You walk into the lobby of the hotel in downtown Los Angeles with your heels clicking too loudly on the polished floor. You’re exhausted from the flight, even though it was on his stupidly luxurious private jet, and your hair is in that messy-but-cute state you’d normally own with pride. But right now, you’re too busy watching him argue with the front desk.

Alec—that’s your boss’s name, though you rarely use it to his face. You prefer boss, sir, or hey, grumpy when you’re feeling brave. Which is often.

He’s tall, broad-shouldered in that tailored charcoal suit, dark hair a bit tousled from the flight, his jaw tight. The concierge is explaining, with too many apologies, that there was an error in the reservation.

“One room,” the woman says, her voice cracking a little under his cold stare. “King bed. We’re so sorry, Mr. Kane. There are literally no other rooms available tonight.”

You stand behind him and can’t help yourself. “Oh, well, at least it’s king sized. Plenty of room to not even look at each other, right?”

He turns to glare at you over his shoulder. Normally you’d grin at that expression, but right now you swallow. Because it hits you—you’re going to have to share.

Share a bed. With him.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Unbelievable.”

You’re never quiet, but for once you actually don’t know what to say. You think about offering to sleep in the bathtub. Or the floor. Or the hallway. But the words get stuck, because even for you this is weird.

He signs the paperwork, jaw ticking. “Let’s go.”

You follow him to the elevator. It’s silent except for the soft ding of the floor buttons lighting up. You hate silences like this. Usually you’d fill them. You’re good at it—talking, laughing, charming everyone. It’s why you’re the only one in the whole office he can stand. Or… almost stand.

But right now? Nothing.

Your phone buzzes. You look at it to avoid his eyes.

He doesn’t speak until the doors open. He holds them for you, at least. Gentlemanly in a reluctant, annoyed way.

The room is gorgeous, all modern lines and floor-to-ceiling windows looking over the LA skyline. And there it is. The bed. Huge, white, intimidating.

You dump your bag by the door. “Okay. Um.” You clear your throat. “Look, I can sleep on the floor. I’ve slept worse places in college.”

He drops his suitcase, unbuttoning his suit jacket slowly, like he’s thinking it through. Those pale eyes flick to you, unreadable.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous is sharing a bed with my boss,” you mutter, but you don’t even have the usual heat behind it.

He sighs. Actually sighs. Then, softer than you expect: “We’ll figure it out. I’m taking a shower.”

You nod like you’re some mute little intern instead of the unapologetic, always-talking, always-laughing woman everyone knows.

The door to the bathroom clicks shut.

You stand there in the silence of the room.