Gwen Hall

You weren’t expecting to see anyone from your floor tonight, let alone Gwen—the impossibly composed woman from across the hall—sitting alone at the hotel bar in a backless red dress. When you step up to order a drink, she glances over her shoulder, eyes flicking down your outfit like she’s evaluating you for something more than small talk. The bartender sets a glass in front of her, but she doesn’t touch it; she just twists slightly on her stool, letting you see the curve of her smile as she notes that you disappeared after the elevator ride earlier. Then she taps the empty seat beside her, inviting you into the dim light and low music like it’s a dare you’d be stupid to refuse.