BIX
Sam opens the door for me, and we step out into the warm night air, jasmine heavy on the breeze.
A gentleman. I guessed as much.
But as I turn to thank him, a sudden flash nearly blinds me. “What the—” I blink rapidly, trying to clear the spots from my vision.
A man with a professional-looking camera darts across the street. He disappears around a corner before I can process what happened.
“Did he just take our picture?” I ask Sam, bewildered.
Sam’s expression darkens briefly before smoothing into something more casual. “Yeah. New York is crazy that way. Photographers lurk around hoping to catch someone worth selling to the tabloids.”
“But we’re nobody,” I say, shaking my head.
“Speak for yourself,” he jokes, but there’s tension beneath his smile. “Sometimes it’s just about catching attractive people coming out of odd spots. “
I frown, not entirely convinced. “That’s weird.”
“That’s New York,” Sam says with a shrug. “Forget about it. We have more interesting things to talk about.”
Above us, a full moon bathes the city in silver light, transforming ordinary streets into something magical.
Sam’s fingers occasionally brush mine as we walk side by side. Each contact sends electric tingles across my skin.
As the neighborhood grows more polished, the Mandarin Oriental rises before us, seventy stories of gleaming glass and light dominating the skyline.
“Gorgeous hotel,” I say, taking in the dramatic entrance with its black marble and subtle lighting.
“Wait till you see the view from the bar,” he adds with that easy smile that makes my stomach flutter.
Two doormen snap to attention as we approach. “Evening, Mr. Slater.”
“Hey, guys,” Sam responds, casual but kind. They swing the heavy doors open in perfect unison like we’re royalty entering a palace.
The lobby takes my breath away—soaring ceilings, fresh flowers, everything sparkling. Total glamor.
The concierge looks up. “Welcome home, Mr. Slater. Room service this evening?”
“We’re heading to the bar, actually.”
“I’m afraid it closed thirty minutes ago, sir.”
Sam turns to me, apologetic. “Ahh…I lost track of time. But I have an excellent wine collection in my apartment, if you’d like.”
My eyes widen. “Your apartment?”
“I live here,” he explains. “The top floors are residences.”
I should hesitate. Should probably say goodnight. But I’ve watched three different hotel employees greet him like family,
And there’s something about the way he’s letting me choose, not pushing, just offering... “One drink,” I say, and his smile makes my heart skip.
The private elevator rises silently, all mirrors and brass. Sam stands just far enough away to be polite, Yet I’m acutely aware ofhis presence, his cologne reminiscent of leather and something woodsy.
“Seventieth floor,” he says as the doors open to a hushed hallway. “Welcome to the quiet part of Manhattan.”
He unlocks his door, and my first thought issky. His home is endless sky through walls of glass. The lights of the city spread below us like fallen stars.
