Hank looked around the room, his jaw dropping slightly in disbelief. This wasn't just a hotel room; it was a lavish suite, a far cry from the cramped quarters he'd been in before. A plush sofa group sat in the center, inviting and comfortable. Long, floor-to-ceiling windows dominated one wall, and with a touch of a button, they slid smoothly to the side, revealing a spacious balcony that overlooked the city. A massive, 75-inch television hung on the opposite wall, a silent promise of entertainment. He even spotted a kitchenette tucked into a corner, complete with a gleaming refrigerator.

  He looked down at the keycard in his hand. 2006. It was indeed the right room. "Unbelievable," he whispered, a mix of awe and bewilderment in his voice. He walked further into the suite, setting down his bags with a soft thud. The sheer luxury of the space was almost overwhelming.

  Drawn by the sound of voices, he walked over to the balcony. Laughter, feminine and bright, drifted from the adjacent balcony. He couldn't see the source of the sound, a partition obscuring his view, but he could definitely tell it was a group of women. A smirk tugged at his lips. This whole situation was becoming increasingly strange, and yet, undeniably intriguing.

  He grabbed his camera bag, the new one, still marveling at its quality, and the flashcard containing the picture of Lily. He had a promise to keep. As he stepped out of the suite, he walked straight into someone, the collision unexpected and jarring. Both of them stumbled back, a flurry of apologies on their lips.

  "I am so sorry," Hank said, his voice laced with genuine remorse. He looked up, and his breath hitched slightly. The woman was beautiful, there was no denying that. Older, yes, but that didn't detract from her allure. She possessed a mature elegance, a confident sensuality that was both captivating and a little intimidating.

  She smirked at him, a playful glint in her eyes. Her mind was already racing, assessing him. This was precisely the kind of man who could ignite a spark within her, the kind of attention her husband seemed incapable of providing anymore. "No worries," she said, her voice a smooth, husky purr. "I believe it was my mistake. I wasn't looking where I was going."

  He smiled, the awkwardness of the collision fading as he met her gaze. "Please, if you need anything, let me know," he offered, a genuine warmth in his tone. As he turned to close the door to his room, she spoke again, her voice holding a suggestive lilt.

  She looked at him, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary. "You are staying there?" she asked, her voice a silken question.

  Hank nodded, a hint of curiosity piqued by her intense gaze.

  She smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips. "Well, then we are neighbors," she said, pulling out her keycard. He caught a glimpse of the number: room 2008. She turned towards her door, her hips swaying slightly, a subtle invitation. "Maybe I will take you up on that," she said with a wink, her voice a playful promise. Then, she opened the door and disappeared inside, leaving Hank standing in the hallway, a mixture of surprise and intrigue swirling within him.

  He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Maerisa… is this part of your plan?" he whispered, the question directed into the empty air, a silent conversation with the enigmatic elf. He turned and headed towards the elevator, the encounter adding another layer of mystery to the already bizarre tapestry of his San Diego experience.

  With that, Hank pressed the button for the lobby, a wave of anticipation and curiosity washing over him. He leaned back against the elevator wall, the image of the woman in the hallway replaying in his mind. Her mature beauty, the confident way she carried herself, and those… those breasts. They had been very eye-catching, a lush and generous curve that had momentarily stolen his breath. He thought for a moment on how good it would feel to bury his face between them, the warmth, the softness… He chuckled softly, a self-deprecating sound. "Yeah, right," he sighed, not believing for a single moment that such an encounter would actually happen.

  The elevator doors slid open on the eleventh floor, and a burst of energy filled the space as four young women stepped inside. They were all dressed in similar tracksuits, their movements athletic and coordinated. He guessed they were from one of the volleyball teams competing in the city. They exuded a vibrant, competitive spirit.

  One of the girls, her eyes bright and inquisitive, spotted his camera bag. "Hey, you covering the tournament?" she asked, her voice friendly and slightly flirtatious.

  Hank smiled, a genuine curve of his lips. He shook his head. "No, sorry. I was here for the Comic-Con," he said.

  The girl's eyes widened. "Nice! Bet there were a lot of cosplayers to photograph," she said, her gaze lingering on him a moment longer than necessary.

  He nodded, a hint of amusement in his voice. "A lot," he confirmed. "And some pretty incredible costumes."

  "I think my cousin was there, though I don't think she dressed up," one of the other girls said, her eyes scanning him with interest. "She's really into that stuff."

  Hank just smiled, not wanting to be rude, but also enjoying the attention. "It was a lively scene, lots of action," he said, his eyes twinkling. "Scarlett Johansson even came by."

  "Bullshit," one of the girls exclaimed, her tone challenging.

  Hank pulled out his phone, a playful smirk on his face. He navigated to his homepage, the image of Scarlett Johansson in his booth, signing the picture he had taken of Mel in her costume prominently displayed. "Wow, she really was there!" the first girl said, her eyes glued to his phone screen. "That's an amazing shot!"

  "Hey, is that your site?" the first girl asked, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "It looks really professional."

  Hank nodded, a hint of pride warming his chest. "Yeah, all the pictures I took will be here," he said.

  "I know that site!" another girl chimed in, her eyes lighting up. "You're trending right now, you're Hank!"

  Hank nodded, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, that's me alright," he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out four business cards, handing them out to each of them. "Nice to meet you all."

  "Hey, if you come to the tournament, do you think you would be able to do some action shots?" one of the girls asked, her voice hopeful, her eyes meeting his. "You've got a great eye."

  Hank nodded, his interest piqued. "Yeah, if I have time, I'd love to," he said.

  The first girl pulled out a flyer from her bag, scribbling something on the back. She handed it to him. "We are the junior team of the Miami Hurricanes," she said, her smile bright. "Show this to the ticket booth. Tell them you are there to take action pictures. Our team will cover your entrance fee." The other girls nodded in agreement, their eyes encouraging.

  Hank smiled, genuinely touched by their offer. "I will absolutely try to be there," he said, his voice sincere. The elevator beeped, signaling his floor. The doors slid open.

  "Hey Hank, we hope to see you there!" one of them called out as he stepped out of the elevator. He waved and smiled, a genuine smile, the encounter adding a spring to his step. He walked out of the hotel, the image of the beautiful volleyball players and the possibility of photographing their tournament adding another layer of intrigue to his day.

  It was a pleasant walk, the San Diego sun warm on his skin, as he made his way towards the office building Constance had mentioned. He looked up, his eyes tracing the imposing structure that dominated the cityscape. The Hanigan Investments building. It was a sleek, modern high-rise, its facade a shimmering expanse of glass and steel, reflecting the sky and the surrounding buildings. It stretched upwards for nine stories, each floor a testament to power and wealth. The entrance was a grand affair, a polished marble lobby leading to a set of gleaming elevators. Hank smirked, a touch of envy lacing his thoughts. "To have that kind of money," he sighed inwardly, imagining what it would be like to own a building like this, to work within its walls, to command that kind of success. He shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. He was getting ahead of himself. He had a job offer, yes, but nothing was set in stone, and technically he had turned it down already.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Hank walked into the building, the cool air conditioning a welcome respite from the sun. The lobby was vast and opulent, a stark contrast to the bustling city outside. He approached the reception desk, where a very young and meticulously groomed receptionist sat, her eyes fixed on her computer screen.

  "Good morning, sir. How can I help you?" she asked, her tone clipped and professional, lacking any warmth.

  Hank smiled, attempting to project a friendly demeanor. "I am here to see Miss Hanigan," he said.

  The girl frowned, her eyes narrowing slightly, clearly not pleased with his request. "And what business may I ask do you have with her?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion, her gaze dismissive.

  Hank's smile remained in place, but his jaw tightened slightly. He didn't appreciate her attitude. "It is about a job offer she gave me," he said, emphasizing the words slightly, hoping to convey the importance of his visit. It wasn't completely a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either.

  She picked up her phone, her movements sharp and efficient, her gaze never leaving him. "Your name, sir?" she asked, her tone bordering on hostile.

  "Hank. Hank Avery," he said, his voice calm but firm.

  She raised an eyebrow, a flicker of recognition in her eyes. Clearly, she had heard his name before, but the way she was looking at him, she couldn't quite place it. He just kept smiling, trying to maintain a facade of composure, as if everything was perfectly normal. "Mrs. Hanigan," she said, putting deliberate emphasis on the "Mrs.," her tone dripping with disapproval. "There is a young man here saying he is here about a job you offered him, a Hank Avery…" she said, her voice dripping with disdain.

  There was some response on the phone, the receptionist's expression unchanging. She nodded curtly. "Very well, Mrs. Hanigan," she said, then hung up the phone, her gaze shifting back to her computer screen, completely dismissing Hank's presence. "She is awaiting you on the sixth floor. The elevator is right there," she said, her voice flat and dismissive, her attention already elsewhere.

  Hank snorted softly, turning around, his patience wearing thin. "Some professionalism," he muttered under his breath, the words just loud enough for her to hear.

  She looked up, her eyes flashing with anger, but as she was about to retort, the elevator doors slid open, a silent invitation. Hank smirked, a triumphant curve to his lips. He walked into the elevator, turning back to face the receptionist as the doors began to close. He could see her stare at him, her expression a mixture of fury and frustration. He pressed the sixth-floor button, a sense of satisfaction washing over him as the doors closed, cutting off her gaze.

  The doors to the elevator slid open, and Hank stepped out, his breath catching in his throat. It wasn't just an office; it was a sprawling, modern workspace, a testament to Constance's success. The space was vast and open-concept, with dozens of cubicles arranged in neat rows, a hive of activity with people moving purposefully around. The air buzzed with energy, a mix of focused concentration and the quiet hum of conversation. Sleek, minimalist furniture filled the space, and large windows lined the walls, offering panoramic views of the city. It was a far cry from the cramped, sterile offices he was used to seeing.

  He looked around, a little lost in the organized chaos. "You look lost, sir. Can I help you?" a young man asked, his voice friendly and helpful. He had a kind face and a warm smile.

  Hank nodded, relieved. "I was looking for Miss Hanigan. The receptionist told me the sixth floor," he said.

  The young man nodded and smiled, gesturing down the corridor. "Miss Hanigan is right down the corridor here. Her office is at the end. I would suggest you knock first," he said.

  Hank smiled, a genuine expression of gratitude. "Thank you," he said.

  Then, he started to walk down the corridor, weaving between the cubicles. He couldn't help but notice the people working diligently at their computers. There was a mix of both sexes, and many of them were strikingly attractive. He smirked, a hint of cynicism coloring his thoughts. After what Constance had told him about her ex-husband, he had a pretty good idea why some of them had been hired. But now, James Hanigan was no longer the Director, and a new era seemed to be dawning.

  He reached the end of the corridor and stood before a large, imposing door. He took a deep breath and knocked. "Come in," he heard, Constance's voice, clear and commanding.

  He pushed the door open, his eyes immediately drawn to Constance. She had stood up as he entered, and now she rushed towards him, her movements swift and eager. Then, to his surprise, she hugged him tightly, a gesture that was both unexpected and surprisingly warm.

  The door was still open, and everyone in the office had a clear view of the embrace. "Your employees can see us," he whispered, a hint of unease in his voice.

  She smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Then, she opened the doors wide, her voice ringing out across the office. "Since you all are already whispering, this is Hank Avery… the man that saved Lily’s life yesterday morning," she announced, her gaze sweeping across the room, silencing any potential gossip. Then, she closed the door with a decisive click and turned back to Hank, her smile genuine. "Don't let it bother you. They are probably thinking I'm going to jump you, because that is what my husband… ex-husband used to do in here with all the young girls," she said, her tone wry.

  Hank smirked, a hint of playful challenge in his eyes. Not that he would mind a little "jumping" from Constance. She was a beautiful woman, undeniably attractive. Maybe five years older than him, but that only added to her allure. She possessed a mature confidence, a captivating blend of strength and sensuality. He found himself admiring her more than he had anticipated.

  "Well, let them talk," he said, his voice a low, suggestive murmur.

  She laughed, a bright, melodious sound. Then, she invited him over to sit down, gesturing towards a comfortable chair in front of her large desk. "Something is bothering me," he said, his tone shifting to a more serious note.

  She looked at him, her gaze direct, her expression attentive. She offered him a bottle of water, her movements graceful. "Shoot," she said, sitting down in her big, executive chair, her posture relaxed yet commanding.

  "There are nine floors, yet your main office is not on the top floor," he said, his eyes scanning the room, taking in the expensive artwork and the tasteful decor.

  She laughed, a low, knowing chuckle. She leaned back in her chair, her gaze playful. "You're right, it's not. The top three floors are not part of the company," she said.

  He raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Oh?"

  "The ninth floor is my home," she explained. "It used to be the home of my husband too, but you know what happened there. Since I own the company and did before we got married, he gets nothing." There was a hint of steel in her voice, a quiet determination. She smiled, the expression softening. "The other two floors are open. One is meant for Lily when she grows up. She will never have to worry about a place to live."

  "I'm guessing the eighth floor," Hank said, a hint of a question in his voice.

  Constance shook her head, a fond smile playing on her lips. "No. Even though she is only six years old, she likes the seventh floor better. The layout is different, and she has a little designer inside her," she said, her voice filled with a motherly affection.

  Hank smirked, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Speaking of Lily, where is she?" he asked.

  Constance smiled, her expression softening even more. "Home, on the ninth floor," she said.

  Hank nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "Not even curious about the eighth floor?" she asked, a playful challenge in her voice.

  Hank smirked, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Well, yeah, but I figured it's personal, and I don't want to push your hospitality," he said.

  She chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She leaned forward slightly, her gaze intense. "I like you, Hank. You say your opinion, no bull," she said.

  Hank nodded, a hint of pride in his chest. "So, Tina said you were here for a job offer I gave you," she said, leaning back in her chair, her expression curious.

  Hank laughed, a genuine, hearty sound. "She had an attitude when I called you Miss Hanigan, so I lied a little," he confessed, a hint of sheepishness in his voice.

  Constance nodded, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "She is one of the girls that fucked my husband. I am looking to replace her and about four of the other girls in the company," she said, her voice flat and matter-of-fact.

  Hank shook his head, a mixture of sympathy and disgust in his expression. "I am sorry," he said.

  She sighed, a sound that held a hint of weariness. "Hank, there is nothing for you to be sorry about. Hell, I would fuck you on camera just to send it to him to show him I moved on, but I know there are things you might not be willing to do," she said, her voice a low, suggestive purr, her eyes sparkling with a playful challenge.

  Hank chuckled, a flicker of heat rising in his cheeks. "Not that I wouldn't be interested in you, but on camera… maybe not," he said, his voice a low rumble.

  She smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips. "Really? So…" she said, drawing out the word, her eyes dancing with amusement.

  Hank looked at her, the playful banter fading as the reality of the situation settled in. "Your job offer. It was really real, wasn't it?" he asked, his voice a mixture of hope and disbelief.

  She nodded, her gaze direct and unwavering. "Yeah. If for nothing else than for the fact that I know you put others before yourself. I made some calls about you," she said.

  Hank swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "And…?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.