When our new boss invites me for a slow dance, everyone around us nearly twists their necks trying to get a better look.
“They’re staring at us,” I remark, glancing sideways.
“They’re jealous,” my dance partner replies with a confident smirk.
I drape my arms around his shoulders, and he wraps his hands around my waist. We sway gently to the rhythm of the music, our bodies pressed close.
“You think so?” I smile, looking straight into his eyes. By the way, they’re strikingly beautiful. “And why’s that?”
“Because we’re the most stunning couple in this room,” he winks at me. “The hotel owner and his enchanting manager. We’re practically made for each other.”
“Is that a proposition?” I muster the courage to ask, feeling my cheeks flush. “Are you asking me out?”
“Maybe. What do you think about that?”
Stan Malinowski is the new owner of our quaint little hotel. The first time we saw him, we were all pleasantly surprised. Tall, handsome, and surprisingly young to be running a hotel. But gossip spreads like wildfire, and soon we all knew the hotel was bought by his father and registered under his name.
At work, Stan has proven himself to be a capable leader. In just a few months, he transformed our rundown hotel into a modern five-star resort. Now, every room is booked, and we’re swamped with guests.
About a week ago, Stan started paying extra attention to me. We’ve had long conversations, even shared a few lunches together. I like him, so I don’t mind spending time with him.
“I think we could grab a drink or something after work sometime,” I say, giving him the green light.
I’m single, my last relationship ended six months ago. And I’m not opposed to a little male attention.
“Or maybe we could continue this evening somewhere quieter?” he leans in and whispers in my ear.
His breath sends shivers down my spine.
“What about the party?” I pull back slightly, trying to hide my nerves.
Stan scans the crowded room. Today marks exactly one month since the hotel’s grand reopening, and we’re celebrating the successful launch. All the staff are here, and almost everyone keeps sneaking glances our way.
“Too many eyes on us,” he grumbles, leaning closer until his lips are almost brushing mine. “And I’ve been dying to kiss you.”
His words take my breath away. I can feel it—this is the night our connection goes beyond just talk. My gaze involuntarily drops to his mouth. Stan doesn’t rush me; he waits patiently for my response, looking as though he’s certain I’ll say yes.
And he’s right.
We slip out of the restaurant hall unnoticed. Holding hands, we dash through the nearly empty lobby, where only Marina, another manager, is stationed at the front desk during her shift. She watches us with a surprised expression as we hurry toward the elevator, and I flash her a friendly smile. We’re close, and I’m sure she’ll grill me about tonight tomorrow. The elevator doors open, and Stan pulls me inside. The moment they close behind us, he presses me against the wall and finally kisses me. I sigh with delight, kissing him back, sliding my hands under his jacket to caress his back. His skilled tongue explores my mouth, his broad hands glide up my thighs under the hem of my dress, possessively gripping my hips.
The elevator dings open, and Stan leads me down the hallway, still holding my hand. I glance around and realize we’re on the fifth floor.
“Where are we going?”
“To the presidential suite.”
“Do we even have the keys?” I ask, surprised.
“Of course,” he says, pulling a keycard from his pocket and unlocking the door.
He lets me enter first, and I step inside. This is the best room in our hotel, rarely booked due to its exorbitant price. But Stan occasionally stays here overnight when he works late.
“Care for a drink?” Stan approaches from behind and wraps his arms around my waist.
His closeness makes me a little nervous, but it’s the good kind of nervous.
“No, thanks. I’ve had enough champagne already,” I hint subtly.
He brushes my hair away from my neck and kisses it. I tilt my head back, letting his lips trail down to my collarbone. I relax in his arms, savoring the gentle touch of his hands. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything like this.
“Then I have another idea,” he says, stepping back and taking my hand.
He leads me into the bedroom, where a massive king-sized bed awaits.
“I can’t imagine what you mean,” I tease with a smile.
Stan pulls me into his arms, and we tumble onto the soft mattress. He flips me onto my back, pinning me with the weight of his body, and leans down for a tender kiss. I close my eyes and let out a soft sigh. We kiss for a long time, passionately, as Stan caresses my body and whispers sweet nothings. I feel myself growing more aroused, a fire igniting within me.
“Oh, Sophia, you’re incredible,” he murmurs in my ear, nibbling on my earlobe.
“I bet you say that to every girl,” I try to joke, but Stan frowns.
“Only every other one,” he replies seriously.
I laugh, and he covers my lips with his again.
Slowly, we shed our clothes and slip under the sheets. I feel so good with him, experiencing the intense emotions I’d hoped for.
Afterward, we lie in each other’s arms for a long time until my eyes grow heavy, and I drift off to sleep.
I wake up alone in the morning. I look around, but there’s no sign of Stan—no trace of him or his things. I feel abandoned and unwanted, the pleasant memories of last night fading away.
What does this mean? Did he just get up and leave me here by myself?
I quickly start getting dressed. With every passing second, a heavy weight grows in my chest. Why did I do this? I fell for a man I don’t know that well, and my boss, no less. Now look where it’s gotten me. It’s my own fault—I’d heard the rumors about how he goes through women. But last night, he was so charming, so genuine. It felt like I’d known him forever.
As I’m about to leave, I notice a piece of paper taped to the door.
“Sorry. Had to leave for business. Didn’t want to wake you. See you later. Last night was amazing.”
I crumple the note in my fist and step out of the suite. Luckily, it’s still early, and I don’t run into anyone on my way out.
As I walk, tears well up in my eyes. Why don’t I believe this note? Something tells me last night was our first—and last—together.