PART 1: SHE ENTERED THE WRONG HOTEL ROOM AND WOKE UP BESIDE THE CITY’S COLDEST MILLIONAIRE CEO

PART 1 — The Wrong Room She Couldn’t Explain

“You walked into my room by accident.”

“And what happens now?”

She walked into the wrong hotel room and, without realizing it, slept beside the most powerful man in the city.

Now he wanted something from her, and he did not take no for an answer.

By the time the conference ended, I had spent three whole days planning live events that seemed to stretch without mercy. I had smiled at demanding clients, run back and forth in heels that had begun to feel like medieval torture devices, and kept everything moving even as my feet throbbed and my head spun slightly from exhaustion.

All I wanted was a bed.

Any bed.

Preferably immediately.

The post-conference open bar had seemed like a good idea four drinks earlier.

Just one drink, I had told myself.

You deserve to relax, Norah.

Famous last words.

Two drinks later, June called to say she was at another hotel because she had scored a last-minute upgrade.

“Enjoy your night, babe,” she yelled into the phone before hanging up.

Four drinks later, I was alone in the

hotel elevator, holding my room key like an Olympic trophy.

Or was it 2480?

I blinked, trying to focus on the blurry numbers on the key card. No, definitely 2408.

The elevator opened on the 24th floor, and I stepped out with a slight wobble. I was not drunk. I was just dizzy, tired, exhausted to the point of wanting to cry with relief when I finally reached the bed.

The hallway seemed endless. All the rooms were identical: brown doors, gold numbers, beige carpet that smelled like wealth. I stopped in front of the door marked 2408 and swiped the key.

The little light turned green.

Click.

Victory.

I pushed the door open and walked into complete darkness. I did not bother looking for the main light switch. I tossed my purse somewhere that felt like an armchair and started walking toward what I hoped was the bathroom.

My

foot hit something solid on the floor.

A shoe.

A men’s shoe.

Big.

“What the hell?” I muttered, kicking the offending object aside.

The hotel had probably forgotten something from the previous guest. Terrible service. I would complain tomorrow. Right now, I just wanted to sleep.

I found the bathroom blindly, turned on only the mirror light, and began removing my makeup on autopilot. My reflection looked as tired as I felt: dark circles, smudged lipstick, brown hair starting to escape from its bun.

Perfect.

Exactly how a successful event professional should look.

I took off the black dress I had been wearing for fourteen hours, let it drop to the floor, and remained in just my panties and the basic T-shirt I had on underneath. I did not think twice. I turned off the light, left the bathroom, and went straight to where my muscle memory said the bed

should be.

God, what a great bed.

The mattress was infinitely better than the one in my apartment back home. I sank into the soft pillows, sighed with pure relief, and turned onto my side, searching for the perfect sleeping position.

That was when my arm touched something warm.

Very warm.

And solid.

I opened my eyes, still drowsy.

There was a dark shape next to me.

A human form.

A man.

I closed my eyes again. Exhaustion. It was just exhaustion playing tricks on my mind.

I waited a few seconds, breathing deeply. Then I opened my eyes again, very slowly.

The shape was still there.

Definitely a person. Definitely a man sleeping in my bed.

Or in the bed I was in.

My brain, dulled by alcohol and exhaustion, processed this information at the speed of a ’90s computer. There was a man in the bed with me, and I was too tired to deal with it right now.

So I did the only logical thing my exhausted mind could come up with.

I went back to sleep.

The light coming through the window woke me with all the subtlety of a slap in the face. My eyelids were heavy, my mouth dry, my head carrying the dull pressure that comes from drinking too much. A mild hangover, but present.

I groaned softly and turned to the side, fleeing the offensive brightness.

That was when I saw him.

A man.

An absurdly gorgeous man.

He was sleeping beside me, shirtless, defined abs visible above the white sheet, tanned skin, dark hair messy from sleep.

And his arm.

His arm was over me, heavy and possessive, as if even asleep he knew exactly where I was.

I blinked.

Then blinked again.

My brain tried to process the scene at the speed of someone who had just woken up after drinking too much.

“No,” I whispered to myself.

I looked around the room, really looking for the first time.

This was not my room.

Definitely not my room.

The furniture was different, more expensive, more masculine. And he was definitely no one I knew.

I looked under the sheet just to confirm my growing sense of horror.

Panties.

T-shirt.

At least I was still dressed, more or less.

No, no, no, no, no.

I started moving slowly, very slowly, trying to get out of bed without waking him. If I could just slide out, grab my things, and leave—

His arm pulled me back, strong and instinctive, as if my body trying to escape had triggered some primitive alarm in his brain.

“Where are you going?”

His voice was husky from sleep, deep and absurdly sexy in a way that made my stomach flip, which did not help the situation at all.

I froze completely.

I was not even breathing.

He opened his eyes, and they were the most intense eyes I had ever seen.

Gray.

Piercing.

Focused directly on me with a clarity that indicated he was much more awake than he should have been.

There was a long, awkward pause.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, and there was something dangerous in his voice now.

He sat up so fast I almost jumped off the bed in shock. The sheet slipped, fully exposing his chest, defined muscles, broad shoulders.

I looked.

I could not help it.

Then I quickly looked away, feeling my face catch fire.

“I asked, who are you?” he repeated, louder now.

“Me?” I managed to yell back, finally finding my voice. “Who are you?”

“I’m in my room.”

I looked around again at the clearly expensive room.

A suite.

Possibly the penthouse.

Oh no.

Oh no. No. No.

“You’re—” My voice failed. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“Wrong room,” I whispered in horror. “I walked into the wrong room.”