under my eyes with a washcloth.
Maybe it’s a good thing that Garrin wasn’t in bed to see me first thing in the morning.
Once I’ve done as much as I can do to look presentable, I suck in a breath and decide to go find Garrin.
As I search for my things, all the questions ping in my head like little bubble thoughts. I have no idea how he’s going to react to what happened last night. Will it mean something to him? Or is that how he ends all his dates? He’s been pretty clear to me that most of his “dates” are with women he pays for. Does it mean something that I’m not?
More importantly, how do I want him to act?
I swing open the door to the bedroom and wince, grabbing my forehead when the bright sunlight from the wall-to-wall windows in the living area down the hall greets me. It takes me a minute to be able to keep my eyes open without feeling like an ice pick is chipping away at my brain, but eventually I continue down the hall.
I stand at the end of the hallway, looking out into the main living area and a dining area, but it’s vacant.
“Garrin?” I call out, my voice catching from not being used.
I don’t hear anything, so I step further into the living area and spot my shoes where I left them last night and my phone on the table. I’m pretty sure the kitchen was off to the left, so I head that way, but he’s not there either.
“Garrin?” I call out again.
Again, there’s no response. I head out of the high-end kitchen back to the main living quarters and go in the direction I haven’t been yet. He probably has a study in this place. Maybe he’s working. He seems like the type who’d work on a Sunday.
I glance into the study when I find it, along with a wine cellar, a movie room, and two more bedrooms and bathrooms, but still no sign of Garrin.
“Garrin!” I call out, louder this time.
While I stand there, crestfallen, I realize what I wanted from him this morning. I wanted him to be here. Smiling. Opening up to me like he did last night.
Instead he’s left me to do the walk of shame on my own. The bastard didn’t even have the decency to leave a note.
“I’m such an idiot.”
I stomp over to my shoes, doing my best to ignore how my brain jostles like a Jell-O mold with every step. Then I slide them on, wincing as the expensive material wraps around my feet. Grabbing my purse off the table, I take my coat in my hand and walk out to the foyer and stab the down button.
Regrets? That’s what he was so worried about last night. Well, all he had to do was be here this morning for him not to be a regret. I should have known he couldn’t do that. Suddenly, that same feeling after the sex tape went live hits me—how stupid I was to trust someone.
Disappointment weighs heavy in my chest as I open my phone to call an Uber. Unfortunately, the screen is black and it won’t turn on. It’s dead. The bastard couldn’t even charge my phone.
I’m not sure what to do, but I’m sure the Classholes have someone to do all their dirty work, which hopefully includes calling a cab for the women they think of as disposable.
I get in the elevator and ride it to the bottom floor. The doors open to an expansive foyer with floor-to-ceiling white marble with gold veins. It is opulence personified. I don’t know why I’m surprised given who lives here.
Thankfully there’s a woman in what I’d guess is her midfifties standing behind a marble desk. She looks up at me when she hears my heels meet the marble, and her eyes widen. Surely I’m not the first woman any of the guys have brought home.
As my gown swooshes around my ankles and my stilettos click on the marble floor, it dawns on me that I’m still in my ballgown.
How mortifying. I’m doing the walk of shame and I didn’t even get to experience the sex part. Hardly a fair trade-off.
“Hi, I was wondering if you might call me a taxi,” I ask her.
She smiles at me, all traces of her surprise now gone. “Nonsense, dear, I’ll have one of the drivers take you. Now who were you visiting last night?” she asks.
My cheeks heat