The jet landed just past midnight.
Dallas greeted them with humid night air and bright runway lights.
Sebastian exited first.
Of course he did.
Lillian followed, clutching her tablet a little tighter than usual. She hadn't slept. She doubted he had either.
The drive from the private airfield to the hotel was silent.
The city lights passed in blurred streaks across the tinted windows.
Sebastian stared straight ahead.
Unreadable.
Untouchable.
The nightmare felt like something that hadn't happened.
Like something she imagined.
They arrived at the hotel twenty minutes later.
Tall. Glass exterior. Modern luxury.
The Grand Crescent Hotel.
Busy.
Too busy.
The lobby buzzed with late-night arrivals and conference guests checking in. Lillian's stomach tightened slightly.
Right.
The tech convention.
She stepped up to the front desk confidently.
"Reservation under Sovereign Technologies," she said politely.
The receptionist typed quickly.
"Yes, I see it here."
Relief flickered through her.
Then the receptionist paused.
"There appears to be one suite reserved."
Lillian blinked.
"One?"
"Yes, a premium executive suite."
Her blood ran cold.
One.
She felt Sebastian's presence behind her.
Silent.
Still.
Waiting.
"There should be two," she said carefully. "One for Mr. Wolfe and one for his secretary."
The receptionist frowned slightly and clicked through the system.
"I'm only seeing one confirmed reservation."
Lillian's pulse began to race.
That couldn't be right.
She distinctly remembered booking—
Her stomach dropped.
She had clicked "confirm" too quickly.
After the nightmare.
After being distracted.
She had assumed she'd finalized both.
She hadn't.
The receptionist offered an apologetic smile.
"We are completely booked due to the tech convention in town. There are no additional rooms available."
Lillian's heart pounded in her ears.
No additional rooms.
She slowly turned around.
Sebastian was looking at her.
His expression was calm.
Too calm.
"You booked one room," he said flatly.
It wasn't a question.
She swallowed. "It appears so."
"Appears," he repeated.
"I—." She steadied herself. "It was an oversight."
The word tasted bitter.
Silence stretched between them.
The lobby noise felt distant.
"You had one responsibility," he said quietly.
The quiet was worse than shouting.
"I understand."
He held her gaze for a long moment.
Then turned back to the receptionist.
"We'll take the suite."
Lillian blinked.
Take it?
He wasn't—
The receptionist handed over the key cards.
"Enjoy your stay."
The elevator ride was suffocating.
Mirrored walls.
Soft music.
Close quarters.
Too close.
Sebastian stood on one side.
She stood on the other.
Both facing forward.
Neither speaking.
The doors opened onto the top floor.
They walked down the hallway.
The suite was at the end.
Private.
Of course it was.
Sebastian opened the door.
They stepped inside.
And froze.
It was large.
Luxurious.
A sitting area. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A desk. A minibar.
And one bedroom.
With one king-sized bed.
Lillian felt heat rush to her face.
She closed the door slowly behind them.
"I can sleep on the couch," she said quickly.
Sebastian walked further inside, surveying the room.
"The couch is decorative."
She looked at it.
He was right.
It was elegant.
And entirely impractical.
Silence.
"I'll take the floor," she offered.
His gaze snapped to her.
"You will not."
"It's my mistake."
"I'm not having my secretary sleep on a hotel floor."
The words were sharp.
Professional.
But there was something under them.
She clasped her hands together.
"There are no other hotels?" she tried.
"I checked during the elevator ride."
Of course he did.
"Nothing within reasonable distance."
Her chest tightened.
This was humiliating.
Unprofessional.
Inappropriate.
She had never made a mistake like this before.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly.
He removed his jacket slowly and draped it over a chair.
"Apologies don't change logistics."
No, they didn't.
He walked toward the bedroom.
She followed hesitantly.
The bed was massive.
Plenty of space.
But that wasn't the issue.
The issue was proximity.
Boundaries.
Control.
Sebastian loosened his tie, movements precise.
"We have meetings in nine hours," he said calmly. "We need sleep."
Sleep.
The irony wasn't lost on her.
He turned to her.
"We will share the bed."
The words were delivered like a business decision.
Nothing more.
Her heart skipped.
"Mr. Wolfe—."
"We are adults."
She swallowed.
"Yes, but—."
"There will be no discussion."
His tone was firm.
Final.
She looked away briefly.
Then nodded.
"Understood."
He walked past her toward the bathroom.
"I'll change first."
The door closed.
Lillian stood there alone in the bedroom.
Her pulse wouldn't slow.
This was not ideal.
Not professional.
Not safe for her composure.
She moved quickly, placing her suitcase near the wardrobe.
She avoided looking directly at the bed.
Avoided thinking about the nightmare.
The medication.
The tension.
The bathroom door opened.
Sebastian stepped out wearing a simple black t-shirt and dark lounge pants.
Casual.
But still intimidating.
He avoided looking at her.
"Your turn."
She nodded quickly and slipped into the bathroom.
Once the door closed, she leaned back against it and exhaled.
What were the chances?
Of all mistakes.
Of all nights.
After everything.
She changed into modest sleepwear — long sleeves, loose fabric.
Professional.
Safe.
When she stepped back out, he was already in bed.
On one side.
Lights dimmed.
Eyes closed.
As if this were normal.
As if sharing a bed with his secretary was routine.
She walked slowly to the other side.
Her movements careful.
Measured.
She slipped under the covers, staying as close to the edge as physically possible.
There was a noticeable distance between them.
A clear line.
Unspoken.
The room was quiet.
The city lights filtered faintly through the curtains.
She stared at the ceiling.
Wide awake.
"Miss Parker."
Her breath caught.
"Yes?"
"If this interferes with your ability to function tomorrow, that will be unacceptable."
She blinked in the dark.
"I'll perform my duties as usual."
A pause.
"See that you do."
Silence again.
Minutes passed.
Neither moved.
She could feel his presence beside her.
The heat of it.
The tension of it.
She wondered if he was asleep.
Doubted it.
Then—
His breathing shifted.
Not asleep.
Not steady.
Just controlled.
She turned her head slightly toward him.
He lay on his back.
Eyes open.
Staring at the ceiling.
He wasn't going to sleep.
She knew it.
He hadn't taken the medication.
He wouldn't now.
She hesitated.
Then spoke softly.
"You should rest."
A long pause.
"I am."
"You're not sleeping."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"You seem very invested in my sleep schedule."
Her fingers curled slightly in the sheets.
"I'm invested in tomorrow's presentation going well."
That was safe.
Professional.
Acceptable.
Silence stretched.
Then—
"Go to sleep, Miss Parker."
It wasn't harsh.
Just tired.
She turned back toward the ceiling.
Closed her eyes.
Tried.
The bed dipped slightly as he shifted.
But he didn't move closer.
Didn't cross the invisible boundary.
Hours seemed to pass.
The tension didn't ease.
The distance between them felt both small and impossibly large.
And somewhere in the dark, neither of them slept.
Morning would come quickly.
And with it—
Meetings.
Expectations.
And the consequences of proximity neither of them were prepared for.