DAVID'S POV —
The elevator ride up is painfully quiet.
Not because the hotel is empty—it's not. Staff are still running around cleaning up the aftermath of the storm, guests checking out, people talking too loudly about stock crashes and delayed flights—but because I know Keifer.
And I know that expression he had last night before he disappeared with half a bottle of whiskey and enough unresolved feelings to start a civil war.
So when Jay herself handed me the room key with perfect composure and said "please make sure he doesn't do anything insane,"
I already knew this morning was going to be interesting.
What I didn't expect—Was this.
The moment I unlock the door and step inside, I stop dead.The room is a disaster.Worse and really personal.
The sheets are completely ruined—twisted, half hanging off the bed like somebody fought sleep itself.Medicine wrappers scattered across the nightstand.
A wet towel abandoned near the chair.Ice bucket melted into water.One wine bottle on the floor.
And then—Keifer's shirt.Thrown across the sofa.
I stare at it for a long second.My mind travelling in so many scenarios which were by the way nowhere clean.....
Then very slowly…
My eyes lift and there he is.
Keifer sitting against the headboard looking far too awake for someone who was supposedly half dead a few hours ago.
Bare chest exposed.Hair messy.Jaw relaxed.
And the bastard—The absolute bastard—Looks pleased with life.
A slow smirk pulls at my mouth instantly.
"Well," I drawl, shutting the door behind me, "had a great night, I suppose, Watson?"
Keifer doesn't even flinch.
If anything, his smirk deepens.
"Very pleasing night, Braselton," he replies smoothly, voice rough from sleep and fever but annoyingly satisfied anyway. "What are you doing here?"
I let my gaze drag around the room again deliberately.
"Oh, nothing," I say casually. "Just Attorney Mariano handing me the key and asking me to 'take care of you or something.'"
His eyes flicker at her name.
I lean against the wall slowly, folding my arms.
"But honestly?" I continue, grin widening slightly, "I see you were already very well taken care of, weren't you?"
Silence.
Then Keifer looks away for the first time since I walked in.Not guilty.Not embarrassed.Worse.
Fond.
And THAT nearly makes me laugh.
Because Mark Keifer Watson—the same man who once negotiated a billion-dollar merger without blinking—is sitting here looking at a crumpled pillow like it personally healed his soul.
"Oh my God," I mutter, genuinely horrified. "You're down catastrophic."
"Shut up, David."
"No, no—I need a moment to process this." I gesture dramatically toward the room. "She bathed you, medicated you, tucked you in apparently—"
"She did not tuck me in."
I raise an eyebrow.
Keifer pauses.
"…at least not properly."
That's it.
I burst out laughing.
A full laugh.
Because this is unbelievable.
"You are INSANE," I tell him through the laughter. "Absolutely gone. Mentally deceased. Rory owes me money because I said you'd spiral first."
Keifer rolls his eyes but there's no heat in it today.
That's what catches me off guard.He looks…Calm.
Not the fake cold control he usually wears actually calm.
I glance toward the other side of the bed.
Toward the very obvious indentation beside him and suddenly the room feels less chaotic.
More dangerous.
Because Jay staying here? Taking care of him? Sleeping beside him?
That changes things.
Keifer follows my gaze and a slow smile appears again.
"She took care after me even when she hates me....she could have thrown me out of the suite but she didn't...," he says quietly, almost to himself.
Not arrogant.Not mocking.Like he still can't fully believe it.
I exhale slowly.
"…you're terrifying when you're hopeful."
That finally earns me a real laugh from him.
"Hopeful?" he murmurs, dragging a hand across his jaw before looking toward the pillow beside him again.
"No, Braselton."
His eyes darken slightly.
"Now I'm sure...She loves me and I'll do absolutely everything in my power to take back what's mine...."
JAY'S POV —
The second I step into the penthouse suite, the doors barely sliding shut behind me, chaos explodes.
"OH MY GOD."
Jeremy practically materializes out of nowhere like an overdramatic Victorian wife discovering her husband returned from war, except somehow louder.
"You are ALIVE."
I blink slowly, exhausted beyond reason, clutching my heels in one hand and my dignity—barely—in the other.
"…unfortunately."
His mouth falls open.
"No. Nope. Absolutely not. Don't give me unfortunately." He points aggressively at my appearance. "LOOK at yourself! Your hair is a crime scene, your lipstick is gone, your dress is wrinkled, and you came back at NOON."
I walk past him calmly.
"People stay out late sometimes, Jeremy."
"NOT YOU."
"Maybe I evolved."
"You look like you survived a mafia interrogation and a situationship simultaneously."
"…accurate."
He GASPS.
"JASPER JEAN MARIANO."
I groan dramatically, kicking my heels off near the couch. "Can I die first before the investigation begins?"
"No."
Jeremy grabs my shoulders dramatically, spinning me toward the mirror near the hallway.
"LOOK AT YOURSELF."
I do.
…and immediately regret it.
Because wow.
I really do look insane.
Hair messy. Mascara slightly smudged. Keifer's stupid oversized blazer still hanging over my shoulders because apparently at some point during the night I'd stolen it without remembering.
OH MY GOD.
I freeze.
Jeremy freezes too.
Then slowly—Very slowly—
His eyes narrow.
"…whose blazer is that."
My soul leaves my body.
"Nobody's."
"That is a MAN'S blazer."
"It's fashion."
"It's a very FASHIONABLE MAN'S trauma you are wearing!!!!."
I rip it off instantly and throw it across the room like it personally offended me.
Jeremy watches the entire thing with widening eyes.
Then—
"Oh my God."
"No."
"Oh my GOD."
"Jeremy—"
"You spent the night with him didn't you!???."
I point at him violently. "DO NOT say words you cannot take back."
"You spent the NIGHT with MARK KEIFER WATSON."
"I did NOT spend the night with him."
Jeremy folds his arms.
"Oh come on like I'd believe your words…continue the talk and full me in completely...."
I inhale deeply.
Then immediately regret opening my mouth.
"He spent the night in my suite because technically he was dying."
Jeremy blinks.
"…I'm sorry?"
"He showed up drunk."
Jeremy gasps.
"At my hotel room."
Another louder gasp.
"With a fever very very high...."
Silence.Then—
"…this sounds like the beginning of a toxic romance novel written by a mentally unstable woman."
"I KNOW."
Jeremy throws himself dramatically onto the couch.
"KEEP TALKING."
I glare at him while ripping earrings off aggressively.
"He barged into my room completely drunk, burning alive, emotionally unstable and smelling offensively good for someone near death."
Jeremy slaps a pillow over his mouth to stop screaming.
"And THEN," I continue louder, because now I'm irritated all over again, "Mr. Dramatic Fever King was unconscious and refused medicine like a toddler fighting cough syrup."
"Oh this is cinema."
"It gets WORSE."
His eyes widen with delight.
"There's WORSE?!"
"I had to feed him water."
Jeremy nods sympathetically. "Okay that's norm—"
"With my mouth."
Silence.ABSOLUTE SILENCE.
Jeremy slowly removes the pillow from his face.
"…you WHAT."
"I DIDN'T HAVE A CHOICE."
"You INDIRECTLY KISSED HIM?!"
"MEDICALLY."
"There is NOTHING medical about mouth-to-mouth hydration, you psychopath."
"KYLE TOLD ME TO."
"KYLE NEEDS HIS LICENSE REVOKED BUT OKAY CONTINUE WHAT HAPPENED NEXT!????"
I bury my face in my hands with a groan so violent it sounds spiritual.
"And then his fever wouldn't go down so I had to—"
Jeremy sits upright instantly.
"…had to what."
I stare at the ceiling.
"…cold towel compression."
Jeremy narrows his eyes suspiciously.
"NOO don't tell me…was he...shirtless?"
I say nothing.His jaw DROPS.
"SHIRTLESS?!"
"HE WAS OVERHEATING."
"You saw his abs?!"
"…unfortunately."
"Unfortunately?! JAY THAT MAN LOOKS LIKE A GREEK WAR GENERAL SCULPTED BY FEMINISTS."
I choke on air.
"CAN YOU NOT SAY THINGS LIKE THAT?!"
Jeremy points dramatically.
"You touched his chest didn't you."
"I WAS SAVING A LIFE."
"You wanted to lick and do stuff with the life."
"JEREMY!"
He collapses backward laughing hysterically while I grab the nearest cushion and throw it directly at his face.
"This is NOT funny."
"OKAY BUT PLEASE TELL ME YOU ATLEAST DIDN'T slept in the same bed RIGHT!????"
"…technically yes."
Jeremy SCREAMS into the pillow.
"I KNEW IT. I KNEW THIS STORM WAS SYMBOLIC."
"It was NOT symbolic."
"You cuddled him as well!???."
"I DID NOT—"
I stop.Because technically…Oh God.
Jeremy goes completely still.Slowly lowering the pillow.
"…you cuddled him."
I look away immediately.
"That is irrelevant information."
"JAY."
"He was unconscious!"
"And YOU?"
Silence.
Jeremy stares at me like he just uncovered government secrets.
"Oh my GOD," he whispers dramatically. "You still love him."
"I absolutely do not."
"You slept on his chest like a divorced wife during reconciliation season."
"I HATE YOU."
"No babe, unfortunately you hate that man significantly less now."
I throw another pillow at him.He dodges it easily.
"Did he say anything during the period he was with you!???"
And annoyingly—That question makes my chest tighten.
Just slightly.
I look down at my coffee table.
"When he came in…he asked me not to leave again."
Jeremy's expression softens immediately.
"…oh."
I hate that oh.
I hate the way my stomach twists hearing it again.
I hate the memory of his voice saying it half-delirious, half-broken.
Jeremy watches me carefully now.
"No snarky jokes?" I mutter quietly.
"Oh no," he says softly, walking over with coffee and placing it into my hands. "There are still snarky jokes."
That earns the tiniest laugh out of me.
Jeremy sits beside me, nudging my shoulder.
"But Jay…"
I sigh. "What now."
"That man is DOWN catastrophically and from the looks of it so are you!!!."
I stare into my coffee.
"…I know."
And somehow?
That answer terrifies me more than anything else.