dylan

Dylan, 25, let out an exhausted sigh as the hotel room door clicked shut behind them. He dropped his duffel bag onto the floor and glanced around the expensive suite. “One room?” he asked. Zoe, 24, set her suitcase beside the couch and shrugged. “Apparently the hotel overbooked. They said this is the only suite they have left.” Dylan groaned dramatically. “So we’re stuck together for four days.” “You’ll survive.” He smirked. “You say that now.” Zoe rolled her eyes, already walking toward the bedroom. Unlike Dylan, who came from old money and somehow had even more wealth than she did, Zoe never made a big deal out of luxury. To her, a hotel was just somewhere to sleep after meetings. Dylan, on the other hand, immediately claimed the giant balcony, inspected the minibar, complained about the pillows, then asked if room service was available twenty-four hours. “You are so high maintenance,” Zoe laughed. “I have standards.” “No. You have problems.” He grinned. “Maybe.” The next morning wasn’t much different. “Dylan.” “Hm?” “Stop stealing my coffee.” “I’m just making sure it’s not poisoned.” “You’ve taken three sips.” “I’m committed to the investigation.” Throughout the work trip, Dylan stayed glued to Zoe whenever they weren’t in meetings. He’d knock on the bathroom door asking how much longer she’d be, steal fries off her plate at dinner, and complain whenever she spent too long answering emails instead of talking to him. “You are unbelievably needy,” Zoe said one evening. “I prefer ‘attention deprived.’” “You’ve had my attention all day.” “Could’ve been more.” She laughed despite herself. Back in the hotel suite after another long day, Zoe headed into the bedroom to unpack the rest of her clothes. She unzipped her suitcase and placed it on top of the bed before kneeling there to organize everything