"Right this way, Miss Johnson," one of Ross’s bodyguards said, stepping forward with a polite nod.
The plan was to escort her back to her ho for the night.
Laura glanced past him at the three massive figures standing a few paces away—Ross’s personal security detail.
They were like immovable statues, their sharp eyes scanning the surroundings even now.
"What about your boss? Are you just going to let him wander off like that?" she asked, her voice edged with concern as she tilted her head toward Ross’s retreating figure.
"The big boss is fine, Miss Johnson," another bodyguard replied without missing a beat. "It would take a lot more than the little drink he’s had tonight to bring him down."
Laura frowned slightly. "A little drink? He’s had enough to make dizzy just watching."
The guard chuckled. "Trust —this isn’t much for him."
For a mont, Laura hesitated.
Logic told her to let the professionals handle it, to get into the waiting car and go ho.
But there was sothing about the sight of Ross—his usually sharp, confident stride dulled to an almost sluggish pace—that made her uneasy.
"...," she murmured under her breath, shaking her head. "Forget it."
Before the bodyguards could say more, Laura stepped away from them and quickened her pace, heading straight after Ross.
She told herself it was just to make sure he got to his room without incident.
But a small, inexplicable part of her simply wanted to see for herself that he was alright.
***
Thud!
Ross’s body collapsed onto the bed of his hotel room with a heavy thump.
The mattress sagged slightly under his weight, and monts later, a soft, almost rhythmic snoring filled the quiet space.
Laura stepped back, gasping for breath.
Leading Ross into the room had been far more exhausting than she anticipated.
One arm was slung over her shoulders, holding his weight as best she could, and her muscles burned from the effort.
Sweat had soaked through her blouse, sticking to her skin, and her hair clung to her damp forehead.
She took a mont to steady herself, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
Glancing at Ross, she noticed his own skin glistening with perspiration, a flush across his cheeks from the combination of alcohol and exertion.
His normally sharp, composed features were softened, relaxed in sleep—but she couldn’t help the flicker of worry that crossed her mind.
"Mr. Oakley," she said gently, kneeling slightly to adjust his position.
"You need to change your clothes before you sleep. Otherwise, you’re going to get sick." She shook him lightly, hoping to rouse him.
"Zzzzz..."
Only the soft sound of his snoring answered her.
Laura sighed and wiped her palms on her skirt.
She shifted slightly to make sure he was lying comfortably on his back, careful not to disturb him too much.
The blanket was partially bunched under him, so she tugged it up to cover his chest, her fingers brushing lightly against his warm skin.
The heat radiating off him was almost dizzying, a mix of exertion, alcohol, and natural body warmth.
She stood there for a mont, her hands lingering at her sides.
Part of her wanted to just leave him to rest, but another part of her—a quieter, more insistent part—couldn’t shake the concern gnawing at her.
She hated that she was this worried about a man she barely knew, but the sight of him so vulnerable and unguarded pulled at her instincts.
Finally, she took a step back, exhaling slowly. "At least I got him here safely," she murmured to herself. "That’s enough for tonight."
Even so, she couldn’t tear her gaze away imdiately, her mind restless with questions she didn’t dare voice aloud: Why did he drink so much?
How did soone like him handle it normally?
And, more unsettling, why did seeing him like this stir sothing in her she wasn’t ready to understand?
A few monts passed, and Laura let out a long, weary sigh.
She knew she couldn’t just leave Ross in this state, even if part of her wished she could retreat and pretend none of this had happened.
"What have I gotten myself into? I should have just gone ho," she muttered, shaking her head.
Her hands moved instinctively, adjusting his jacket and loosening his tie, trying to make him as comfortable as possible without waking him.
Every motion felt heavier than it should, her muscles aching from the effort of helping him into the room earlier.
Ross lay sprawled across the bed, completely unguarded, the faint rise and fall of his chest the only sign that he was alive.
There was sothing disarming about him like this—normally so composed, so commanding, yet now utterly unaware of his surroundings.
Laura’s pulse quickened at the thought.
She could feel a warmth creeping up her neck and across her cheeks, an odd mixture of anxiety, concern, and... sothing she couldn’t quite na.
The room itself seed to close in around her.
The soft hum of the air conditioning, the faint scent of the wine he’d drunk, even the shadows cast by the low lamp on the nightstand—it all combined into a strangely intense, almost electric atmosphere.
Her senses felt heightened, every detail sharper than it should be.
Laura shook her head again, trying to steady herself.
Focus, she told herself. He’s just a man who needs rest. That’s all.
Her hands moved to straighten the sheets, smoothing out the wrinkles where he had collapsed.
She couldn’t help but notice how vulnerable he looked, and it tugged at sothing protective inside her.
For a mont, she paused, standing over him and studying his face.
Even in sleep, he radiated confidence and command, the kind of presence that drew people in naturally.
She found herself both frustrated and fascinated by it, unsure whether she was admiring him, worrying about him, or simply caught up in the intensity of the night.
Laura finally took a deep breath and moved back slightly, giving him space while still keeping a watchful eye.
She told herself again that she should leave, that she had already done enough.
And yet, she lingered, torn between responsibility and a growing, inexplicable curiosity about the man who had so effortlessly unsettled her thoughts.
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