Chapter 3
SUTTON
The hotel was ridiculous.
Like, social-media-influencer-with-a-trust-fund ridiculous.
Marble floors so shiny I could see my imposter syndrome reflected back at me.
Crystal chandeliers that probably cost more than my entire degree, draped with garland and red velvet bows.
Even the bellhops looked like they’d been scouted from a luxury lifestyle campaign—all of them sporting festive gold name tags with tiny wreaths.
I stood beside our mountain of luggage—okay, his mountain—trying not to look like the intern who’d snuck into a billionaire’s vacation. My single red suitcase screamed Target clearance next to Jameson McKnight’s sleek black carry-ons that probably came with an NDA and a concierge service.
The flight here had already been surreal. Two hours on a private jet—yes, private—pretending I belonged there while quietly losing my mind over warm cookies, champagne, and a seat with a massage function.
We’d talked the whole time. Mostly work—Stella, the expo, all the safe, professional topics I’d rehearsed.
But then it drifted. Restaurants. My roommates.
His favorite coffee shop. Little, normal things that made the terrifyingly attractive man across from me feel less like my boss and more like temptation in a tailored suit.
Now, standing in the Salt Lake City lobby, reality set in. We were about to spend the weekend working side by side. Representing his company. No pressure at all.
Jameson turned from the front desk, his expression unreadable, and something in my stomach dropped.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Small issue with your room.”
“Issue?”
“The heating system’s out. They’re sending maintenance, but it won’t be fixed until tomorrow.
Hotel’s full—no other rooms available.” He raked a hand through his dark hair, and I’d already learned that gesture meant he was annoyed.
“So I moved your reservation to my suite. It has two bedrooms. Both with doors that lock. You’ll take the main one—it’s larger and has the better view. ”
I blinked. “You’re giving me the main bedroom in your suite?”
He shrugged, all calm authority. “You’re here because I asked you to drop everything and fly across the country on short notice. The least I can do is make sure you’re comfortable.”
“But it’s your suite.”
“Sutton.” His voice softened, but his eyes stayed firm. “It’s fine. Two bedrooms. You’ll have complete privacy.”
I should’ve protested. Should’ve insisted on another hotel or taken the cold room. But the truth was, the idea of being in the same hotel room as him sent a rush of warmth through me that professionalism couldn’t quite smother.
“Okay,” I said finally. “Thank you.”
Something eased in his expression—relief, maybe. “Come on. Let’s get settled before we head over to the expo center.”
The suite was on the tenth floor and easily three times the size of my apartment.
Floor-to-ceiling windows framed snow-dusted mountains.
A fireplace flickered beneath a mantel decorated with fresh pine boughs and white candles.
The kitchenette had a coffee machine that looked like it could file taxes.
“That one’s yours,” Jameson said, nodding toward the right-hand door. “I’ll take the other.”
I peeked inside and nearly choked. King bed. Seventeen pillows. Bathroom with a soaking tub big enough to host a small party.
“This is insane,” I called out.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it keeps being true.” I laughed, dropping my suitcase. “I feel like I should be paying you rent.”
He smiled—an actual, genuine smile that made my stomach do something reckless. “Consider it part of your compensation package.”
“Pretty sure that violates some HR rule.”
“I’ll risk it.”
We stood there for a beat too long. The air shifted, charged and quiet. I was suddenly hyperaware of everything—the way he filled the space, the way my pulse fluttered in my throat.
So, naturally, my brain panicked. “I should probably mention,” I blurted, “I’ve never actually spent the night with a man before, so if I do anything weird like sleepwalk, just, you know, forgive me in advance.”
I meant it as a joke. Unfortunately, it didn’t sound like one.
His expression froze. “You’ve never—” He stopped, recalibrating. “You mean you’ve never shared a hotel room with a man.”
Oh. My. God.
“Right,” I said too quickly. “That’s what I meant. Obviously.”
Except we both knew it wasn’t obvious.
The silence stretched, heavy and excruciating. I grabbed my coat just to have something to do. “We should probably head to the expo center. Get the booth set up before it’s too late.”
“Sutton—”
“I’ll just—grab my notes. And water. Maybe the mini fridge has—”
“Sutton.” His voice was softer now. “It’s okay.”
My head snapped up. “What is?”
“Whatever you meant. However you meant it.” His gaze held mine—steady, kind, and devastating. “It’s okay.”
I nodded mutely and escaped to my room, heart pounding hard enough to rattle my ribs.
The expo center was a controlled storm of chaos when we arrived. Booths half-assembled, cables snaking across the floor, vendors arguing over lighting. It should’ve been overwhelming, but the buzz of energy was addictive.
Our booth was in a prime spot—right by the main demo stage. Jameson had thought of everything: branded displays, demo tablets, even a portable induction cooktop so I could do live cooking segments.
“You really went all out,” I said, unpacking boxes.
“If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”
We fell into rhythm—him setting up the tech, me arranging props I’d brought from home—a wooden cutting board, a vintage mixing bowl, a sprig of Christmas greenery. I wanted the space to feel human, not corporate.
“Can I ask you something?” he said suddenly.
“Sure.”
“Earlier, at the hotel. You said you’d never…spent the night with someone.”
My pulse jumped. “I did say that.”
“Did you mean—” He hesitated. “I got the impression you meant more than just sharing a hotel room.”
I could’ve deflected. Laughed it off. But his patient expression made me tell the truth.
“I haven’t,” I said quietly. “Done any of it. The spending-the-night part or the before-the-spending-the-night part.”
His brows lifted. “Any of it?”
“I’ve been busy.” My voice came out defensive. “Worked through high school and college. Ran my channel. Paid rent. Dating didn’t exactly fit between double shifts and finals.”
“Sutton—”
“I know it’s weird.” I sighed. “Most people my age have already…you know. But I never met anyone who felt worth it. And then I started at North Star, and I’ve been too focused on proving myself to even think about—”
“It’s not weird,” he said firmly, cutting me off. “There’s no right timeline.”
“Easy for you to say. You probably have women falling at your feet.”
His mouth curved. “You think so?”
“I know so. You’re Jameson McKnight. Tall and handsome. You probably have a waiting list.”
He stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell his cologne—clean, dark, and unfairly distracting.
“For the record,” he said, voice low, “I don’t have a waiting list. I’ve been holding out for the right woman.”
My breath caught. “Really?”
“Yes.” His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “Lately, I’m interested in smart, passionate women who light up when they talk about the things they love. Women who remind me why I started building things in the first place.”
My pulse thundered. “Jameson—”
“We should finish setting up,” he said abruptly, stepping back like he’d caught himself on the edge of something dangerous. “Doors open in an hour.”
Right. Work. The expo. Not whatever this was burning between us.
I nodded, turning back to the booth, but my hands were shaking as I arranged the tablets. I could feel his gaze on me. When I looked up, our eyes met—and the heat there nearly melted me.
“Maybe,” I said lightly, trying to sound normal, “you could show me what I’ve been missing. Since you’re so…experienced with everything.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. His entire body went still.
“Sutton.” My name came out rough. “Be careful saying things like that to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying very hard to remember that you work for me. That there are about seventeen reasons this would be a terrible idea.” His voice dropped even lower. “But if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to stop caring about any of them.”
“Maybe I want you to stop caring,” I whispered, shocking even myself.
His jaw tightened. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Then show me.”
The air crackled. For one dizzying second, I thought he might actually kiss me—right there, surrounded by vendors and bright lights and chaos. But then footsteps approached, voices carrying.
Jameson stepped back, dragging a hand through his hair again. “We should focus on the expo.”
“Right. The expo.”
We went back to work, but nothing felt the same. Every time our fingers brushed, heat darted up my arm. Every look between us carried the promise of something reckless, something I wasn’t sure I was ready for—but couldn’t stop wanting.
And as the vendors finished setting up, as the first attendees filtered through, all I could think about was tonight. The suite. The quiet. The closed doors.
Jameson caught my eye from across the booth, and the look he gave me wasn’t professional. It was a promise.
This weekend was going to change everything.
I just hoped I wouldn’t lose my job in the process.