One Night, Wrong Man

Chapter 3 — Just a Name.

-POV Derby

By Monday I’d almost convinced myself it was over.

Not in some dramatic way. Just… closed. Like shutting a tab you left open too long and deciding not to open it again.

I made coffee that tasted like nothing. Went to work. Answered emails acting like the weekend had never happened, like I hadn’t spent Friday night— letting a stranger finish my sentences and Saturday morning sneaking out of his bed with his scent still on my skin. I kept repeating I’m fine until I almost believed myself.

But the name kept catching somewhere in my chest anyway.

Vasquez.

Every time I thought about it, something in me tightened again. I’d googled it once on Saturday, told myself it was harmless curiosity, then slammed the tab shut when the results looked too important. I’d closed the tab immediately after that. Smart, end of story.

The office was the usual Monday chaos — Maya waving from accounts, the printer jammed again, my manager’s 8:54 “quick sync” that was never quick. I sat at my desk, opened the backlog, and tried to disappear into the routine.

Until a new email landed. Project lead briefing — Vasquez Group acquisition. Thursday, 10 AM. All senior analysts and assistant staff required to attend.

My stomach dropped hard enough to make me sit up straighter.

Vasquez Group.

This time, instead of closing the tab, I let the search results load. The company was massive — family-controlled, currently being handed to the next generation. Run, in large part, by the eldest son.

I scrolled slowly. The photo was small. Just another polished corporate headshot. Except it wasn’t him I couldn’t recognize. It wasn’t.

Jordan Vasquez. 31. Heading the expansion division.

The same calm eyes. The same quiet, unreadable expression from the bar — the same eyes that had stayed locked on mine while he moved inside me slow enough to make me feel every second of it.

Heat flared low in my belly, sudden and vicious.

I remembered the exact moment he’d paused right before pushing inside me, eyes locked on mine, like he was daring me to feel exactly who was about to ruin me. The way he’d kept that same slow rhythm until I stopped being able to think about anything except him. The way he’d watched my face the entire time, drinking in every broken moan like he noticed every sound I made and liked hearing them a little too much.

I pressed my thighs together under the desk, hard. My n*****s tightened against my blouse. My hands started shaking so badly I had to grip the edge of the table.

Just Jordan, he’d said that night. Easy. Flat. Like it meant nothing. But it wasn’t nothing.

I pushed my chair back too fast and walked to the kitchen. Filled a glass with water and drank it standing at the counter, staring at the wall. I hated how my body still remembered him so clearly. Hated how just seeing his photo could make me wet again in the middle of the goddamn office.

Okay. So he wasn’t some random guy from a bar. So what. It was still one night. One reckless, stupid, incredible night. I didn’t know him. Not really.

I went back to my desk and forced myself to sit. The brief in front of me blurred. Thursday. 10 AM. I was assistant staff. I had to be there.

I clicked the email again. Standard corporate language… until the last line.

Representatives from Vasquez Group will be present.

My thumb hovered.

He won’t come, I told myself. Companies that size send other people. He doesn’t even know where I work. Probably doesn’t remember my name.

But then I remembered how he’d said “Derby” right before I walked out — soft, rough, certain — while his fingers were still tracing lazy circles on my bare hip, teasing me even after we’d both finished.

He’d said my name like he already knew exactly how to get under my skin.

Just Jordan.

And somehow that still wasn’t the part I couldn’t stop thinking about.

I sat there, phone heavy in my hand, heart hammering so loud I was sure my heartbeat suddenly loud enough to make concentrating impossible. Part of me wanted to laugh at how cruelly perfect this was. Another part wanted to delete the email and pretend Monday had never started.

The part that scared me the most — was the heat that spread low in my stomach the second I realized I was going to see him again. The same heat I’d felt when he pinned my wrists above my head and whispered my name like a when he whispered my name against my mouth like he already knew what it would do to me.

He was going to be in the same room as me in three days.

And I had no idea whether I was terrified…

…or already counting down the hours until I had to face the man my body still remembered way too clearly.

I closed the email. Opened it again.

The photo stared back at me — calm and unreadable in a way that suddenly felt a lot more dangerous now that I knew who he was.

This wasn’t over. Not even close.

End of Chapter 3