CHAPTER 6

HAZEL

I collapsed straight onto the bed the moment I got to my room.

Face first, bag still on my shoulder, heels still on my feet. I didn't even have the energy to be impressed by the suite, and trust me, it deserved to be impressed by. Spacious didn't even begin to cover it.

The place was practically a one-bedroom apartment sitting inside a hotel, with a bed so wide I could roll across it three times and still not fall off.

One of the quiet perks of being Elvis' executive assistant, I suppose.

I finally dragged myself up, kicked my heels off, and headed for the bathroom. A quick shower later, I decided to close my eyes for “just five minutes.”

Worst lie ever.

When I opened my eyes again, the room was completely dark.

I grabbed my phone from the bedside table. It was 9:00 p.m.

“Damn.”

I stared at the ceiling for a long moment. The television remote was right there beside me, and honestly, the thought of lying in this expensive bed watching whatever Australian reality show happened to be on sounded like the saddest possible way to spend a night in Gold Coast.

I had heard things about this city. Read things, actually, during those long, hollow prison nights when sleep refused to come, and the ceiling became the only thing available to stare at.

I knew Gold Coast had beaches that stretched endlessly under the moon. I knew the nightlife here carried a particular kind of energy, the kind of energy that Sydney never quite managed to replicate.

And I had bad energy that desperately needed somewhere to go.

I dragged my luggage open and dug through until I found exactly what I was looking for, the black dress.

Short, fitted, designed specifically to make a room forget what it was doing before you walked in.

I paired it with my winter boots, shook my hair loose around my shoulders, and sat in front of the mirror to do my makeup.

I took my time with it.

By the time I was done, I looked breathtaking.

I grabbed my bag, slipped my phone inside, and was halfway to the door when the notification came through.

I stopped, a message from Elvis.

‘Room 43. Not a minute late.’

I read it once. Read it again, look at the time, and look back at the message.

Shouldn’t old people be sleeping already?

I exhaled slowly, adjusted my bag on my shoulder, and headed out anyway.

His room was one floor below mine. I took the lift down, walked the corridor until I found room 43, and knocked once, then twice.

The door opened.

His eyes went straight to my outfit.

I already knew what that look meant.

“Oh, sorry,” I said innocently. “I was actually about to head out before your message came in.”

He glanced briefly at his wristwatch.

“At this hour?”

I walked into the suite while holding back a smile.

“Yes, sir. Believe it or not, some people actually enjoy having fun at night.”

“Fun is overrated.”

God.

This man really spoke like somebody’s strict grandfather sometimes. His suite was on an entirely different level from mine.

His laptop sat open on the desk

He gave me one final look, then motioned toward the chair.

"You said you could handle technical problems," he said, already moving away from the door. "My laptop has been acting up for over an hour. Fix it." He clicked his teeth once, sharp and short.

"The meeting has been pushed as well. No longer tomorrow, now it's the day after. Those idiots behave as though I have all the time in the world to sit around in this city."

I sat down and pulled the laptop toward me.

He did that when something genuinely irritated him, I had noticed, the teeth click.

I worked through the system quietly. It turned out to be a straightforward debugging issue. I fixed it in minutes, double checked, and pushed the laptop back toward him.

“Done,” I announced proudly while pushing the laptop back toward him. “Your baby is alive again.”

He leaned forward and tested it himself, methodically pressing through several things.

Can this man at least say thank you once in his life?

"That's all for tonight," he said instead, leaning back. "It's cold outside. Get a good night's rest."

I stood up slowly.

Gold Coast was literally glowing outside those giant windows. I could practically hear the city calling my name.

"You know," I said carefully, "Gold Coast is actually a beautiful city. And you've been working since we landed. Why not take a small break and come out with me, sir?" I kept my voice easy, unbothered. "Trust me, you won't regret it."

The silence that followed was the particular kind that usually preceded a very firm no delivered without eye contact.

His expression didn't change so much as it went completely still.

Then he looked at me.

"How old do you think I am?" he said flatly. "My twenties?"

"Not at all, sir." I straightened up. "I'm sorry. I'll get going now."

I turned toward the door.

My hand closed around the knob.

"What do you have in mind?"

I turned immediately.

He was watching me with that same unreadable expression, arms loosely crossed, giving absolutely nothing away.

"Somewhere nice," I said. "I read online that an all-night carnival is currently going on in the city. Good music, good atmosphere." I paused. "It'll be fun."

That wasn't the original plan, truthfully. I had wanted a club, somewhere loud and dark where the music drowned everything out, and your body just moved without asking your brain for permission first.

But a man like Elvis would never be caught inside a nightclub. A carnival had just enough dignity to make the invitation acceptable.

He was quiet for a beat.

Something moved behind his eyes. A small, private struggle I wasn't supposed to notice.

"Wait for me at the lobby," he finally said. "I will join you."

I stood there for exactly one second. I genuinely had not seen that coming.

Tonight was going to be very interesting.