Emily hadn't expected the suite to be this extravagant.
She stepped inside and just… stopped.
The moment the door clicked shut behind her, the hum of the hallway faded, and silence surrounded her. It wasn't cold, but it was pristine — the kind of space people posted on travel blogs with captions like "treat yourself" or "not your average business trip."
Cream-colored walls, floor-to-ceiling windows facing the water, soft ambient lighting, and a plush king-size bed that looked more like an art installation than something anyone actually slept in. There was a marble writing desk in the corner, a full-length mirror near the arched entryway, and a closet that slid open with a soft whisper to reveal padded hangers, a velvet jewelry tray, and enough space to hold every outfit she owned.
She wheeled her suitcase in slowly, fingers brushing the edge of the polished dresser as she walked past. The carpet was soft beneath her heels. Everything smelled like quiet money — subtle citrus and something faintly floral.
This wasn't just a room.
This was luxury.
And she was still trying to remind herself she belonged here.
Her phone buzzed with a notification — the itinerary reminder for tonight's dinner. 8:00 p.m. Formal. Coastal Press Welcome Reception.
She swallowed.
So this was happening.
---
After showering and wrapping herself in the thick hotel robe, she opened her suitcase and laid out the options she'd packed with Chloe's help.
The black dress — sleek, classic, no-fuss. Safe.
The emerald green one — elegant, flowy, and easy to breathe in.
And then… the red.
The one Chloe had called "dangerous but not desperate."
Off-shoulder, a dramatic side slit, the fabric hugging every curve without apology.
Emily had laughed when she'd first tried it on, saying, "I can't wear this in front of him."
But now, standing barefoot in a luxury suite in Florida, with the memory of his quiet stare still clinging to her from the flight, she looked at it differently.
Maybe it wasn't about him.
Maybe it was about her.
The version of herself she rarely let out — confident, present, not afraid to take up space.
She ran her fingers along the smooth fabric.
Would he even notice?
She shook her head. It didn't matter.
This wasn't about being seen.
It was about showing up — as herself.
---
By 7:35, she was dressed.
Red. No question.
She stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the neckline just slightly, smoothing a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her makeup was simple — a soft smoky eye, just enough gloss on her lips, a pair of gold earrings that caught the light when she moved.
She felt… exposed. But in control.
The heels made her legs look longer. The slit teased with every step. It wasn't a dress meant for blending in.
As she turned to check the back in the mirror, her heart fluttered — not with fear, but anticipation.
Not for the dinner.
But for him.
She didn't know what she expected. Maybe nothing. Maybe too much.
Maybe just one look.
A real one.
The kind that said he hadn't forgotten the night she ran into him in the kitchen, half-dressed and breathless.
The kind that said he felt it too.
She grabbed her clutch, took one last breath, and opened the door.
Damian Walker was a man of control, restraint, and power.
But tonight?
She wanted to see what happened when she pushed just a little past his silence.