The Billionaire Redeems Me

Kendra

I blinked against the dim light, and the ceiling came into focus. My head throbbed, a reminder of yet another night of poor decisions and heavy drinking pretending to be fun. I squinted, trying to shake off the haze, with the smell of whiskey and sweat hanging in the air.

The sheets were warm. My fingers clutched the edge of the covers as I pushed myself upright. The room was a blur of shadows and muted gold. I brushed my hair out of my face, holding the blanket to my chest, and turned toward the man beside me.

He was still asleep and looking at him now, when my brain had cleared, I wondered how the fuck I ended up with such a man. His face was unfairly perfect: sharp jaw, smooth skin kissed by the faintest stubble, and lashes long enough to make any woman jealous. His mouth had that kind of careless curve that suggested he smiled just to get away with things.

Great. Another pretty mistake.

I swung my legs off the bed. My dress tangled on the carpet, with one heel perched on the mattress near his thigh and the other abandoned by the door. My bra, somehow, was halfway across the room. I frowned. How the hell had he managed that? I let no one take my bra off.

Pulling it on felt like reclaiming something small but necessary. I slipped into my dress, keeping it quiet because I was on a mission.

The man shifted, and I froze. He rolled onto his back; the sheet sliding down to reveal a long, lean thigh, and a thin scar cutting across it. A scar like that didn’t come from office work. Maybe he climbed cliffs for sport, or perhaps he just liked dangerous hobbies. Either way, that was not my problem.

I gathered my things, making sure not to leave any trace behind. I didn’t do morning-after conversations or polite smiles.

When I turned to leave, I examined the room for the first time. It wasn’t some random hotel suite. It was a suite with crystal chandeliers, gold accents, and an interior that screamed old money.

I snorted under my breath. Whoever designed it knew half of what they were doing. It could look better.

I slipped out of the room, careful not to wander around the suite. There was no time for that. Once outside, I checked both directions along the long hallway until I spotted the elevator glowing at the far end. I headed toward it, still unsure how we had even reached this floor after leaving the club. Had we wandered through the lobby looking lost?

While I waited for the elevator, I called my driver. He knew the rhythm of Fridays, so he was always alert.

Inside the elevator, I caught my reflection in the mirror and sighed. I dug a wipe from my bag and cleaned my face. By the time the elevator reached the ground floor, I looked almost human again.

The lobby guards greeted me with professional smiles, which wasn’t normal, but I ignored them. The early morning air outside sliced through the leftover fog in my head.

It wasn’t until I stepped out that I realized I was in one of the Banks five five-star hotels. It was the place men booked when they wanted to impress someone they didn’t deserve.

I stood at the curb, scrolling through emails and checking the unanswered messages my secretary left.

A black car pulled up, and my driver stepped out to open the door.

“Goodmorning, Ma’am?” He greeted me as I slid in. He got inside too and asked, “Where to?”

“Home,” I said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I leaned back, and memories of last night rushed in. Another man added to the list of men I needed to forget. I pushed the thoughts away before they slipped into detail. I was on a mission to shut it all out. Still, the truth weighed in me. Everything that happened lingered with sharp, stubborn clarity. It was like he knew what he was doing, and his mission was to make me never forget the night. But I always do.

By the time I got home, showered, and scraped off the remains of last night, the sun had already risen. I dressed fast and left for the office.

The moment I stepped inside the firm, movement shifted. Employees straightened, voices dropped, and footsteps quickened. The usual panic that followed my presence filled the air, and I didn’t need to say a thing.

My secretary, June, met me halfway through the hallway, clutching a file, like it might save her. “Goodmorning, ma’am,” she started, keeping a pace behind me. “I was going to brief you about last week’s client who reached out yesterday and confirmed that he was satisfied with our work.”

We reached my office. I pushed the door open and walked in, the click of my heels echoing against the marble floor. “Where’s today’s schedule?”

“I already sent it to you,” She said quickly.

I set my handbag on the desk and turned to her, one hand on my hip, the other braced on the edge of the desk. “I didn’t get any schedule.”

Her eyes darted to her tablet. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Let me check.”

I stared at her while she tapped the screen like it might magically fix itself. “And what time is it? Didn’t I make it clear when you are supposed to send the schedules?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it didn’t send.”

“Could it be the internet? Or are emails just refusing to leave your outbox these days? Am I not paying for the internet, the software, and every damn thing you need to make sure I get what I ask for?”

Her shoulders stiffened. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

I pulled out my chair and sat down, already turning on my laptop. “I don’t pay you to inconvenience me. Send me the mail again, then review that file and get the information ready. I want the team assembled before I finish this coffee.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I opened my inbox, fingers moving fast over the keyboard, checking client reports and invoices.

June lingered by the door, then said, “And, ma’am … your father called and left a message.”

I didn’t look up. “I’m not interested in any messages.”

She hesitated, then answered. “Alright.”

“Get the field team ready,” I said, eyes still on the screen. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She slipped out, the door closing softly behind her. I exhaled and leaned back in my chair for a second before refocusing on the open document. I had a new client who wanted his mansion designed. Looking through the details, it was one of the few large projects I had done interior design work on.

Running K&K Interiors had never been easy. Getting my company’s name into the right rooms required consistency and a refusal to let anything slip. People never trusted new firms. They waited for someone else to test you first, so I made sure no project ever left my hands unfinished. Even the smallest ones carried my signature, and my signature had to be flawless.

I had earned everything through sleepless nights. Eventually, K&K grew into one of the most respected firms in California. Cutting people out, even family, was the best decision I ever made. It made room for the work.

But other times, it was not a choice but a shield. There were days when I chased distraction just to stop thinking. Like Friday nights with men whose names I forgot as soon as the night ended. A drink I did not need. A momentary rush that dissolved by morning. Itfilled nothing, but I kept going back to it anyway.

I shook the thought off, unsure why it even surfaced. Yet the memory of last night settled in, and I pressed my thighs together as if his mouth were still on me. Who even does that? Every man before him went straight to the point and ended it just as quickly. But the perfect stranger from last night took his time, exploring me like he meant to claim every part of me.

And I hated how much I wanted to feel that again. But I never sleep with the same man twice.

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