Jessica
I pause just inside the glass doors of the Korolyov hotel, grounding myself the way I always do before something important. Breathe in. Take stock. Remember why I’m here.
This job matters.
If I do this right, if I impress the right people, it won’t just be one refurb. It’ll be a relationship. My name passed quietly between investors and owners who don’t advertise how they choose their people. More hotels. Bigger projects. Maybe opportunities that aren’t even in Nevada.
The thought sends a strange flutter through my chest.
I’ve never left the state. Not once. I tell people it’s because I’ve been busy, because I was building something. Both are true. But there’s another truth I don’t say out loud: staying put has always felt safer. Like if I stayed still long enough, my past would fade away and be replaced by the amazing things I’ve achieved in spite of it.
Still… the idea of travel sparks something restless and bright inside me. A future that isn’t bound by desert highways and familiar skylines. I push the feeling down and straighten my shoulders.
Focus.
I cross the lobby, heels clicking softly against the floor, and take the private elevator up to the meeting level. I’ve been overthe plans a dozen times already. I know the numbers. I know the materials. I know exactly why Jasmine Korolyova liked my work when she saw it in that design magazine last year.
Warm minimalism. Controlled luxury. Spaces that feel intimate without being indulgent.
Apparently, that’s the vibe she wants for the hotel.
Apparently, she also wants me.
The elevator opens onto a sleek conference floor, all glass walls and muted tones. I check in with an assistant, who directs me toward the main boardroom. As I walk, my nerves tighten with anticipation of who I’m about to meet.
The Korolyov brothers.
All five of them.
So far, my only contact has been Jasmine. Effortlessly beautiful in a relaxed way that only comes from knowing your landing will be soft if you fall. Sharp-eyed and witty. Warm in a way that makes you want to please her. She’d been decisive, enthusiastic, and generous with her praise. But today isn’t about her approval alone.
Today is about the men who own the building.
I step into the boardroom and set my portfolio down, arranging my materials with practiced ease. The room is already filling with architects, consultants, men in suits who look like they haven’t slept enough and don’t care. I nod, smile when appropriate, keep my expression calm and professional.
I’m good at this.
I’ve had to be.
The doors open again, and the temperature in the room shifts.
I don’t look up immediately. I’m adjusting a tablet, pulling up my presentation. I sense them before I see them, thesubtle tightening of attention, the way conversations falter mid-sentence.
Then I glance up.
Jasmine enters first, with five men following.
There’s no mistaking that they’re brothers. It’s not just in the way they share some of their features, but they move with a quiet certainty. An unspoken hierarchy hums between them. Power, worn differently on each of them, but unmistakable all the same.
And then there’s him.
I’ve never believed in instant reactions. I’ve always thought attraction was something that built slowly, something you noticed once you decided to look. But the moment my eyes landed on him, my body responded like it’s been waiting for a signal I didn’t know existed.
Heat coils low in my stomach. My pulse jumps. Awareness sharpens to an almost painful clarity.
He’s not in front. He doesn’t need to be. He already looks bored and harassed, like there is somewhere else he has to be, and somewhere else he would rather be. His eyes briefly flick to mine and my breath stutters.
I mask it with a tight smile and a polite nod and will my face not to blush.
