“The Wrong Room Key”
The hotel hallway smelled like expensive carpet cleaner and bad decisions. Maya stood in front of room 412, rain still dripping from the ends of her hair onto the front of her thin white blouse. The conference had run late, the bar had been loud, and her phone was at 3%. All she wanted was a hot shower and eight uninterrupted hours of not smiling at clients.
She slid the keycard into the slot. Green light. Soft click.
The door swung open onto darkness and the low murmur of a television. Someone was already in the room.
A tall figure sat on the edge of the bed in nothing but black boxer briefs, laptop open on his thighs, face lit by the blue glow of the screen. Broad shoulders, dark hair slightly messy, the kind of jaw that looked better with a five-o’clock shadow.
