The hotel lobby was alive, a tall standing sign gleamed in gold pointed the way to the ballroom—where a firm's name was proudly emblazoned on the elegant banners. Right at the ballroom entrance, two middle-aged couples—powerfully dressed, clearly old friends—greeted each other with firm handshakes and wide smiles, exchanging a flurry of congratulations and compliments. Their laughter echoed like a well-rehearsed reunion. Beside them, a younger couple joined the conversation, nodding politely and slipping into the rhythm of the social dance.
But a certain gentleman barely paid attention to any of it.
With the composure of the MIBs, he strode across the lobby—his crisp uniform untouched by the surrounding chaos, his bell-boy hat perfectly perched on his head.
As he stepped into the elevator, he adjusted the polished name tag gleaming on his chest.
'BOB'—spelled extravagantly,
Because of course it was.
The moment he turned, the doors slid open once more—revealing a trio of young women, mid-laughter. But their conversation dissolved into stunned silence the second their eyes landed on him.
"Hi, which floor?" Bob asked smoothly, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips, just enough to be dangerous.
"W—which.. floor—?" one of the girls stammered, the other two giggling as they shuffled inside, sneaking not-so-subtle glances from behind.
Merely smiled, the gorgeous liftman knowingly pressed a 6. But just as the doors began to close, something caught his eye. Through the reflective elevator walls, he saw them—
Two disheveled men sprinting through the packed lobby like their lives depended on it.
Bob's smirk faltered. His fingers stilled against the button panel as his sharp gaze locked onto the approaching mess.
The 'peanut butter combo' in neat suits—one with black hair, another mustard blonde—skidded to a stop just outside the elevator. Their expressions? A mix of horror, disbelief, and something close to spiritual devastation.
When a man in nothing but a pair of boxers burst through the crowd, arms flailing, tears streaming down his face—
The two men lunged, trying to yank the boxer-clad disaster back before he caused a full-blown spectacle. A sea of well-dressed chaos turned, gasps rippling through the air. Conversations paused, champagne glasses froze mid-air, and somewhere, and someone—probably near the piano—let out a gasp so theatrical it might've echoed off the chandelier.
Just in time, the two couples smiling with matching Rolexes—slipped into the ballroom doors, safely tucked away from the madness behind them. Only one of the younger couples behind them hadn't yet stepped inside.
The woman, hand looped around her partner's arm, paused at the threshold and glanced over her shoulder. Her sleek black hair framed her sharp cheekbones as she tilted her head, brows furrowing at the absurd scene unraveling just a few feet away. For a second, confusion flickered in her almond eyes—but in sudden recognition, she simply scoffed, turned back, and walked through the ballroom doors, letting them seal the chaos out behind her.
Inside the elevator, Bob—ever the professional—bit back a laugh, watching the absolute catastrophe unfold as the doors finally slid shut. And with that, the lift made its way up.
As the soft chime signaled their floor, the girls prepared to step out—but one of them lingered. With a slow, deliberate motion, she pressed a sleek hotel key card into his hand, her fingers grazing his. She leaned in slightly, a flirtatious smile curling on her lips.
"I know who you are."
Bob raised a brow, his piercing blue eyes flicking over her before replying, "You do, huh?" all while taking the card from her fingers, spinning it between his own.
YOU ARE READING
The Last Rule
RomanceSome rules were never meant to last. They were lovers once. Now? In-laws trapped inside the empire of Wyatt & Reed. Evangeline Reed-the girl who drew boundaries like battle lines. Liam Wyatt-the boy who always wanted to cross them. They're enemies i...
