We check into a hotel, or at least I think it’s a hotel. The place is called The Regency Rooms, though there’s no sign on the outside of the sixteen-story building. No clue as to what kind of star rating the place has. The lobby is yards of endless white marble tile, shot through with whispers of gray. No sofas. No generic artwork. Nothing but the white marble and the reception desk, which, like the rest of the lobby, is the epitome of simplicity. A man sits behind the desk, a dove grey suit and a wall of white teeth greeting us with a conservative smile.
“So good to see you again, Mr. Hanson,” he says to Zeth. My stomach clenches at that name—Hanson. I know that name. That’s the name Eli provided me with back when I had to sell myself for information. It’s the name I gave to the receptionist at the Marriot hotel when I was checking in what seems like forever ago. Zeth gives me a cautious glance, and then nods curtly to the impeccably groomed gentleman who is sliding a key card across the smooth, cool stonework toward us. “Will you be staying with us long?” he asks.
“Five nights,” Zeth replies. He looks…he looks a little uncomfortable.
“Oh, excellent. You’ll be with us for our celebrations on Sunday evening, then. Would you like to reserve a booth?”
Michael coughs, though the cough sounds more like he’s choking. The loud bark echoes across the cavernous room like a sharp burst of applause. Zeth turns slowly and gives him a dirty look. I’m not stupid; I can see Michael is trying to disguise a smile as he covers his mouth with a balled up fist.
Zeth scratches at his jaw. “No, that won’t be necessary, thank you.”
Celebrations? Reserving a booth? Tally those things up with Michael’s less-than-subtle reaction to the receptionist’s question, and I suddenly have a very vivid picture of what happens at The Regency Rooms. This is the kind of place that hides deviant, provocative secrets in its dark corners. Zeth accepts the key card off the counter and collects our bags—more clothes and toiletries procured by Michael—and then he leads us over to a sleek, minimal elevator. There is no call button, just a black panel mounted into the wall that Zeth touches the key card to. A white star icon appears on the black panel, pulsing ever so slightly.
This place is super fucking surreal. I cast one last look over my shoulder as the single, seamless steel door slides back to give us entry to the elevator, and I catch the receptionist watching us. He gives me a very slow, very deliberate wink. My cheeks burst into flames. I step onto the elevator, unsure whether to mention the man’s salacious suggestion to the guys. Because it definitely was a suggestion. A single girl headed up to a room in a place like this? With two men? I turn around as we wait for the elevator to begin its ascent, Zeth on one side of me and Michael on the other, and a wicked part of me grabs the reins. I make eye contact with the receptionist. And I wink back.
His professional fa?ade crumbles as he sends me an appreciative grin. The doors close, and then it’s just the three of us. Michael nudges me in the back and leans forward so his mouth is close to my ear. “Are you misbehaving, Dr. Sloane?”
I can’t help it. I laugh. Zeth gives Michael a warning glance. “Better not be fucking hitting on my girl.” He cocks an eyebrow at his friend, and his demeanor is all fight, though I can tell he’s only joking.
Joking and Zeth Mayfair. I’d never have thought the two would go together, but I’ve learned of late that the man I call mine is actually a very funny soul. He just hides it really, really well. Michael straightens his tie, glancing up at the display—twelve, thirteen, fourteen—and says, “Me? I wouldn’t even dream of it.”
The elevator car glides to a halt at the sixteenth floor—the top floor, of course—and we find ourselves in an empty corridor. There are only two doors up here. The door on the left is marked A; the door on the right, marked B. Michael bites back a grin again, and Zeth throws a bag at him. I don’t know how I missed it before, but it’s a black duffel. My heart starts thumping in my chest at the sight of it. I never thought I’d admit to anything of the sort, but I’ve missed that bag. I have no idea why Zeth is throwing it at Michael. Or at least I don’t until Zeth growls, “Don’t say a fucking word. I mean it.”
I have a medical degree. I have a science degree, too. I’m a pretty smart person. It’s obvious there’s something entertaining about being here, in this hallway, standing between these two doors. Michael picks up Zeth’s duffel and shoves it into his chest. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours, I assume.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. He pulls a key card out of his own pocket and turns to the door labeled with a B. He opens it up and vanishes inside, leaving Zeth and me with door A.
“Let me guess,” I say. “This is normally a choose-your-own-adventure moment, huh? Pick the door on the left and get one thing, pick the door on the right for another?”