His Games, Her Rules

"Robyn, working many shifts and trying to avoid the real world is not going to get you laid. You need to get out and have fun and since today is my birthday, you don't have any excuse." My best friend and roommate, Monique, rants on the phone as I listen to her chirpy voice through the earbuds in my ears.

I want to argue with her and point out for the millionth time that I'm okay the way I am and that I don't need a man, but instead, I clamp my mouth shut. There is no point. Because I'm going to go home and Monique will be there to remind me how I'm not getting laid enough.

So instead, I do what's best for my brain right now, which means not arguing with her as I fill out my report. "Sure thing, Mom. I hear you."

"Are you being sarcastic again?" Monique asks. I can picture her smirking with her forefinger in between her lips, biting the nail.

"Something like that." I chuckle. "Look, I gotta go. I have got work to do and right now you're not being helpful."

"Robyn-"

I smile. "Yeah, got you. I need to get out and get laid. We're gonna talk later." I hang up immediately, taking in deep breaths as I shut my eyes for a second.

Fuck, y'all let me be for a second.

As I fill out my report, with Katy Perry Roar blasting from my earbuds, I hum the lyrics of the song. A pale hand appears in my vision, knocking on the desk, as I raise my head at once, locking eyes with a pair of green eyes.

"Fuck, you surprised the shit out of me," I say to this stranger as I pull out one earbud and pause the song.

He stands upright, a small smile on his lips as he watches me. "You've got a potty mouth, huh?"

"Um, who are you?" I ask, briefly giving him a once-over.

The stranger in front of me is tall, with short blonde hair, broad shoulders, good looking, and from the lab coat he's wearing, I think he's a doctor. And damn, he's fine. Like really fine. If I was into a workplace affair, this man in front of me would have been a good lay.

But who cares, right?

"I'm Doctor Sanders." He says, briefly giving me a once over as he slips his hands into his lab coat pockets.

Doctor? Interesting.

"Oh. I'm Robyn. Robyn Denver. I'm a practical nurse here."

"Yeah, I know you. I called your name like three times while I watched you hum loudly." He says as he stares at me.

"I'm sorry. I had earbuds on."

"You're pretty popular around here."

"Is that so?"

"Sort of," he says and exhales. "Well, I'll be taking over from Doctor Ricci, so you'll be working with me from now henceforth."

"What happened to Doctor Ricci?"

"Oh, he got transferred. I'm in charge now."

"And he's left?"

"Are you two dating?" Dr. Sanders asks, his gaze scrutinizing. I try not to roll my eyes.

Over my dead body will I date that dog. Also, relationships are the last thing I want right now.

"No! What?" I scoff and drop the pen on the desk. "Do you need assistance?"

"Yes, I do. I need you to take a patient's blood sample for me and please be careful when you do that. Doctor Ricci told me about your work here."

"Did he?" I ask and stand up, as Doctor Sanders and I walk out of the nurses' station together.

"Not very good stuff, if I may say."

Of course. Why am I not surprised?

I've always rooted for Doctor Ricci. He was my favorite Doctor in this hospital for a while until he fucked things up. He was pretty hot, and I knew for a fact he was a man slut, but he was great. He was good-looking and attractive, almost all the female nurses and a few doctors found him insanely attractive. He was cherished by everyone, including the president of this hospital. But behind the charisma and the stance lies an arrogant pervert.

"And after the blood sample, prep yourself, you're joining me in surgery." Doctor Sanders says. And with a small smile, he disappears into a corner.

Fuck my life.

The patient's blood sample I'm supposed to take is a man in his mid-twenties. After taking his blood sample, I drop it off at the lab and prepare myself for surgery with the new Doctor.

As I watch him work, I continue to hum Katy Perry's Roar under my breath. It's like a stress-free song for me. Whenever I'm under a lot of pressure from work, this is my go-to song partially because it reminds me of who I used to be before I moved to New York. This song is a motivation, actually.

Doctor Sanders isn't all that bad. He's like Doctor Ricci, the difference is that Doctor Sanders doesn't flirt like Ricci. Which is nice. When Doctor Ricci still worked here, he would constantly flirt with the nurses and residents, and oftentimes he would touch them inappropriately. I fucking despised him. The only good quality about him is that he was a good doctor. A surgeon, actually, and everyone adored him to the point they turned a blind eye to every one of his filthy habits.

In the few hours I've worked with Doctor Sanders today, he is always quiet. We've barely had any discussion or conversation and I liked that for a change. Doctor Ricci was arrogant and he talked a lot to the point he always talked out of point.

"Robyn, can you stop?" Doctor Sanders asks, the mask he's wearing muffled his words a little.

"What?"

"Can you please stop humming to that song and tapping your feet on the floor like an old person? That's not attractive at all." Okay, who cares?

"I hum to Roar when I'm stressed," I say.

Doctor Sanders sighs as he fights the urge to rub his temple. That's exactly what I've been doing this past hour, annoying the shit out of Doctor Sanders. I'm sure he's thinking about resigning already.

"Are you okay?" I ask, with mockery in my tone as I smirk at him.

"Please, stop humming. I can't concentrate on that loud annoying humming. It's like the whistling of a kettle." He says, with his very evident Scottish accent.

I roll my eyes.

"Sure thing, Sandals," I mutter, purposefully calling him sandals.

"Sanders." He corrects my wrong pronunciation of his name. "It's Doctor Sanders for you. Not Sanders or Sandals."

"Okay. Doctor Sandals." I say with a sly smirk. I'm never calling him Doctor Sanders anytime soon.

Doctor Sanders groans as he shakes his head and goes back to work. He's quitting tomorrow. I can tell already.

"Do you have a boyfriend, Robyn?" Doctor Sanders asks me after a long silence.

I sigh and bite the inside of my cheeks.

"No. Why?"

"Nothing. I'm just wondering how anyone can keep up with your loud humming. I've only known you for a few hours and I feel like quitting medicine entirely."

"What?" I chuckle. I shake my head and roll my eyes.

"I'm a fun person. I just try to stay positive and it seems it annoys a lot of people." I say, briefly glancing at the resident doctor standing next to me.

"Yeah. A lot of the nurses here don't like you. They think you pretend to be optimistic. You know, see the good in every bad situation." Doctor Sanders says and I roll my eyes. "And also, you're probably the most beautiful nurse in this hospital, so I think they're just jealous." Oh damn.

It's a line he's probably used before on different women and sadly it's not going to work on me if that's what he's hoping for.

I don't care much about flirty words from men and I don't let it affect my sense of thinking. Men would say anything to get into a woman's pants.

"Don't flatter yourself, Ms Denver. I'm not flirting with you. I am a professional man and I like to leave it that way." Huh-huh.

"Yeah, whatever," I mutter as I get back to my work, passing instruments to the doctor.

In my peripheral vision, I see Doctor Sanders staring at me for a brief moment.

"I feel like we'll be good friends. You might even turn out to be my favorite nurse. So far you're not bad. Except for your annoying humming." he says as he gives me a small smile.

"Thank you, Doctor Sandals." I grin at him.

He groans loudly and says, "I take everything I said back." I roll my eyes and chuckle.

I've always loved my profession as a nurse because I've always loved helping people. I might not be a registered nurse yet, but I love my job. I love to assist these patients and take care of them when they feel like they are not going to make it out alive.

Being born into a family with money can be profitable but in my case, it was suffocating to the point I couldn't breathe anymore. I have endured my parents' control and abuse for years until the day I decided I had to leave.

I went to high school in the UK after spending a few years in Italy and graduated from Middle School. I graduated from Stanford University with a business degree, one of the best schools in the United States. Throughout my years at Stanford, I was tempted to quit, to run away. But I knew better than anyone to try and do something like that. But during my sophomore year, I knew I had to try and get away. I didn't know how, but I had to start from somewhere. I had to make plans so that I didn't leave any trail behind for my family to follow.

Before I moved to New York, I lived in Italy with my family. Everything about my life and that of my siblings was planned by my parents. I came from a family with a long line of wealth. My parents are billionaires, with the police and the entire state in their pockets. They control everything just like they control the lives of my siblings and me. I couldn't get out, I just knew it even though I hadn't tried it then. We were puppets to my parents and they were the ones pulling the strings. Whatever we were told to do by my parents, is what we do. And that includes our education, the things we wear, what we eat, and our relationships.

My father wanted us to be in the family business and he made sure of it. I was his assistant, handling everything that concerned the family business.

The day I left Italy was four years ago. I'd been living in a shell and I couldn't breathe anymore. I had made up my mind that I wouldn't let my parents have power over me. I had to get out, far away to a place they could never find me. I had to leave the abuse, the hate, the control, and every negative thing that attached itself to my family. I had had enough. I didn't have control over anything anymore. My life was being controlled for me and I wanted to leave. To go someplace to start afresh, with my past and my secrets locked far away.

And I did just that. I entered my car one Sunday morning with nothing but my handbag and a bag full of cash as I drove out of the city without taking a second glance at the place I've always called home. I threw away my phone, my credit cards, and my identity card the minute I drove out of my family's estate and I never looked back.

The minute I stepped foot in New York City, I told myself I would be better. That I had escaped hell and I was going to live my best life. Freedom. I had just taken a bold step and there was no going back. I'm stronger now and independent.

It didn't take me a week to get an apartment and get into nursing school. My roommate, Monique, is my best friend. She's the best thing that has happened to me in a long time and till today I'm happy I met her in New York. She doesn't know who I am or the family I'm from. I made sure of that. I wanted to start afresh and I didn't need anything that would remind me of my past, especially since I was in hiding.

Today's Monique's birthday and I'm supposed to pick up her cake from her favorite bakery after my shift at the hospital. I quickly changed out of my scrubs and got dressed in a casual outfit. Cream-colored sweater, black jeans, and white sneakers. I tie my hair up in a loose ponytail as I grab my handbag and rush out of the hospital, not before waving to Tiwa, she's my friend too, and a nurse, goodbye.

I slip inside my car and drive out of the parking lot. I drive straight to the bakery and pick up Monique's cake. I pay the bakery owner and hurry out of her bakery with Monique's cake. My last stop is the mall. I need to pick up Monique's birthday present that I'm supposed to give to her once I get home.

I get out of my car with my handbag as I walk inside the mall. I walk toward the jewelry store. The salesgirl greets me as I pick up the customized, diamond necklace I planned on gifting Monique. She saw it online and she liked it and always wanted to get it for herself. But Monique couldn't afford it because it was kind of expensive, (her words), and also, according to Monique, there are better things to do with money. I pay for it, collect the receipt, and leave the mall.

I unlock my car and slip inside as I toss my handbag on the passenger's seat. I place Monique's birthday present close to her cake as I start the engine and try to back out of my parking spot. The loud bang behind me and the alarm of a car make me step on the break at once.

Oh, shit, did I hit something?

"Oh, God. What have you done, Robyn?"

I step on the gas pedal to quickly escape out of here before the owner of the car sees me and maybe something bad might happen after, but instead, I hit the car from behind again. I look down, frowning at my feet on the clutch pedal.

"Fuck." I curse, shaking my head.

How the hell did I pass my driving lessons? Oh, right. I didn't. My father didn't take any of his children to driving school. He just bought us cars and told us to "figure shit out".

I groan and look up at the rearview mirror as someone steps out of the backseat of a car.

Fuck me. Please, not the Royce, not the freakin' Rolls Royce.

It's the freakin' Rolls Royce. It's a black Rolls Royce. The new model. The expensive model. Compared to my 2010 Toyota Camry, I just hit an expensive and luxurious car that obviously belongs to someone rich.

When I left Italy, I didn't drive straight to New York. I sold my Ferrari halfway, took a train, a bus, and another train, just to make sure I wasn't being followed. Then I got a new car in New York. A car that doesn't scream class, but also doesn't scream "I'm broke as fuck." It wasn't all that cheap, but also it wasn't a luxurious car. And I made a promise to myself to avoid trouble and this happened to be one of them.

The first thing I see before the person steps out of the car is the expensive dress shoes. It's a man. A very tall man, I can tell by his long legs. He shuts the car door and buttons his suit jacket while glaring at me through my side mirror.

"Oh, shit." I sink into my car seat with my hands on the steering wheel, gripping onto it for dear life.

The man stops outside my driver's window as he glares at me. Like, damn, how is he this handsome?

I try to hide how perplexed I am at how attractive this man is as I stare at him through the driver's window. He's tall, with golden skin, and his hair is a shade of dark brown that's perfectly styled and slicked back. His face is that of a model, without blemishes, and his nose, how the hell is it that straight? His lips are a dark shade of red and his eyes are the most beautiful pair of blue I've ever seen. I almost got lost in his ocean-blue eyes.

I gulp.

He knocks on my window calmly as he glares at me, with his dark brooding stare.

"Roll down the window, will you?" I read his lips. I stare at him and slowly shake my head no.

I don't know this man or who he is, but I know one thing for sure; he's powerful and rich. I can literally smell the dominance and wealth from where I'm sitting in my car. He's intimidating, the kind of people I don't want to get involved with because they remind me of home. Of my family in Italy.

He looks like he's in haste as he knocks on my window again. Harder this time.

"Roll down the fucking window, will you?" I read his lips again. His eyebrows are knitted and he looks like he wants to break my car window and pull me out.

Okay. Time to get out of here, Robyn.

I step on my accelerator as I speedily drive out of the parking lot. Far away from that hot stranger.

I catch my breath inside my car as I shut it down. I'm in the parking lot of my apartment building, head leaning against my car seat. I'm stressed out of my mind due to the overtime I've been working at the hospital.

Today is Monique's birthday and I have to be there for her. I unlock my car, with the cake and my handbag in my right hand and the birthday present on my left as I shut the door with my foot.

I walk into the lobby, greet the doorman, and head straight to the elevator. I press open the elevator as I step inside and press my floor button. The elevator rides up as I lean against the wall, tapping my feet on the floor impatiently. The elevator slides open and I step out, almost running into someone.

"Shit." I curse.

"I'm so sorry." A masculine voice says.

I balance the things I'm carrying as I look up. Tyler stands in front of me, dressed in his signature bad-boy clothes.

"Hello, Tyler," I say, plastering up a small smile.

"You're just coming back from work." Isn't that obvious?

"Yeah."

"Are you guys having a party?"

"Not really. It's Monique's birthday today and I got her a cake. We are probably gonna have a girls' night together, nothing big." I say, trying to sidestep him, but he moves to stand in front of me.

"I'm sorry, Robyn. I just... I've been meaning to talk to you for a while now and I know you're busy with work. I just... would you be free tomorrow Saturday?"

"Sorry." I smack my lips, feigning disappointment. "I've got work."

"What about Sunday?" He asks, licking his bottom lip.

"Still gonna be at work," I mutter, stepping to the left, but he moves to stand in front of me again.

"Can you get out of my way, Tyler?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." He runs his fingers through his hair and moves to the side.

I roll my eyes and walk past him toward my apartment. I can feel Tyler's eyes on my back and it just creeps me out. Tyler stays in the building, right on my floor. I don't know the type of job he does and it has never crossed my mind. He goes out in the morning sometimes and comes back in the evening and how do I know that? We always see each other in the lobby, the elevator, and even the parking lot.

Tyler moved in two years ago and ever since then, he's found me interesting and I don't even know why. Each time we cross paths, he always stops me and tries to start a conversation which is always awkward. Tyler is attractive, but he's not my type. And like I said, relationships are the last thing on my mind and even though I want to give someone a chance, it's definitely not going to be Tyler.

I pull out my key, unlock the door, and push it open. I step inside the apartment and shut the door with my foot.

The house smells nice like someone just made dinner. Monique isn't supposed to be at home until 8 in the evening, at least that's what she told me.

"Robyn." I spin around at the sound of my name, my heart already dropped to the floor.

"Monique, what the fuck?"

She smiles, her eyes scanning the things in my hand. "Oh, Robyn, honey, did I startle you?"

"Oh, fuck off." I turn around and head toward the kitchen with Monique on my tail.

"What are you doing here? You said you won't be back until 8." I say, placing the items on the countertop.

Monique stands on the opposite side as she leans her arms on the counter, her eyes on the already-wrapped present.

"You got me this?" Monique asks, a big smile on her lips as she reaches forward to grab the gift. I swat her hands away.

"Don't touch. You gotta tell me what you're doing here first."

"I left early. It's my birthday, duh."

"Right. I got you cake. We're gonna light up a candle and you're gonna make a wish." I say.

"Can I open my present first?" Monique asks, giggling like a teenage girl.

"Yeah. Knock yourself out."

"Okay. I'm already flattered trying to open it."

"Stop being a baby. It's nothing huge." I wave her off, walking to the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

I shut the fridge and lean my back against it as I watch Monique rip out the wrap. As dramatic as always, she slowly picks up the jewelry box as she opens it, mouth wide open and her eyes widened.

"You got me this?" she asks, giddily, picking up the necklace as she places it on her left palm. "Oh, my god, Robbie. You bought me this? I mean you remembered? And you even got it customized."

I smile. "Of course. Well, you won't shut up about it, but it's nothing."

She surprisingly wraps her arms around me in an embrace. "You're a darling. I mean I love you so much, you can't begin to fathom."

"Nah, it's okay. It's just a gift."

She pulls back, hands on my shoulders as she stares at me. "This is not just a gift. This is what I've been secretly admiring and this cost more than ten thousand grand. Where did you get that kind of money?"

"It doesn't matter. It's your birthday present and you deserve it."

Monique smiles warmly and hugs me again. "Thank you so much, sis. I love you."

"You're welcome. I'm starving. Is there any food?" I ask.

Monique steps away, keeping back the necklace inside the box.

"I didn't make anything. I just entered not too long ago when you showed up."

"Right. I'll just order."

"Great. Did you stumble upon Tyler in the hallway?" Monique asks, smirking as she wiggles her brows.

"Ew. What's that look?"

"It means Tyler is hot and you're single. There's nothing wrong with giving him a shot. I mean I know he lives in our building, and you're the last person who would date a man from our building, but dude, he's a charm."

"That guy looks like a fucking serial killer. Like he creeps me out."

Monique raises her eyebrows. "Seriously? You're the only person who's ever said Tyler creeps you out."

"And look at his name. Tyler." I groan. "Names of men that will cheat on you and break your heart, Tyler tops that list. I don't like him." And that's final.

I've never been wrong about anyone before, it's part of my superpower. And I mean it when I say Tyler creeps me the fuck out. He's charming, sure. Attractive, obviously, but he's not even my type.

"Yeah, whatever," Monique mutters. "Also, you're not gonna believe what happened today."

"What?"

"Well, you know about my recent gig. How I've been modeling for Didi & Morgan, AKA D&M. The jewelry company."

"Yeah, I know them."

"Well, there's this party tonight. Not just an ordinary party, but a really big party. You know the type, right? There are gonna be important people there. Well, my publicist talked to the person in charge and they did me a birthday favor. I got two invites. One for you and one for me."

"No shit."

"Yeah." Monique chuckles. "You're in, right?"

"Damn, right, I'm in. It's your birthday, we are doing whatever you want." I say.

"Thanks, Robyn. I know how you're with parties like this, but I'm glad we are doing this tonight. You're not gonna regret it."

"I know I won't," I say, but yet I don't trust the words that just left my mouth.

I'm definitely going to regret it.

My parents are ballers. Back at home, my family and I were always storming parties. Parties that shake the city. Parties where billionaires are present. The minute I came here, I tried to stay away from parties like that so I wouldn't accidentally bump into a colleague of my parents or an acquaintance. Monique and I frequently visited clubs on the weekend to burn away some steam and stress from our jobs, and on some other weekends, we would drive outside the city sightseeing.

Tonight is something different and a part of me is telling me I would regret it.

Monique and I first met three weeks after I got my apartment, this apartment. It wasn't luxurious but it fitted my new identity. It had everything I wanted and it was just perfect. I wanted a roommate, someone I could trust. I had put up several ads online looking for a roommate and I got a few. I didn't like any of them.

Then one morning when I went outside for a run, and I stopped by a cafe to grab coffee, that was when I met Monique. It was clear like it happened yesterday. Monique was sitting close to the translucent window as she toyed with her cup of coffee while constantly staring outside. Her braids were in a bun and her skin was like chocolate, brown, and rich. Instantly, I knew we were going to be best friends.

I walked up to her table and asked if I could sit. She didn't mind. There was a big luggage bag next to her and it looked as if she was on tour. We'd talked and I asked her about her bag, joking about her being a tourist, but she laughed and said she just got into town and she was in desperate need of an apartment. And just like that, I offered her to stay and not pay half the rent. Monique insisted but I didn't let her.

Later she told me she was into modeling and she moved to New York to secure better gigs. Monique started small, begging to be featured even if it was for free. But now, she's the model behind top brands in the city and there are billboards of her in every corner of the city. I've never been this proud of someone else's achievement before. Monique is beautiful, a bit taller than me by three or four inches, compared to my 5'6 frame. Her skin, unlike my olive skin, is a beautiful brown. She's slender, with little curves in the right places and long-toned legs. Compared to my size 8 body, I have more curves than Monique. Monique and I may come from different backgrounds, but we share similar interests.

And storming high-end parties isn't part of that similar interest.

"What are we gonna wear?" I ask Monique, pulling out my phone to order pizza.

"Yeah, about that. We have to look like we belong."

"Yeah, well, there are a few dresses in my closet that I haven't worn since I got them. I could pick one from the flock." I flash Monique a smile as I walk out of the kitchen, with Monique on my tail.

"Yeah. I could check my closet for a dress. I'm sure there's something to wear in there."

I pause to look at her. "You're serious?" I smile and shake my head.

"What?" Monique asks, throwing her hands in the air exaggeratedly.

"If you don't mind me asking. What are the kind of people that are gonna be there?"

"Billionaires, millionaires, maybe a few actresses, and businessmen. You know what I mean." Monique wraps her slender arm around my shoulder. "You're gonna like it. And if you don't, we are gonna leave there immediately. I promise."

"Great. And just so you know, I don't have a problem with parties like these like you like to put it. I just don't like being in the same room as these rich assholes who feel like they control the world and everything in it."

Monique drops her arm. "In a way rich people actually control the world."

"God, I fucking hate you." I groan, heading toward my bedroom as Monique follows, chuckling.

"And if we get lucky, we might actually get some tonight," Monique says. That stops me right on track.

"What are we getting, Monique?" I ask, crossing my arms as I give her a judgemental look.

"Robyn, you know what I mean." She smirks.

"I'm not hooking up with a stranger."

"Who says anything about hooking up? You're not a baby, Robyn. And in case you've forgotten we're both fucking single."

"For me, it's by choice." And that's true.

"That's not the point. That coochie needs some. You're starving it."

"Ew. Who still says coochie, by the way?" I ask, chuckling. Monique smiles.

"Robyn, you need a man," Monique says, her arms crossed as she stares at me like my mom would every time I'd fuck shit up.

"Monique, I don't need a man. Why does everybody think I need a man?"

"Have you maybe sat down for a second and thought about why everyone thinks you need a man?"

I scoff and shake my head. I fucking hate this conversation and where it's going.

"You don't even have a man, Monique. You're single, just like me."

"Mine is not by choice. You know I've dated a few men..."

"And things turned pretty ugly the minute you started dating."

"Stop being judgemental."

"I'm not. I just want you to know that I don't need a man. I'm happy the way I am." I glare at her and continue my journey down the hall.

"You're not dodging this conversation," Monique says as I unlock my bedroom door and step in.

"Well, you're wrong. I am." I say and shut the door in her face.

Fuck.

"I hear you use your vibrator at night. You should get someone, even if it's a side-piece." Monique says from the other side of my bedroom door, chuckling.

I gasp. "Fuck you, Monique Palmer! And stay out of my shit." I groan.

God, I hate it when she's right. I've only dated one man since I moved to New York. His name was Damien. We dated for a year until I cut things off. He didn't cheat, in fact, he was too loyal. I was always absent in our relationship because I was trying to graduate nursing school with good grades and I was always in my head. He was patient, and he tried to fix it even when I got a job at St. José.

I got bored. I wasn't feeling it and I felt like Damien was too basic. He was too sweet for me and I knew in the end I was going to hurt him. So I had to tell him we needed to stop seeing each other. He didn't try to inquire why I was breaking up with him, it was as if he knew I was going to break things off sooner than he wished. Damien had smiled at me after I gave him the news as he walked away.

I haven't seen Damien ever since that fateful day.

I wasn't a big fan of hooking up with different men because I wanted to get off. I could always get pleasure without seeking men. Monique thinks a woman should always seek pleasure from men now and then. But I think otherwise. And ever since I broke things off with Damien, I haven't bothered to date anyone. I have hooked up with a few men and that was a year and a half ago and since then I haven't been with a man. Men have asked me out on several occasions and even at my workplace but I'm not interested.

Relationships are overrated anyway. There's always so much commitment that I'm not prepared for. After what happened back in Italy, I am not ready to risk getting into a serious relationship with anyone. Not now, not anytime soon.

"This is the venue?" I ask Monique, looking out the tinted window of her Maserati.

"Yup. Doesn't look like it, right?" She asks as she unfastens her seatbelt. "The real shit happens at the top. Come on." She tilts her head to the left as she unlocks the door.

I expel a breath as I open my side door and step outside. I shut the door after me as I try to balance my clutch under my armpit while pulling down my bodycon dress. Tonight I made sure not to over-dress. I'm wearing a red corset dress, with a Vneck and a spaghetti strap, with matching white heels and a white clutch. Monique wears a strapless dark blue sequin dress that stops mid-thigh. Her black heels are with straps that are perfectly wrapped around her toned legs, matched with a black bag. Her braids are securely wrapped in a perfect bun.

Damn, she looks really pretty.

We walk into the lobby side by side as we head to the elevator.

"Are you nervous?" Monique asks as we ride the elevator.

"I'm not." And that's the truth.

I'm familiar with parties like this, all thanks to my parents.

"Great."

"Are you gonna get drunk?"

"Probably." Monique winks at me.

"Meaning you're planning on getting some tonight."

"God, you're smart. You should too."

"We've been over this topic, Monique. I don't want a man."

"And I get it. Trust me."

I turn to look at her. "You do? That's a first." I say as I turn to look at my reflection on the elevator wall.

Monique rolls her eyes at me. "I just mean you should let off some steam tonight. Just tonight. No regrets."

"Please don't tell me this is like a sex party."

"It's not. But rich people are capable of anything." Monique says with a grin as the elevator opens and we step into a well-lit space.

This place looks like a club but with fewer lights and colors. There are no strip poles, so definitely it's not a strip club. There's a bar at the corner with a counter and barstools where you can sit and order different alcoholic beverages. There are a few couches scattered around with wealthy men and women already occupying them as they talk and laugh.

There's a stage and Lora Reign, the RNB pop star, mounts it as she sings into a mic. She looks better than the last time I saw her. Dad brought her to Italy six years ago, during my parents' wedding anniversary.

"This place is lit," I mutter.

"Right?" Monique giggles.

"You're a child." I smile at her.

She nudges my side. "I'm just glad you like it."

"Monique Palmer." A female voice calls as we turn to the source of the voice.

It's a woman, a blonde, actually, dressed in a red floor-length dress with almost half her cleavage popPINg out. She's hot. And I feel like she tried too much.

"Lenore, hi." The woman wraps her arms around Monique for a brief embrace before they pull apart. She gives Monique a quick once over and smiles.

"You look stunning. I'm glad Margot invited you tonight. I'm sorry I didn't invite you myself."

Monique waves her off. "It's okay."

The woman turns to look at me, trying to picture me if I belong here or not. I get it, most of the people here are models, actresses, actors, popular and wealthy businessmen and women and I don't fit into any of the categories.

"This is my best friend, Robyn. My plus one."

"Right. I've heard so much about you. I'm Lenore."

"Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine." She gives me a fake smile. What a bitch.

"Have fun." Lenore waves at Monique and walks away.

"What a phony," I mutter.

"Yeah, I fucking hate that bitch." Monique says as she expels her breath. "You wanna go grab a drink?"

"Yeah," I say as we walk toward the bar.

"How did you two know each other?"

"We work for the same company. Shawty thinks we're in a competition or some shit."

"Damn. That must be hard for you."

"It's not. I just have to avoid her and pretend like she doesn't even exist. It works well." Monique says as we both occupy the vacant barstools.

"What are you getting?" I ask Monique, going through the drink menu.

"A Negroni."

"Great. I'm going with Sex On the Beach. I can't remember the last time I ever got drunk. I've been working my ass off."

"Last week."

I turn to look at Monique. "What?"

"You said you can't remember the last time you got drunk. So I said last week. We got drunk last week."

I chuckle. "You're a bitch."

Monique chuckles as she smiles. "And about working your ass off, you need to wind down a little. If you don't get to secure a spot as a registered nurse at St. José, you could always work someplace else."

"It's not easy. I mean it's easy but I just love working there."

"What are you scared of? You're good. You're good with the patients and people love you."

"You mean the men love me. The women think I'm a phony. They think I do too much."

"They just jealous. You're pretty, you're hardworking, you're easily likable, so they scared. So they go about talking shit just because they are scared of you, sweetheart." Monique says as she smiles at me. "So I want you to wind down a little. You're stressing yourself too much."

"Thanks. Where's the bartender anyway?"

Monique waves at one of the bartenders as he approaches us.

"Ready to order?" He asks, eyeing me for a quick second before turning to look at Monique.

"Yeah. One Negroni and One Sex On The Beach. Thank you." Monique says to the bartender. He nods, eyes me for another second as he walks away to prepare our drinks.

"Did you see that? The bartender was just eyefucking you."

"No, he wasn't."

"Of course, he was. He looked like he wanted to rip your clothes off and eat you. Well, I've noticed a few men throw glances at you. You look hot."

I glare at Monique. She smiles and giggles.

"I'm not interested. I'm not 'getting some' tonight."

"Your loss. There are a lot of hot men tonight. I've seen a few."

"I wish you luck."

The bartender comes back with our drinks and places them in front of us, once again staring at me longer than I'd want.

"Is there something on my face?" I ask the bartender, grabbing my glass of drink and bringing it to my lips while maintaining eye contact with the bartender.

He fakes a cough and asks, "What?"

"I said, is there something on my face? You've been staring."

The bartender blushes as he rubs his nape. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm just... you look really beautiful."

I raise my eyebrows and flash him a small smile. "Thanks." I pull out my credit card from my purse and give it to him. "For our drinks."

"Oh, sure." He nods once and walks away, looking disappointed.

"You just hurt his feelings."

"Well, fuck you very much," I say as Monique chuckles, grabbing her drink and taking a sip.

"I'm gonna be right back. I just sighted someone." Monique says and stands up. She grabs her glass of drink and scurries away.

I watch her walk toward a man and a woman who looks like they're having a friendly chat. The man is definitely trying to coerce the woman into his bed.

"Your PIN, ma'am." A voice says as I turn around. It's the bartender, stretching the POS machine at me.

I input my PIN as he processes my payment and hands me my card.

"Thank you." I give him a small smile as he nods and walks away.

I roll my eyes, opening my purse to toss my debit card in. I take several sips from my drink as I scan the room filled with wealthy people. This party brings back memories, memories I don't want to remember.

My eyes fall on a familiar face as I nearly choke on my drink.

It can't be.

I stare harder, trying to lie to myself that there's no way the universe can make us meet again after I hit his car. But, fuck no. The universe has other plans because he raises his head and our eyes lock for a long second, recognition embracing his facials.

Fuck. It's him. It's definitely him.

Just when I thought I was going to have a normal life, I hit a rich man's car and ran away and then I had to run into him at a celebrity's party.

Aren't I the luckiest girl in the world?

With our eyes still locked in an intense battle, he raises his eyebrows, scowling at me like I'm a rebellious child. I look away, knowing nothing good is going to come out of that look as I throw my head back and gulp my entire drink.

I need to get out of here.

"Wow, now slow down, lady." A masculine voice says beside me. I place my empty glass of drink in front of me and turn toward the source of the voice.

Omar Sharif. He's a Hollywood actor, a hotshot for a while until someone new and hotter overtook his throne. He's dressed in a dark blue suit, brown skin glowing. Well, at least he's hotter in real life.

Omar puts up a flirtatious smile that I'm already used to as he stretches his hand to me for a handshake.

"I'm Omar. Now, who might you be, beautiful lady?"

I look down at his hand, refusing to shake it. Omar looks disappointed as he pulls his hand away.

"I'm Robyn."

"Robyn." He tests my name on his tongue as he smirks. "Rare but unique. You look stunning, Robyn." Omar says, slowly bringing his gaze down my body.

Fuck, I hate that look.

I hate it when men look at me like that. There is nothing pure about that look. They're simply telling you they don't give a shit about you, they just want you on their sheets. No pun intended.

What an asshole.

"What do you want?" I blatantly ask. Omar looks offended as he raises his eyebrows for a second.

"Um... I don't think you know who I am."

"Omar Sharif. You were Hollywood's hotshot for a while. Heard you got yourself a Bentley. You won't even shut up about it on social media. I know you, Omar, I'm just not interested."

"You don't have to be a fucking bitch, you know that?" Now, he's being paranoid. "You should be lucky I'm here talking to you."

"Yeah, because you're a god and I'm a fucking nobody," I say with sarcasm. "Kindly fuck off, Mr. Hotshot." I roll my eyes and look away, turning my head toward the direction I saw him earlier but he's not there.

Is my mind playing a trick on me?

"You're gonna regret this." Omar's voice draws me out of my head as I turn to look at him.

He stands, giving me a stink eye as he buttons his suit jacket and walks away.

Yeah, I definitely bruised his ego.

My eyes meet the bartender from earlier as he looks away, pretending to wipe clean one of the cocktail glasses. I stand up, desperately craving for fresh air, but the last person I expected to be standing in front of me, is standing in front of me, towering over me with his hands in his pants pockets.

"Look who it is. The car smasher." He says, with a strange underlying tone that I can't recognize.

He gives me a quick once over, bringing his eyes down my body to check me out before he locks eyes with me. His ocean eyes stare into my soul as I look for words. He's wearing a black custom-made suit paired with a white dress shirt. His skin, golden. His dark brown hair is slicked back, with a few stubborn strands on either side of his perfectly shaped face. I'd be lying if I said this man doesn't look attractive and good-looking. Right now, he looks like a god, watching me, scrutinizing me.

"You should close your mouth, anything could sneak in at this point." Wow, he's a fucking asshole.

I clamp my mouth shut, not realizing until he mentioned that I've been staring at him with my mouth wide open.

"Leaving so soon?" He asks, taking his hands out of his pants pockets.

I open my mouth to say something, but then I decide against it and clamp my mouth shut. Worst case scenario, I'm just going to have to pay for his car that I hit.

"Not really. I wanted to get fresh air."

He nods. "Enjoying the party then?" He asks like we're friends.

"I am."

"So she can talk? For a second I thought you were mute." He says. I hate the fact that he's fucking rude but yet his baritone voice sends chills down my sPINe.

"Look, I'm sorry. I know I hit your car but I didn't mean to run away. I wasn't looking and I didn't mean to hit your car."

"Twice."

"Yeah. I may have not passed my driving lessons."

"Right." He nods once, bringing his eyes down my body for a second before locking eyes with me.

I do not understand that look. But I'm pretty sure the reason behind his look is not a good one. One look at him from my driver's window earlier today and I know he's a powerful man. I had to leave the scene of the crime as fast as I could.

"I'm guessing you didn't think we would ever meet again." True.

"Why did you run?" He asks, slipPINg his hands into his pants pockets.

"Look, it doesn't matter. I'm gonna pay for it. If you want, I can send you the money for the cost so you'd understand I'm sincerely sorry."

"Alright. It's $25,000 for the cost. And an extra 10k for repairs."

"What?" I want to pull at my hair and yell at him for being annoying.

I stare at him, with so much anger running through my veins. I'm angry that he has to be so calm and collected while I'm trying so hard not to throw a tantrum. I can't read his looks because there's nothing to read. Not one ounce of emotion is sketched on his handsome face. It's just blank.

"35k for a scratch?" I'm trying not to yell, but it's so hard not to when he's being a jerk on purpose. "Your car wasn't totaled. It was a scratch, a little scratch and it wasn't on purpose. There's no way a scratch would cost $35,000."

He expels a breath and takes a step forward until we're a few inches apart. He looks me in the eye and I don't back down either, matching his gaze.

"You know what? Whatever. I don't have cash with me right now but I can do a transfer."

"I don't need your money, sweetheart." Sweetheart?

"You just told me the repairs for your car that I scratched is $35,000."

"That's correct and I've fixed it. You're gonna pay for it but I don't need your money."

Is he kidding me? How the fuck am I supposed to pay for it?

"Keep it at the back of your mind that you owe me." He voices out, his voice calm and soothing.

For the millionth time tonight, he slowly brings his gaze down my body, taking his time. Then slowly he smirks, a reaction I didn't see coming.

"Nice dress by the way... Robyn." Then he winks and walks away, leaving me standing there looking like an idiot and stunned.

How the fuck did he know my name?