Amelia was planning to head back the way she came and take the elevator down. But just her luck: as she reached the doors, the elevator started descending without her. Right next to it stood a sweeping spiral staircase, its wooden railings brushed with gold leaf—honestly, the thing looked more like a piece of art than something you’d actually use.
It was only three floors, so she figured, why not take the stairs?
But the moment she reached the second-floor landing, she practically ran into Cameron, coming out of a hallway from the other side.
He spotted her instantly.
Cameron had come up to the second floor claiming he needed the restroom, but really, he was just stalling—wandering around, half-hoping to catch Amelia looking lost as she searched for Clive. He’d already made a full lap around the lounge, but Amelia was nowhere to be seen. The table where he, Clive, and Michael had eaten lunch was already taken by someone new.
Cameron found himself wondering where she’d disappeared to—until, suddenly, she came down from the third floor.
The third floor was reserved for private suites. Reservations were impossible to get, and even if there wasn’t a staff member at the stairs, there were cameras everywhere. If someone who didn’t belong tried to sneak up, security would show up in a heartbeat.
And yet here was Amelia, coming down those stairs.
Cameron narrowed his eyes, putting the pieces together.
She must have searched the second floor and, not finding Clive, assumed he was upstairs. She probably snuck up while no one was watching, only to get caught and sent right back down.
He couldn’t help but find it funny.
This woman really knew how to embarrass herself, over and over again.


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