Maya’s POV
I woke up at an ungodly hour, my head pounding like a construction site. Where the hell was I? So hotel room by the looks of it, way too fancy for my usual taste. Sunlight stread through half-drawn curtains, making my headache even worse.
As I pushed myself up, squinting against the brightness, I nearly had a heart attack. There was Ethan—fucking Ethan Quinn—slumped over in a chair beside the bed, fast asleep.
Holy shit.
The morning light caught in his dark hair and fell across his rumpled dress shirt. Even exhausted and disheveled, he looked annoyingly perfect. What was he doing here? What happened last night?
I frantically checked myself under the covers. Fully dressed. Thank God. At least we hadn’t... well, whatever.
I couldn’t help staring at him. His usual perfectly composed expression was softened in sleep, though his eyebrows were still slightly furrowed. Sothing about seeing the always-in-control Ethan Quinn passed out in a chair made my heart do a stupid little flip.
Before I could stop myself, my hand reached out toward his hair. It looked so thick and soft—how did he keep it that way?
My fingers hadn’t even touched him when his eyes snapped open. Steel gray t mine, and for a mont, we just stared at each other. The air between us felt electric.
I recovered first, yanking my hand back and clearing my throat. "Why are you here? Where am I?"
Ethan straightened, wincing as he rotated his obviously stiff neck. His arm looked numb as he tried to move it.
"It’s a hotel," he said flatly. "You were drunk out of your mind last night. I didn’t know where you lived, so I brought you here."
I glanced around and recognized the suite—his regular New York hotel. Heat rushed to my face as embarrassnt hit full force. Christ, had he been watching sleep all night? I refused to let him see how mortified I felt.
"Who asked you to bring here?" I shot back defensively. "I was having a great ti last night."
Ethan’s expression darkened instantly. He made a sound sowhere between a scoff and a snort. "Yes, I’m sure you and those male models were having a fantastic ti."
"I was being a good Samaritan. My mistake." His voice turned cold, detached. The way he spoke to business rivals, not to .
"You can leave now."
Sothing about his tone set off. "What’s with the attitude? Fine. I’m going."
I threw back the covers and jumped out of bed, shoving my feet into my heels. Two steps later, my ankle twisted viciously beneath .
"Shit!"
Ethan moved with surprising speed, catching around the waist before I could faceplant. "Careful!"
I tried to steady myself with one hand on the bed, but our balance was off. We tumbled backward, landing on the mattress with Ethan practically on top of .
My breath caught in my throat. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, sll his expensive cologne mixed with coffee. His face hovered inches from mine, those gray eyes wide with surprise.
My heart hamred so loudly I was certain he could hear it. His lips parted slightly, and for one insane mont, I thought he might actually kiss .
Instead, he practically leapt off , straightening his shirt like it was on fire.
"Sorry," he said stiffly, avoiding my eyes. "That was... unintentional."
My cheeks burned with humiliation. Of course it was unintentional. The great Ethan Quinn wouldn’t willingly touch like that. The rejection stung more than I cared to admit, turning my embarrassnt into anger.
I stood up, kicked off my death-trap heels, and dangled them from my fingers.
"Thanks for the five-star drunk-sitting service," I said with false brightness. "I’ll be going now."
His eyes dropped to my bare feet. "You’re going to walk out barefoot?"
I forced a laugh that sounded brittle even to my own ears. "Ethan, do us both a favor and stop with the fake concern. It’ll just confuse again."
The words spilled out before I could stop them. "Let’s just keep things professional from now on. Colleagues, not even friends. It’s simpler that way."
I turned to leave with as much dignity as I could muster. "Bye."
"Wait." His voice ca out sharper than either of us expected.
I paused but didn’t turn around. My heart was doing that stupid thing again, hoping for sothing I knew wouldn’t co.
"What now?" I asked, proud of how steady my voice sounded.
I heard him sigh, then his footsteps crossed the room. He appeared in front of , hotel slippers in hand. Not the complintary ones—his own.
"Wear these," he said quietly, placing them on the floor before my feet.
I stared at the slippers for a long mont before slipping them on without comnt. Sothing about this small gesture felt more intimate than if he’d kissed .
We left the room in silence, rode the elevator in silence, and walked to his car in silence. The tension between us was thick enough to cut with a knife.
As he drove ho, I kept my gaze fixed firmly out the window. When we reached my apartnt building, I climbed out without looking back, his oversized slippers still on my feet.
I didn’t say goodbye. Neither did he.
* * *
Ethan’s POV
After dropping Maya off, I sat in my car longer than necessary, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. Images from last night kept flashing through my mind—Maya stumbling in those ridiculous heels, Maya singing off-key at 3 AM, Maya getting sick twice in the bathroom while I held her hair back.
For anyone else, I would have called a cab or had hotel staff deal with it. But with her...
I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated by my own behavior. Last night had been a disaster from the mont Serena called. When she ntioned male models, sothing primal and possessive had erupted inside . I’d left an important eting without explanation, breaking every rule of professional conduct I lived by.
And for what? To find Maya drunkenly draped over so shirtless stranger, wearing barely anything herself.
"Keep partying with . I’ve got plenty of money for tips, baby." Her slurred words echoed in my mind, making clench my jaw all over again.
I started the car and pulled away from her building, trying to focus on the day ahead. I had etings scheduled, decisions to make, a company to run. I couldn’t afford to be distracted by a woman who clearly wanted nothing to do with .
But as fall air rushed through the cracked window, cooling my face, I had to acknowledge the uncomfortable truth. Sothing had changed within —a crack in the perfect facade I’d maintained my entire life.
That crack had a na: Maya Carter.
And I had no idea what to do about it.
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