Charlie
I need space.
After last night? After the wine, the movie, the way she looked at me like I was already hers?
Yeah. I need space.
I'm Charlie Trentford—CEO of a billion-dollar company, lover of horsepower, espresso, and women with no emotional consequences.
I flirt for fun.
I hook up like it's cardio.
I don't get wrapped around the finger of my childhood best friend who wears my button-downs like lingerie and fixes my spreadsheets better than my CTO.
I don't want to be that guy.
Right?
---
So I make plans.
Real ones this time. Not brunch. Night plans.
A rooftop bar, sleek and overpriced. A girl I matched with three weeks ago and forgot about until this morning. Legs for days. A voice like a sex hotline. Doesn't know me well enough to complicate things.
Exactly what I need.
Carly's not in the living room when I leave, which is good. Because if she looked at me with those eyes—the ones that strip me down and dare me to admit how long I've wanted to pin her against the wall—I'd cancel the date again.
Like I always do.
But I don't, not tonight.
I slide behind the wheel of my car, breathe in leather and control, and drive like hell's chasing me.
Because it kind of is.
Her name is Carly Dorrington.
And she's not going to like this.
---
The bar's buzzing when I arrive. Neon lights, low music, half-naked women laughing like they've already won.
My date's at the corner booth, sipping something pink.
She smiles. Winks. Runs a finger down her thigh like a silent promise.
I relax.
This is good. Easy, safe.
Carly doesn't own me.
Carly doesn't—
My phone buzzes.
Carly 🍒: You wore the leather jacket. Bold choice. She'll like that. Shame if something spilled on it though.
I freeze.
I look around. She's not here. She can't be here.
Right?
Wrong.
Because I see it. Across the bar. Far back. A shadow in the crowd.
Not her body—no. She's too smart for that.
But her signature? Her mark?
It's in the bartender's tray—my favorite scotch, sent "from the lady who knows you like it neat."
It's in the playlist—the one I caught her editing last week, now playing on this club's sound system.
It's in the date's outfit—a weirdly familiar dress I saw Carly scrolling past two days ago before smirking and saying, "Too basic."
She's not here.
But she's everywhere.
"Sorry," I tell the girl. I stand up. I don't even know why.
Because she's not Carly?
Because I feel guilty?
Or because I know I'm not getting out of this bar untouched?
---
I get back home after midnight.
Penthouse silent. Lights dimmed. And the smell of vanilla and spice hanging thick in the air.
She's awake.
Of course she is.
I find her in the kitchen. Sitting on the island. In nothing but that damn silk robe and a glass of red in her hand like a Bond villainess.
"Fun night?" she asks without looking up.
I tense. "Don't do that."
"Do what?" She sips. Licks her bottom lip.
"You know what."
She finally meets my eyes. There's no smile. Just that quiet, calculating stare that makes me feel naked in ways no woman ever has.
"I don't control your life, Charlie," she says. "I just make suggestions."
"That's not what this is and you know it."
She hops down—barefoot, legs long, eyes cold. "Then what is it?"
"I don't know!" I snap. "You're in my house. In my bed. You cancel my dates. You act like my girlfriend but tell everyone you're not. I'm going insane."
She walks toward me. Slow. Dangerous.
"You kissed me," she whispers.
"You kissed me."
> "You liked it."
"Yeah, Carly. I did. I do. That's the problem."
She's inches from me now. I can smell her perfume. I Can feel the tension coiling in my stomach.
"So what's stopping you?" she murmurs.
"I don't know how to want you without ruining you."
Then silence, a long one.
Then she laughs. Not soft, not sweet. Something darker.
"Oh, Charlie…" She lifts her hand, drags her nails down my chest, slow and cruel. "You think I haven't already ruined myself for you?"
I swallow.
> "You think I've been waiting all these years because I didn't know what this would do to me?"
"Carly—"
"You're mine," she says softly. "You've always been mine. You just haven't figured it out yet."
She leans in. Kisses the corner of my mouth.
And walks away.
Back to her wine. Her robe. Her game.
Leaving me there, hard as a rock and completely undone. Again.