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After last night, when I got drunk and ended up kissing him outside the bar, I felt it was best to take separate flights here. I've worked so hard these past few weeks to keep things strictly professional, and then I go and mess it all up after a few shots. To make matters worse, Marissa caught us but she promised she wouldn't say anything. But still, I'm internally kicking myself for letting tequila sabotage my professionalism.
"Am I doing this right?" A woman with long raven black hair at the kiosk asks pulling my attention from Weston.
"You're doing great!" I respond encouragingly. "Here, let me show you a couple of tricks to enhance your experience. You can try adding some color here, or maybe use this tool to create different textures. It's all about experimenting and having fun with it."
Her face lights up as I guide her through the features.
Helping the guests provides a much-needed distraction, allowing me to momentarily set aside my dilemmas.
After wrapping up the demonstration, a man with blonde hair approaches me.
"You look beautiful tonight." I flash a forced smile to be friendly.
Despite everything, I made sure to dress up for this event. I'm wearing a sparkly silver gown that hugs all my curves. Deep down, I chose it because I knew Weston would like it. My hair is down just how he prefers. But why? Why am I doing all this? Why am I trying to impress a guy I shouldn't even be thinking about?
"Thanks," I reply, wishing that the compliment was coming from Weston.
I decide to cut the conversation short with the stranger and address Weston's distant behavior head-on.
I spot him near the bar and approach him, hoping to clear any misunderstandings. He notices me coming and his smile quickly disappears, replaced by a look of irritation.
"Weston, we need to talk."
He raises an eyebrow. "What about, Quinn?"
I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. "Why are you being so distant? You've barely acknowledged me all day." Before he can respond, I ask a more direct question. "Is this about me taking a later flight?"
He scoffs. "Just admit it. You overslept."
My brows knit in frustration at his accusation. "I didn't oversleep, Weston. That's not the reason."
"Then why?" he demands.
I remain silent, not wanting to bring up the real reason – the impulsive kiss.
Realizing my hesitation, he grabs my arm and quickly guides me to a secluded corner, away from prying eyes.
"It's the kiss, isn't it?" he asks, his voice low.
I try to maintain my composure. "Why would you think it's that?"
He takes hold of my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Don't play games with me, Quinn. We can't have this conversation here. If you want to talk, come to my suite tonight. If you don't show up, let's agree to never mention the kiss again and move on." His blue gaze locks onto mine, hinting at a kiss that never comes; instead, he releases me and walks away.
His proposition hangs in the air, a choice that could change everything. I'm left to contemplate whether to confront what happened between us or to let it go.
In my suite, I slip into something more relaxed and pour myself a glass of wine.
The event was a hit, but I can't shake off Weston's ultimatum. My heart's racing as I think about going to his room. I knock back the wine in one swift motion and set the glass down. "Fuck it, I'm going over there," I mutter to myself before I change my mind.
I stride down the hallway to his suite, my footsteps echoing softly. I pause outside his door, taking a deep breath.
I knock firmly and the door swings open.
Holy shit.
Weston's shirtless, showing off abs that look like they're straight out of a gym ad. He's wearing just black basketball shorts. My mouth waters as I drink in the sight of him. I'm surprised to see tattoos covering his chest and arms. I've only ever seen him in long-sleeved shirts and blazers, so this is a whole new side of him. It's hard to match this tattooed, muscular guy with the professional Weston I know.
He nods at me and says, "Come in."
