NATHANIEL HOLMES POV
The moment Jennifer's voice disappeared behind the lobby desk, I finally allowed myself to breathe.
I hadn't expected to run into her here.
Not at my family's hotel.
Not standing in a uniform she somehow made look… elegant.
When she looked up at me earlier, eyes wide, cheeks flushed from shock, something inconvenient twisted inside my chest.
I didn't like that.
I didn't like the fact that I had driven past three other luxury hotels just to come to this one — the one my father owned—the one I avoided as much as possible.
She didn't look at me with greed. Or admiration. Or interest.
But with suspicion and slight irritation.
In a way, it was refreshing.
And problematic.
Very problematic.
I headed for the private elevator reserved for executives. Tapping the keycard Austin— my older brother had kept with me, the door opened instantly and the moment it closed behind me, I leaned against the wall.
Jennifer Wilton.
The woman I carried out of an alley.
The woman who argued with me and labeled me a kidnapper in my own mansion.
I exhaled, long and slow, watching my reflection in the elevator's mirrored walls.
"You're losing it," I muttered to myself.
"Get yourself together Nathaniel Holmes."
The doors chimed, and I stepped into the 49th floor — the top level before the penthouse. The floor was quiet, the carpets thick, and some white orchids were placed on a shelf. Austin always liked things smelling his way.
His office door was half-open, the sign PRESIDENT OF MKS HOTELS shining in gold.
I didn't bother knocking.
We weren't exactly formal with each other.
Austin looked up from his desk the moment I walked in. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, dark circles under his eyes. He was only five years older than me, but right now he looked fifteen.
Unlike me, he spent half his life working for dad at the company. And I won't be wrong to say he particularly loved it.
"I heard you were in the building," he said, leaning back. "That's rare."
"Don't get excited," I replied, taking a seat. "I'm not here for the board."
He raised a brow. "Shame. Dad will be disappointed."
"He'll live."
Austin clicked his pen, watching me with that annoying big-brother look he had perfected since childhood.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
I sighed and stared at the window behind him. The entire city was visible beneath us—clean and distant.
"Dad is still trying to drag me into the next board meeting," I finally said. "I told him no. Again."
"That's because you never want to talk to him."
"He never wants to listen."
Austin rubbed his temple. "He's trying, Nate."
"So am I," I muttered.
There was a brief silence between us —not hostile, just heavy. This office had always felt too hollow, too polished. Austin thrived in structures and responsibilities. I thrived in… avoiding them.
"You know," he said after a while, "if you're going to haunt the hotel, at least pretend you're here for business."
I smirked. "Is that what I'm doing? 'Haunting'?"
"Yes," he said flatly. "You show up unannounced, wander around, use the VIP elevator like it's your personal toy… People talk."
I hid the shift in my expression by looking away.
If anyone had seen the way Jennifer nearly tripped over her own words…
Yeah, they would talk.
Austin leaned forward, studying me. "You look distracted."
"I'm not."
"Liar."
I stood abruptly. "I have a suite to check into. Are we done?"
"We're not," he said calmly, "but you're going to leave anyway, so yes."
I rolled my eyes and headed for the door.
Before I stepped out, Austin added something in a quieter voice:
"Whatever's bothering you… deal with it. Don't let it grow into something you'll regret."
I didn't answer.
Partially because I didn't want to.
Partially because I had no idea what to say.
******
LATER THAT EVENING
I drove home, ignoring the buzzing phone on my passenger seat. Jude had called twice. My father once. I wasn't in the mood for either.
The mansion gates opened automatically, and the guards nodded as I passed. I pulled into the driveway and rested my head on the steering wheel for a moment.
This was supposed to be simple.
My life was simple.
Women were simple.
Don't attach.
Don't expect.
Don't feel.
These were the three rules I lived by.
While Austin drowned himself in the business and other responsibilities after the death of our mother, I took the other turn. I spent half the days in clubs, surrounded by women and alcohol.
But for the first time in a very long time, my mind wasn't wandering into nightclubs. Not even towards boardrooms.
It all started when I foolishly dialed my number on her phone at the club while she was washing up.
The way I rushed when I received a call that she had passed out in the alley. It was unlike me.
I don't do that.
I don't get such emotions.
I shouldn't.
And right now, my thoughts were wandering to a girl with tired eyes and sharp words, who looked at me like I was an inconvenience — not a Holmes.
For reasons I refused to analyse, that got under my skin.
I shut off the engine and stepped out of the car.
"Unbelievable," I muttered to myself.
The last thing I needed was a complication.
And Jennifer Wilton had the potential to be one.
A very dangerous one.