Screenplay…

Ashley Grant:

The kind of heavy pain that hit the middle of my head benumbed me. I forced my eyes open to the dim light of the sun sneaking into Fred's room.

Wait...

This wasn't Fred's room, no. His bed was softer, and the walls there weren't white, they were a weird shade of purple. This room wasn't mine either, I didn't have a room to myself because I lived in with Fred in his mini-apartment here in Miami. He traveled a lot and didn't see the need to have a big house. Fred always had a reason for whatever he did, even if that reason was stupid.

Speaking of Fred. Hadn't he broken up with me last night? Hadn't I gone off to glue my cracking heart back with liquor at Summit?

What next happened?

As I pulled myself off the huge bed and glued myself to the headboard, I racked my brain for memories of last night.

Guess who I then watched gracefully strutting right through the threshold of this mysterious room—the man I'd been hoping not to be real. So it was true that I'd been picked off the hood of a stranger's car when a mad stranger was assaulting me, and then brought to another stranger's house.

His idle hands swung and dangled as he strode manfully toward the bed I wanted to swallow me. "Good morning, beautiful. I hope you know where you are and what happened last night?"

I didn't respond. His body was perplexing me. He was in grey, free shorts and his tight Calvin Klein was peaking out of the waistband of this short. His chest was bare and hands wet.

"Do you need me to jog your memory?"

"No. Of course not." My heavy head didn't need any more information. But then the embarrassment bleached me out. The shame from having to be seen in the most unflattering way by a man I didn't know.

I looked down and saw I wasn't in my dress. "Did you take out my clothes?" Obviously, what was I asking?

He chuckled vilely and pointed two hangers that held my skirt and shirt on a pole. "I've had a couple of women in this room, on that bed, and they never slept in their club clothes," he explained like I cared to know that this was his porn room. "If I knew you didn't mind strangling on the ropes of your clothes while you drowned in alcohol, I certainly would have left you the way you were."

He strode back with the hangers and tossed them on the bed. My clothes were washed and ironed. Did he do that for me? "It's past two o'clock in the afternoon on a Tuesday. Don't you have work to go to? Or one that you have missed and should call to apologize for?"

I choked. Two what? "Where's my phone?" I felt around the bed. "And my purse?"

With a straight face, he walked to the end of the room where a large cupboard stood, he opened a drawer and brought out my things.

"A man tried to rape you last night." His firm tone hit me with my purse and phone as he flung them to me. "Do you not have female friends you can go out with at least? So that when Fred breaks your heart again, you can be safe out there. I can only imagine how many strangers you encountered in just one night. I doubt you even recall them."

Picking up my phone, I swiped the screen over the T-shirt I was wearing. I was intentionally ignoring Jesus's preaching and I was wondering how he knew Fred...Jesus knew everything of course, or maybe my drunk brain overspilled.

But he was right about my safety, I needed friends to accompany me to places like Summit at night. I would have called them if I had any here in Miami.

After graduation, three years ago, we all followed what we thought was the right path, and some of us foolishly landed in the house of our college boyfriends. Others went to conquer the world.

I was part of those that remained here in Miami, so the only friends I had were the ones I had called, cried to, and told I was going to get drunk. All they could do was leave series of messages I was currently gawking at.

"Thank you for helping me, I should do better," I finally said, sincerely. "Only God knows where I'd be if you hadn't come to my rescue.

A snug smile formed on his lips. "You're welcome." He looked over his broad shoulder. "I'll be in the kitchen."

"No, wait," I stuttered and got up, walking up to him. "Please...don't judge me. It was just one night of weakness. And no, Fred will not break my heart again."

As soon as I said those words, I noticed how much of a dumb piece I was. What did I owe this guy? And what did he care if I was heartbroken again? Nothing, but there was a smile on his adorable face, and I could safely say that was what triggered mine too.

"I'm Brielle, what's yours?"

He contemplated answering me, his eyes taking my body. Then, "Isn't it too late to care? You'll be on your way out soon."

"At least let me know the gentleman that saved me." I playfully tugged his arm with my elbow. "Or the name doesn't suit you face?"

"Cullen is completely perfect for this face." Laughing a thick laugh, he gestured at his face with the brightest smile I'd seen a human form. "Happy now?" Then he faced the door.

###

Cullen Wesley:

Gentleman

She had said gentleman. The first mistake she had made as a lady that found herself in this room of all the rooms in this house; she, for whatever reason, presumed I was gentle.

I wasn't.

I'd signed tons of documents and taken over my father's hotel, even though it had been  categorically stated in his will that he needed to be dead first. Technically, he was. Being physically dead or brain dead was almost the same thing. The deadly thing was, I'd killed his brain myself, because what? I never took no for an answer.

A gentleman took responsibility for his action. Well, me, I pretty much always found someone to blame. If it was true what Ashley had called me, then I wouldn't have been thinking of ways to dispose of Natasha and fix this sexy woman in that room like a statue.

I barely knew her...but I desperately wanted to.

She was following me to the kitchen in my shirt. She most certainly still didn't have anything underneath. As she plopped on a stool, I'd silently wished to slither my fingers up those suggestive thighs and leave memories of a good time on them.

It would take nothing more than a minute to bruise her. Fuck. I wanted to bruise her. I urged for her to punctuate my name without a single breath left in her lungs. 

"Aren't your patients waiting somewhere—"

My phone rang. Natasha was calling me. My frenzied stare was set on the screen of my phone, I was thinking of what to say. What to do.

Once I answered, I cleared my throat and said, "Hello, Natasha," and then I waited for her to reply. "Good morning, how are you?"

She made it seem like she'd called to remind me of my meetings with the investors tomorrow, but when she had finished talking about that, she went on to ask when we would be seeing.

I gave Ashley my back as her brows drew together. "Let's see this evening, I'll call you when I'm close to your apartment."

Natasha paused for a moment, seeming unsatisfied with the arrangement. Did she want me to fuck the the baby out before she knew how unprepared I was?

"Fine, Mr. Wesley."

"Alright then."

I hung up and, with pent up anger, tried to squash my phone. I didn't want to groan now because I couldn't answer Ashley if she asked me about my mood, so I faced her with a fake smile. "What are you doing tomorrow evening?"

She shrugged. "Would have been a good day to hang out with Fred."

"Well, now that he has shown you his dick-ness, do you mind going out with me? Let's have a talk without booze or a sour mood."

"Why would I want to hang out with a stranger?"

Because I'd just saved your life, girl. Didn't she owe me something? "You're a therapist, aren't you?"

Confusion struck her face. She could blame herself for drinking and over-speaking, but she couldn't, for a lot of reasons, know I'd gone through her phone like a freak. "How did you know that?"

"Same way I knew about Fred." I rolled my eyes and acted like a cool dude. "Weird thing is, my PA has been struggling to to find me one for two week."

I'd never needed a therapist, but I needed Ashley to believe her career meant something to me. I simply wanted her to trust me enough to lose her guard around me. I needed her—especially that body—so bad. So if the only way I could get it was to have her around a couple of times weekly by hiring her, I was going to grab the opportunity.

"How do you charge, Miss Ashley?"

She sprung off the stool and eyed me intensely, probably wondering what I needed that information for. "Drop it, Cullen. I apologize for waltzing into your life, but please, stay out of mine." She shook her head and continued, "This was a mistake. A mistake I can never stop regretting. I'll be gone in the next few minutes, please."

"You don't need to apologize or beg. I will do it again if I have to."

"You wouldn't have to."

She started towards the passage. I knew this was it. If she walked out of that door without giving me her number or complementary card, I'd lose her for good. I wasn't going to find her on the hood of a car again.

Pulling her arm, I turned her around and put her in an angle, narrowing our gap to barely a few inches. "Look, Ash, from what I've noticed, your life is like a bowl of tangled spaghetti. Your job is your only escape from detangling."

"How dare you?"

I kept the taunting smirk on my face. "What do you say about five hundred dollars per hour?" I was offering her way more than the average because no wasn't a choice I could stand.

She stuttered for a moment and eventually fell into silence. A reasoning type of silence. I watched her through it—thinking about the money against her needs and probably against detangling her moments with Fred. "Six hundred," she said after I'd given up hope.

"Five-fifty."

She exhaled and then nodded. "Grab a pen to get my number."

I ran like a toddler that was being offered chocolates. This was fucking chocolates. Warmth filled my whole body at the success after she'd called the last number and I'd dialed it. The phone rang in her palm and she smiled.

"Good."

"I work solo, so we need to schedule your sessions," she explained, though my eyes were hard on those succulent, pink lips. "But if that is too much of a big deal for the kind of plan you want, always call me a few hours before you need me so I can unpack my schedule."

I gave my bottom lip a firm bite. It was fair, but—"what if I need you immediately?"

"It's called an express service, I'll charge you double." She pressed her head and muttered to herself, "headaches are terrible."

"I have aspirins, do you need?"

"What I need is to go." Her tone had suddenly grown cold. And the bag under her eyes were looking heavier and darker. "Thank you again for helping me."

"You're wel..."

She'd disappeared into the room to maybe get dressed, leaving me out here to imagine the naked body that would be lurking within those walls.

Fuck. The room was a lucky bastard.