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She glances out the window for a moment before looking back at me.

“How long do I have before you drag me into work?”

“About an hour.”

“That generous?”

“I thought you might want to change.”

Blaire looks down at herself.

“What’s wrong with this?”

“Nothing.”

My eyes linger on her legs before I look back at her face.

She catches it.

“I see,” she says.

“You asked.”

Her mouth curves, and she turns back toward the window.

The hotel sits close enough to the business district that the drive is short. Kensington has held a stake in the property for years, which means the staff knows who I am before I step through the entrance, but I keep the arrival quiet. No reception line. No unnecessary ceremony.

Blaire’s suite is on the same floor as mine, separated by several doors and enough distance to make the arrangement respectable.

I walk her down the corridor while a porter follows with her luggage.

When we reach her suite, Blaire steps inside and looks around once before turning back toward me.

“This will do.”

I lean against the doorframe. “High praise.”

“You’ll survive.”

The porter sets her luggage near the bedroom and leaves us alone.

For a moment, neither of us moves.

I want to step inside and shut the door.

I don’t.

“I’ve got a call in twenty minutes,” I say.

“We’ll leave for the office at one.”

Blaire nods. “That gives me enough time.”

“For what?”

“To stop looking like I’ve been on a plane all morning.”

“You look fine.”