Chapter 1 DRUNK?
Chapter One
Constantine’s POV
The first thing I register is the heavy pounding in my skull, and it is a merciless reminder of last night’s catastrophic decisions. I got dumped by my boyfriend or, ex, now and in an attempt to drown my sorrows away and be a bad bitch, I went out for a drink.
My eyelids fly open and damn, why was I so sensitive to light? Did I die? Did I turn into a vampire?
I groan, rubbing my stinging eyes. The morning light pours through the cracks in my blinds. My room smells like stale perfume, vodka, and poor judgment, the unholy trinity of my weekend.
Shit.
I bolt upright, and I instantly regret the move. My head spins, and I see the room twirl around me. My tongue feels like sandpaper, and my throat burns as the bitter taste of alcohol and most definitely regret creeps higher.
What time is it?
I reach for my phone, knocking an empty bottle of tequila off the nightstand. It hits the floor with a dull thud. I had even brought alcohol home last night. How? Why? Was i that drunk? The screen blinks to life, and my stomach twists into a violent knot.
9:23 AM.
My interview! Oh no! Nononono.
The word slices through the fog in my brain like a blade, sending me flying out of the bed in a panic. My hands fumble with the mess of clothes on the floor which consisted of last night’s black dress, it was wrinkled and it reeked of booze and…wait. I sniff in, and my dress smell like perfume that isn't mine. It is a manly perfume.
I drop it aside. I don't have to think about last night. I rush to the bathroom, taking a very quick bath.
I shuffle through my closet with trembling hands, finally settling on a simple cream blouse and a black pencil skirt. It looks professional, and clean. Good.
My hair’s a tangled mess, but there’s no time for perfection. My interview started 23 minutes ago. I yank it into a loose bun and dab on concealer like a soldier smearing war paint, hoping it’ll mask my tired eyes.
When I finally rush out the door, my heels clicking against cracked pavement, as I wait for a taxi. I stand for five minutes. I see none.
Shit.
My stomach feels like a tangled nervous mess.
This is it, Constantine. Pull yourself together. You’ve worked too damn hard to let one wild night and one jerk of an ex screw it all up.
The city is already alive, streets humming with very loud car honks, the scent of roasted coffee beans and exhaust mingling in the air when I pass by a coffee shop, my stomach growling, reminding me i havent had anything to eat. I dodge pedestrians like obstacles in some video game, cursing at this couple I see in front of me, acting all lovey dovey and walking slowly in front of me.
Who the actual fuck walks around, acting aĺl lovey in the streets at 9 in the morning?
I hiss at them, hurrying past them, the sound of my heels hitting the sidewalk.
The towering glass building comes into view, its sleek design making me stand for a second to stare at it in wonder and awe. Wyatt Enterprises. The name alone is enough to make my palms sweat. The company isn’t just big — it’s legendary. Landing this job would mean finally crawling out of the hole I’ve spent years drowning in.
But I’m already late. So fucking late.
I dart across the street, nearly getting run over by a taxi, and sprint toward the revolving glass doors, my chest tightening with each step.
The lobby is too pristine, too perfect. It was all marble and chrome, with polished floors that reflect every scuffed inch of my heels. The reception desk is ahead of me but I barely make it halfway before I collide with something solid. Or rather, someone.
Hot liquid explodes against my chest, soaking straight through the thin fabric of my blouse. My breath catches in my throat as I stagger back, the sharp scent of hot coffee filling the air.
‘Shit!’ I gasp, staring down at the growing brown stain spreading across my top. ‘You have got to be kidding me…’
‘Watch where you’re going,’ a deep, smooth voice snaps, sharp enough to cut through my panic.
My head jerks up, and that’s when I see him.
The man standing in front of me looks like he stepped out of a Calvin Klein ad. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and he exudes the kind of quiet authority that could silence a room. His jet-black hair is perfectly tousled in a way that looks both effortless and annoyingly deliberate, like he woke up flawless.
And his eyes, piercing, ice-blue and framed by thick dark lashes settle on me with a blend of annoyance and something else I can’t quite place. His jaw is sharp, dusted with just enough stubble to hint at a long night, and his tailored dark jeans cling to his legs like a second skin. Not too tight. A little bit free to be called baggy. He’s dressed casually in a simple black T-shirt stretched across a chest built like…oh fuck.
Something flickers at the back of my mind, a strange tug, like I’ve seen him before. But the memory is slippery, and all I can see is that flashing neon lights of the club.
‘You deaf too, or just blind?’ he adds, cocking his head slightly.
The words snap me back to the moment, the sting of embarrassment spreading faster than the coffee soaking through my blouse. My cheeks flush hot, my throat tightening around the million sharp responses that want to claw their way out.
I bite down hard, swallowing them all.
Because I’m already late. Because this job interview is the only thing keeping me from going back to serving drinks for minimum wage and fending off handsy drunks at two in the morning. Because this arrogant stranger isn’t worth the fight, no matter how annoyingly gorgeous he is.
‘I’m— You're the one that bumped into me. You should apologise!’ I retort.
He only sneers at me, giving me one sweeping glance, his mouth twitching at the corners like he’s both amused and irritated, and steps past me without a word.
W–okay…that was so fucking rude. I would've chased after him to give him a piece of my mind, but I stand there frozen, coffee dripping from my blouse,my heart hammering in my ears, and something sharp twisting in my chest.
Why did he look so familiar? That jawline. Those eyes.
And why the hell did my stomach do that stupid little flip when he spoke?
I shake the thought away, forcing my feet into motion. The silver elevator is ahead of me and I take a deep exasperated breath. I don't have time to go wash this mess off.
Instead, I grab the suit blazers from my bag and toss it over my shoulders, buttoning it to hide the stain marks.
I don’t have time for distractions. Not now. Not today.
But as the doors slide open, I catch one last glimpse of him standing a few feet away, casually leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone as if the universe itself revolved around his schedule.
Something about him sticks to the back of my mind, stubborn and unshakable.
I don’t know his name.
I don’t know who he is.
But for some reason, I can’t shake the feeling I’ve met him before.
The elevator dings and I step inside, clutching my bag to my chest like a shield, my heart still tangled in knots.
As the numbers climb higher and the doors slide open again on the interview floor, my eyes scan the hallway, nerves boiling over into pure panic.
I clutch to my bag as tight as I can and take a deep breath. The elveator door snaps open and I rush to the counter, telling the woman behind it that I was here for the interview. She looks at me from my head to my toe and her face twists into something I can’t recognise. She points at the interview room and I take a deep breath, and just immediately, someone from inside calls my name.
I step into the room and as soon as I step inside, the cold voice of an interviewer makes me freeze on my tracks.