got scared." My voice was a faint whisper.

He put the vase back in its former position and put his hands in his pockets. "Scared of what?" he asked.

I thought for a moment. "The vase would fall..."

"It’s just a vase. I can get another," he said with a shrug.

It wasn’t what he said that puzzled me; it was what he didn’t. "But it won’t be the same," I said softly.

"I can ask them to make an exact replica. What difference would it make?"

I didn’t know why he was speaking so coldly. "What are you trying to say?"

He took a step towards me, looked at the space between us, and then looked at me. "There are many things you should be scared of, but not that."

I was baffled. "What do you—"

"Do you remember what you did last night, Ms. Meyers?" he questioned me in a low growl.

Now I understood. He was talking about the kiss. I knew this was coming, and now I had to face it. "I'm sorry for what I did..." I gulped and looked down. "I was drunk—"

"So you go and kiss anyone when you're drunk?"

My eyes shot up to look at him. Are you serious? "What? No... How could you—"

"You got your confirmation mail, so you thought you could do whatever you want. And you got drunk at the carnival party without thinking twice about the consequences. What do you think of yourself, Ms. Meyers? You think you can keep making blunders and expect me to give you second chances every time? Is that what you think?" His words stung me.

"I didn't do it on purpose to cause you or the company any sort of trouble. I was—" My words got stuck in my throat, and a sob escaped my mouth. Why am I crying?

"You were, what? If you can't handle it, then why did you drink so much? It wasn't a bar. It was an office party." He yelled.

I clenched my fists to hold back my pain. "I'm sorry—"

He cut me off again. "Do you think your apologies can change everything? Do you even understand the seriousness of your job, or is everything a joke to you?" He scowled.

This time I couldn't hold back, and the tears escaped. "I wasn't drinking for fun," I said meekly. "My boyfriend cheated on me. I was... I don't know... I'm sorry for causing all these problems." I struggled to breathe. "I'm sorry for getting drunk. I'm sorry that you had to take care of me. I'm sorry for kissing you. I'm sorry for everything. Tell me what else I can do?" Why does this always happen to me? Why am I so unlucky? I always mess up, especially with the person who already hates me the most.

His expression was as cold as ice. I didn’t know what he was thinking. "Is that why you ran from the gala and tried to kill yourself that day?"

He remembered that as well. "I wasn’t watching where I was going. I'm sor—"

"You crossed your line." His eyes narrowed at me as his jaw clenched tighter.

"I didn't mean to come in front of your car. It was an accident." But it's my fault.

He sighed in annoyance and came closer to me. Our bodies were inches apart. He rested one hand on the wall, over my hand. "I'm not talking about that," he spoke in a low, gruff voice. His gaze dropped to my lips. Oh! That. I gulped. "Why did you kiss me?" His brows furrowed deeper, gazing at my lips as if he was thinking deeply about something.

My heart pounded inside my chest. The proximity of our bodies made me nervous. "I don't know..." My palms were sweating. "I was drunk." That can be the only reason why I did something so stupid. "I'm sorry."

He didn't say anything, but his gaze moved from my lips and stilled on my eyes. All the muscles in my body tightened. I felt like I was cut off from my oxygen supply. He raised his other hand and brought it near my face. What is he doing? As it made contact with my skin, I closed my eyes. I felt his thumb wiping away the tears from my cheek. I opened my eyes again and saw him staring at me. The more I gazed at him, the more I felt a tugging in my chest.

One moment I was crying, the next I was feeling these strange tingles all over my body. One moment he was angry, the next he was holding me captive with those unreadable eyes. "What are you doing?" I found myself asking.

In a fraction of a second, he moved back, and the calmness in his face disappeared in a flash. He looked away from me, his chest heaving. "You..." He paused and continued, "... stay away from me." And with that, he walked away.

*****

To be continued...