4. The Hotel Tycoon

KAYLA

“Sorry,” I quickly said the moment I realized I had been in his arms for what felt like forever.

I tried to stand up properly, but it was nearly impossible as my other sandal had lost its heel. I had to grab it, and for a moment, I wanted to scold it for causing my fall, which was absurd. It was just a shoe, oblivious to the chaos it caused moments ago.

Now I remembered why this pair of shoes had stayed in the paper bags and never made it to my shoe closet. They were a gift, but far from sturdy enough to withstand hours of walking. Both Maddie and I had forgotten about them, and I felt the urge to curse myself all over again for not recalling that fact.

But I stopped myself, before this man in front of me thinks I've lost my mind.

To stand properly, I undid the other shoe and held it in my hand, finally standing barefoot. When I looked up, I found myself facing the best man, and a scowl formed on my face.

Yes, I had to look up. He was taller than I'd realized. At 5'6", I was already above average for a woman, but he easily topped six feet.

My eyes studied his face. Flawless. Thick, perfectly shaped brows, deep chocolate-brown eyes, a sharply sculpted nose, and lips that were almost heart-shaped and faintly pink. I almost held my breath. We have been exchanging glances since the ceremony began, yet only now did I truly see how gorgeous he was.

He could be an actor. People would be crazy about this kind of handsomeness.

A clearing of his throat snapped me back to reality. I felt my face flush as I realized I'd probably been staring far too long. I looked away.

“I apologize for ruining your moment. Please go on,” he said, his deep voice giving me a moment to appreciate it too. It sounded so deep. He could also pass as a voice actor.

“No, you’re not ruining anything,” I replied.

“I think I do,” he countered, offering me a handkerchief he just got from the inside pocket of his tuxedo.

Right. I had been crying before almost falling. What an embarrassment.

I'm not used to people seeing me cry like this. Fans have seen me cry on screen, yes, but not like this. Not when I'm pouring my heart out. Not when I'm feeling truly vulnerable.

And this stranger had witnessed it all. I felt exposed and ashamed, that I just wanted to run away and save face.

I hastily wiped the tears that wet my face, which reminded me of what I might look like with all the ruined make up. But that should be the least of my worries now.

“No, I’m fine,” I said firmly. “You can have this place to yourself.” I took a few steps.

But before I could get away, he spoke.

“You know, they say there’s a strange comfort in talking to someone who doesn’t know you.”

I stopped in my tracks. I stood beside him, arms nearly touching, us facing the other way.

“But do you really not know me?” I asked, my voice wrapped with curiosity. He had been looking at me repeatedly tonight and it seemed impossible he didn’t recognize me.

“Well, not really personally,” he replied.

True enough. Well, he had already seen me at my most vulnerable. What else could I hide?

This time, I turned to face him fully. He did the same. We're now face to face, which is a little distracting because he looked like a leading man from a movie. Now I wonder if he felt the same with me.

“You’ve been looking at me, and I wonder why,” I finally said.

A soft smile curved his lips. “I’m just mesmerized… by a celebrity. And a beautiful one at that.”

I felt myself blush. Compliments weren’t new to me, but hearing them from this stranger felt different, intimate somehow.

“You were crying back there,” he said, pointing to where I had stood earlier, “and I wonder why.”

I raised a brow. “Are you going to sell my story to the media?”

Another smile, and I found myself staring at it again. I suddenly imagined what it would be like to be kissed by those lips, then shoved the thought away. My heart was freshly broken. This isn’t the time.

“Why would I do that?” he asked.

“Because people like telling other people’s business to the world.”

“I’m not like most people. I know how to keep a secret.”

I found myself intrigued and strangely comforted. Maybe sharing a little with him isn’t so bad.

“I assure you… what happens on this rooftop, stays on this rooftop.”

I guess there's no harm, right?

That sealed the deal. I nodded, feeling an unfamiliar sense of trust.

“Would you like some drinks to make the mood even better?”

“Some champagne would be nice,” I replied. I spotted a bench nearby and started walking towards it, aware of him following closely. I then remembered how strong his arms felt on me earlier, but I have to dismiss it. It’s not an appropriate time for that kind of thought.

“You must like champagne a lot,” he commented as we settled a foot apart.

“You’re observant,” I noted, and he laughed. He took out his phone, dialed, and ordered a bottle of champagne to the rooftop.

His attention returned to me. “So, why is Kayla Danes crying?”

His handsome face distracted me, so I looked away.

“Because Kayla Danes is broken-hearted,” I said, scoffing. “For real this time.”

He didn't reply and when I looked his way, he was staring once again–with the same intense gaze he had fixed on me earlier.

We were interrupted when a man arrived with the champagne. The best man, whose name I still don't know, stood, collected it, and left after a brief exchange with the waiter.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him to keep to himself that he saw us together. If it goes out to the media, he will lose his job,” he replied, and my heart suddenly fluttered. Being protected by a stranger like this is something I haven't experienced before.

“You can do that?”

His eyes, authoritative and commanding, met mine. I felt a strange familiarity. I think I've seen him somewhere. I just couldn't remember.

“I definitely can.”

The curiosity is almost killing me now, so I asked, “who are you?”

“Corvin Marlowe,” he said, extending his hand. I stared at it.

A realization clicked.

I remembered now.

Marlowe International, the premier global hospitality company renowned for luxury hotels and resorts around the world, had been featured in the same magazine I appeared in last month.

It finally sank in.

“You’re a Marlowe,” I whispered, disbelief and awe lacing my voice. “You actually own this hotel.”