A small laugh slips out of me.
I used to stay here all the time.
Back when my credit card had no limits and the staff greeted me by my last name.
Sometimes because I was too drunk to make it home.
Other times because I’d met a guy at a club and didn’t want to risk bringing him back to my family’s house.
God forbid the Rutherford dynasty discovered their son preferred men.
My jaw tightens slightly at the thought.
Didn’t matter in the end.
They figured it out anyway.
I shake the memory away and head toward the entrance.
The moment the doors open, the scent hits me.
Warm vanilla. Polished wood. Expensive perfume drifting faintly through the air.
The lobby glows under massive crystal chandeliers, their light reflecting off marble floors so polished I can practically see my reflection in them. A grand piano sits near the bar area, someone quietly playing something slow and smooth.
Soft laughter echoes somewhere in the distance.
It feels like stepping into another world.
The world I used to be a part of.
My shoulders relax before I even realize it.
My God.
This place.
I forgot how much I loved it.
Everything here feels intentional. Luxurious in a way that makes your brain quiet down for a second.
No cracked ceilings.
No humming fridge.
No reminders of overdue rent.
Just warmth and money and the illusion that life might actually be easy.
I’m so busy taking it all in that I almost don’t notice him walking toward me.
Almost.
Because when I do notice him, my brain short-circuits a little.
The guy is massive.
At least six foot five, maybe taller. Broad shoulders stretching beneath an emerald green uniform that hugs his body in a way that should honestly be illegal for hotel staff.
