Chapter 117

Usually, Hayden treats me well, so I assumed he'd behave similarly with Demi. I waited twenty minutes before going to his room, exceeding his ten-minute request to allow for showering and changing.

His hair was still damp, and he wore loose clothing and hotel slippers when he opened the door. "Come in," he said curtly.

His laptop sat open on the desk. Skipping pleasantries, I asked, "What's the new issue?"

"It's a document on the desktop," he replied, as the kettle switched off.

I sat down, expecting his desktop to be organized, but it was chaotic. I'm thankfully not bothered by clutter, or I might have fainted.

The sheer number of icons overwhelmed me. "Which one is it?" I asked.

"The one named YLC," he said.

My eyes, tired from a binge-watching session, struggled to locate it. After a fruitless search, I admitted, "I can't find it."

He was making chamomile tea with honey. "Let me check," he said, approaching, but his phone buzzed. He held up a finger. "Hang on a sec."

I resumed searching. He answered the call; I couldn't hear the other person, but I heard Hayden sharply say, "We signed the contract. No changes, and no, compensation isn't happening… Yeah, it's non-negotiable."

He ended the call swiftly. The problem wasn't the quantity of files, but their nonsensical names.

Hayden returned with a cup of tea. "This is for you."

"Thanks," I replied, but a sudden tension arose. His arm encircled me, almost a half-hug, as he pointed to a file. "It's right here."

His voice was low, rough, and dangerously close, sending shivers down my spine. His chin was practically resting on my head. His scent—clean soap and fresh shampoo—was intoxicating, making my pulse race.

My body felt ablaze, every nerve on high alert. I froze.

"Open it. I'll explain," Hayden said, breaking through my paralysis.

I fumbled with the mouse, losing track of the file in my fluster.

"This one," he said, guiding my hand to the correct file and clicking it open.

The document appeared, but the text blurred; I couldn't focus.

"You got it?" he asked.

"Nope," I said, moving away. "Whoa, dude, personal space."