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The music changes without warning.
One second it's a mellow RB track, the next it's something with a bass line that makes the windows vibrate just a little.
Danielle freezes mid-sip.
"Oh—this is my song."
Before anyone can react, she grabs Samantha's hand and yanks her into the middle of the living room.
"Nope, no excuses," Danielle says, already bouncing. "We're dancing."
Samantha laughs, nearly spilling her drink. "I didn't stretch for this!"
"Too late," Danielle shoots back. "Injury builds character."
Carter immediately decides this is his moment.
"Oh I KNOW this one," he says, attempting a line dance that does not match the beat, the rhythm, or reality.
Leah watches for three seconds, then loses it.
"Why are your arms doing that??"
Jamie pulls out their phone. "I'm recording. This is evidence."
Carter points at them dramatically. "History will vindicate me."
The bass deepens, the lights dim just a touch more, and suddenly the living room feels like a private after-hours lounge instead of a penthouse.
Danielle spins Samantha dramatically, nearly knocking into the coffee table.
"THIS is my moment," Danielle declares, pointing at the ceiling like she's accepting an award.
Samantha laughs, steadying herself. "You are absolutely not coordinated enough for this confidence."
"Oh, hush," Danielle says, pulling her back in. "Just move your hips. Trust me."
They start dancing for real now — messy, loud, full of laughter. Danielle throws her head back, hair flying. Samantha finally gives in, shoulders loosening, laughing as she lets herself move with the beat.
Leah claps from the couch.
"Okay but why do you two kinda—"
Jamie cuts in immediately.
"Nope. Don't finish that sentence."
Carter raises his glass.
"I support whatever this is."
The music shifts again—slower this time, deeper, the kind of song that settles into your chest and stays there.
Conversation fades without anyone meaning for it to.
Ericka feels it before she sees it: the way Amanda's attention locks onto her like gravity. The way her gaze lingers, unguarded, openly appreciative.
Ericka smiles.
She sets her glass down deliberately.
Amanda notices immediately.
"Uh-oh," Samantha murmurs, already grinning. "That look means trouble."
Ericka steps forward into the open space of the living room. The red dress catches the light with every movement, the fabric hugging her like it was designed specifically for this moment.
She doesn't rush.
She lets the music guide her—one slow sway of her hips, a roll of her shoulders, her head tilting slightly as she closes her eyes for just a second.
Amanda doesn't blink.
Her hands curl loosely at her sides, jaw tightening as she watches Ericka move—confident, controlled, magnetic. Every step is intentional. Every pause feels like a promise.
Leah exhales loudly.
"Oh my god."
Jamie doesn't even try to hide their stare.
"She knows exactly what she's doing."
Ericka opens her eyes and looks straight at Amanda.
Not the room.
Not the crowd.
Just her.
She steps closer, the music pulsing through her body now, her movements subtle but devastating—hips swaying, hands sliding briefly along her own waist before dropping again. Not flashy. Just... assured.
Amanda swallows.
Carter mutters, "I feel like we should tip."
Danielle stares, wide-eyed and delighted.
"That's my sister. I'm so proud. I'm also terrified."
Ericka closes the distance until she's standing right in front of Amanda. She lifts one hand and rests it lightly on Amanda's shoulder, grounding herself there as she keeps moving to the beat—slow, intimate, clearly meant for one person only.
Amanda's breath stutters.
"You're doing this on purpose."
Ericka leans in just enough for Amanda to hear her over the music, voice warm and teasing.
"Of course I am."
The room is silent now—everyone watching, no one daring to interrupt.
Ericka lets the song finish before she finally stills. She smiles up at Amanda, eyes soft, playful.
"Too much?" she asks.
Amanda shakes her head once, completely honest.
"Not even close."
Ericka laughs quietly and presses a brief kiss to Amanda's lips—sweet, restrained, but enough to make the room explode again.
Leah groans dramatically.
"I love this for you. I hate this for all of us."
Samantha claps once.
"Okay. CEO danced. Assistant survived. Party officially elevated."
Ericka stays close to Amanda now, fingers lacing with hers, cheeks warm but expression unapologetic.
Amanda leans down and murmurs, just for her,
"You just ruined me in front of everyone."
Ericka smiles, perfectly content.
"Good."
The night didn't end so much as it slowly unraveled, piece by piece, until the penthouse looked like the aftermath of the most successful celebration no one fully remembered agreeing to.
It started with Carter.
He was standing—confidently—near the island, red cup in hand, launching into a story that clearly began years ago and had no intention of finding a conclusion.
"So back in college," he said, gesturing dramatically, "we thought it would be a great idea to—"
He paused.
Blink.
Blink.
Leah squinted at him. "Carter?"
Without warning, his knees buckled and he sat straight down onto the couch, head tipping back like a phone losing battery.
Out. Completely.
Leah stared for a full five seconds before announcing, "Wow. He just... powered off."
Jamie, already half-curled on the opposite end of the couch, nodded solemnly. "Respect."
Jamie then reached for a throw blanket, wrapped it tightly around themselves like a cocoon, pointed one finger at Maria, and said, "This blanket is mine now. If anyone touches it, I bite."
Maria, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her back against the coffee table, giggled uncontrollably. She tilted her phone toward Leah.
"Look," she whispered, eyes glassy. "My phone is upside down but I still know what I'm reading."
Leah glanced. "Maria... that's a calculator."
Maria laughed harder. "I KNOW."
On the far side of the room, Samantha and Danielle were shoulder to shoulder on the rug, whispering and laughing like teenagers at a sleepover, periodically shushing each other even though no one had complained.
Danielle hiccupped. "I love you."
Samantha nodded seriously. "I love you too."
They burst out laughing again.
Amanda stood in the middle of the penthouse, hands on her hips, slowly turning in a circle as she took it all in—the abandoned cups, the half-eaten dessert plates, the bodies scattered across furniture like fallen dominoes.
"...Wow," she said softly, impressed. "We really committed to this."
Behind her, Ericka leaned against the counter, sparkling water in hand, still flawless in that red dress, completely sober and absolutely entertained. She lifted a brow.
"You realize," she said calmly, "no one here is driving home."
Amanda glanced at Carter, then at Jamie, then at Maria, who had laid fully on the floor now and declared, "I live here."
Amanda nodded. "Correct. They've all been adopted by the penthouse."
Ericka laughed—low, warm—and set her glass down. She moved easily through the room, picking up empty cups, sliding coasters underneath glasses someone had abandoned mid-sip, gently nudging pillows under heads.
There was something quietly intimate about it. Unhurried. Domestic.
Amanda followed her, attempting to help—but getting distracted every ten seconds.
"You know," Amanda murmured, leaning in close, "you look illegal in that dress."
Ericka smiled without looking at her. "Focus."
Amanda picked up a glass, turned around, immediately forgot what she was doing when Ericka brushed past her.
"This is deeply unfair," Amanda whispered. "You're doing this on purpose."
Ericka glanced over her shoulder, amused. "Doing what?"
"Existing like that."
Ericka shook her head, laughing. "Come on. Let's at least make sure everyone's okay."
They checked on everyone together.
Leah had somehow migrated to the armchair and was half-awake, mumbling, "If anyone orders pizza right now, I'll cry."
Samantha had one arm flung over her face, still laughing in her sleep.
Danielle snored softly, curled around a pillow like it owed her money.
The penthouse gradually quieted, the earlier music long gone, replaced by the distant hum of traffic and the soft glow of city lights through the windows.
Eventually, Amanda's energy ran out all at once.
She dropped onto the edge of the bed with a dramatic sigh. "I'm not tired."
Ericka didn't argue.
She kicked off her heels, climbed onto the bed beside her, and gently tugged Amanda down by the sleeve of her suit jacket.
Amanda barely resisted.
Within seconds, her breathing evened out, body melting into the mattress like she'd been holding herself upright purely on adrenaline.
Ericka smiled to herself.
She brushed Amanda's hair back, loosened her jacket, and tucked the blanket carefully around her shoulders.
"Sure you're not," Ericka murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Amanda's forehead.
The lights dimmed automatically. The city kept glowing outside.
And the penthouse—once loud, chaotic, buzzing—settled into stillness.
A room full of sleeping friends.
A night full of laughter.
And a life that felt full in the quietest, safest way.