She ran a hand through her blonde hair, squinting. “No, I definitely do. You’re a famous movie star or something, right?”
He huffed a laugh. “‘Fraid not. Familiar face, I guess.”
Her gaze drifted to his wine-stained T-shirt. One eyebrow arched, mouth curving into a smirk. “Messy night?”
“Clumsy stranger.”
She leaned in close, so he smelled the tang of gin on her breath. “Sounds like my kind of evening.”
The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open. He stepped inside, praying for silence. No such luck.
“So, what floor?” the woman asked, trailing in behind him.
“Eight.”
Her grin widened. “What a coincidence.”
The elevator creaked upwards. Nate focused on the glowing numbers, willing them to move faster.
“I remember where I’ve seen you,” she said suddenly.
Nate stiffened. “Oh?”
“You’re in that Netflix show,” she said, snapping her fingers. “The one with the autistic detective.”
“Yep. That must be it.”
Ding.
They stepped out together into the hallway. He moved toward his door. She followed, heels clicking.
When he stopped, she did too.
He swiped his keycard over the lock. Green light. Click.
“Well?” she purred, leaning against the wall. “Gonna invite me in?”
He turned, blinking once, then again. Sometime between the elevator and here, she’d undone the top two buttons of her blouse. His body registered the detail with the enthusiasm of a flat soda. Nate plastered on a smile. “Tempting, but I have to pack.”
“You sure?” she said, tracing a finger up the doorframe.
“Uh-huh. Sorry. Early flight.”
The woman huffed, dramatic, perfectly unimpressed. “Your loss, detective.”
The sound of her heels faded down the hall.
Nate exhaled, resting his forehead against the door before pushing inside. Not even bothering with the lights, he kicked off his shoes, tugged the T-shirt off, and dumped it in the bathroom sink.
The suitcase? Yeah, that was somewhere in the room, probably glowering at him. But his limbs were wet noodles,every muscle howling for rest, mind overtaxed from a week of spiraling.
Just five minutes, he promised himself, flopping onto the bed, hugging a pillow like a shield against his own brain. Within seconds, he was out.
And in that last flicker of consciousness—her face. Ella.
Chapter Five
The door swung open with athwack. Allegra stumbled into the bedroom, shoes dangling from her fingers. Liam followed, steadying her with a hand on her hip, his own steps only slightly more coordinated.
