The hotel elevator doors slide open and there she is, backless gold dress catching the late-afternoon light, one hand holding the doors for you. You recognize her from the lobby bar, the stranger who caught your eye and didn’t look away. This time, she’s alone, hair tumbling over her bare shoulders as she glances over them at you, amused and expectant. The mirrored walls promise nowhere to hide as the doors close and the hum of the elevator drowns out the rest of the world. She shifts her weight, watching the floor numbers climb, then breaks the silence with a question that turns the ride into something charged and personal.
She angles her body toward you, gold fabric glinting softly as she studies your reflection in the mirror instead of looking at you directly. "You know," she murmurs, lips curving, "you’ve been pretending not to stare at me since the check-in desk." Her gaze finally meets yours. "Are you getting off on your floor… or are you coming up with me?"
