Heels clacking on the marble tile of the hotel lobby, Kimmy and I sprint past the reception desk to Ballroom C, the staging room for tonight's event. We stop just outside the ballroom doors and catch our breath. Donna's voice is vaguely echoing through the door. Praying that the hinges have recently been oiled, I softly open the large mahogany door, ushering Kimmy through first. We squeeze silently inside just in time to catch the end of Donna's speech.

"And lastly, Mr. Richardson, tonight's benefactor, has kindly requested that all staff refrain from being on their cellphones during the fundraiser," Donna announces while scanning the room. Kimmy and I duck our heads slightly as the rest of the staff nod in agreement. "Alright, girls! Go get ready and report to your section leaders in an hour."

As the crowd disperses, Kimmy and I make our way to the wardrobe section at the opposite end of the room. All the garment bags on the rack have already been picked up, except the ones with our initials etched on the fabric bags. Kimmy stares at me as we grab our respective outfits.

"You think she noticed?" Kimmy murmurs as she unzips the bag and pulls out a floor length red sequin gown.

"Noticed what?" A stern voice hisses behind us. We spin around and Donna is standing behind us arms crossed. "Notice that you were late? Or that you tried to hide your tardiness?" She pauses. "Well?"

"Donna, we're sorry!" Kimmy whines. "There was so much traffic on Madison and then they wouldn't let us park in the hotel parkade, so we had to find street parking, and you know how that is on a Saturday-"

"Enough!" Donna snaps. "I don't need your excuses. What I need is for my staff to conduct themselves in a professional manner."

Kimmy's almost on the verge of tears. She doesn't handle scolding very well. "We understand Donna, sorry. It won't happen again."

"Get. Ready." Donna commands before walking away. As Kimmy and I start undressing, Donna turns around, "You're both in section 10."

Kimmy groans as she slips into her gown. "Section 10? Section 10? In these shoes? Lilah, we're going to die! Again!"

It's become an unspoken rule that if Donna ever places you in Section 10, that means you're in the doghouse. It's the furthest section from the bar, which means constant round trips to pick up and drop off flutes of champagne or whatever it is the guests order. Oh, and worst of all, the kitchen is on the opposite end of the ballroom, which means our dreams of a caviar feast have slipped away.

After all the final touches, jewellery, hair pins, and enough hairspray to suffocate an entire room, the finished product doesn't look half bad.

The colour scheme for tonight's event is red, gold and black and our dresses coordinated as such. I run my hand over the gold sequins hugging my body, and brush away a couple stray hairs from my face.

Donna asks everyone to gather one last time and reiterates everyone's section, emphasizing mine and Kimmy's. We get a few sympathetic nods from our co-workers, but I know inside they're happy it's us and not them.

As we make our way to our sections in the Grand Ballroom, we're greeted by the casino dealers. There's a mix of roulette, blackjack, baccarat, and poker tables spread throughout the ballroom. Thematic drapes shape the room, converging in the center of the ceiling. High-top cocktail tables are sprinkled among the games, covered in dark fabric, with votive candles and playing cards acting as centrepieces.

The guests begin to arrive, all decked out in various James Bond inspired costumes. A woman walks by me with a Russian ushanka hat, and a small toy pistol in hand, laughing while pretending to shoot her escort. Oh boy, this is going to be a long night. Before I know it I'm on autopilot shuffling back and forth from the bar. Champagne. Moscow Mule. Scotch neat. Red wine. White wine. Beer. Beer. Beer.

After running around for several hours, Donna finally gives me the go ahead to take a quick break before the night wraps up. To escape the drone of conversation, and liquor induced laughter, I make my way to the vacant balcony I saw when I went to the bathroom. It's situated in Section 1, just off the east end of the ballroom.

Scanning my surroundings, I furtively take off my stilettos and release a long sigh as instant relief from the cold concrete ground washes over my exploited feet. The cityscape is always beautiful from this high up. With all the glistening signs and dim light glowing softly in apartments, it's never really dark in New York. Just as expected, there aren't any visible stars in the sky, just the occasional rhythmic blinking of airplanes.

As I fasten up the last clasp of my shoes, a stumpy figure trips onto the balcony.

"Hey gorgeous," the man slurs as he approaches me. "What're you doing out here all alone in the cold?"

"Just getting some fresh air before heading back inside," I move slowly away from the inebriated man. These types of encounters usually come with the territory of this job.

The man speeds up his approach until he's only two feet away from me. "Oh, come on honey, I just got here. Don't you want me to warm you up?" He asks, lifting up his head to meet my eyes. I don't know where the confidence to hit on women a foot taller and three decades younger comes from, but I think Mr. Glenlivet has something to do with it.

"Oh, what a...nice offer, but I really need to get back to work. So if you'll excuse me."

Slipping around him I try to bee line back inside. Before I can take another step, there's a hand on my forearm and in a swift motion I'm spun around backwards into the man's arms. Losing my balance, my knee bends and my shoulder crashes into the whiskey glass the man is holding, shattering it in his hand. The man yells hysterically as I stagger backwards. There are streaks of blood rushing down his hand. The man falls to the ground holding his arm and curses repeatedly. Shit.

Shocked and in a panic, I try to remember what they taught us in first aid training. I think the first rule was to stay calm, clearly I've already failed.

Rushing back inside I stop in front of the first table I can find.

"Hi, I need help! There's a man on the balcony. He's bleeding and there's glass everywhere and I don't know what to do!"

A man sitting at the poker table stands up instantly and walks towards me.

"It's okay, relax. I can help, I'm a doctor. Miss...?"

"Lilah, just Lilah." I try to slow down my breathing.

"Okay, Lilah why don't you sit down here, you look a little pale." The doctor gestures to his seat. "Call 911," he adds, directing the command to the poker dealer as he exits onto the balcony.

Legs shaking and heart beating frantically, I take a seat at the poker table. Closing my eyes, I lower my face into my hands.

"You have blood on your shoulder," a voice mutters.

"I have what?"

"Blood. You have blood on your shoulder," the voice repeats coolly.

Raising my head, I glance to my right shoulder, there's scattered red drops on my skin. My stomach instantly curls. The sight of blood didn't bother me until I saw the aftermath of a car accident five months ago.

"Here." The man hovers a napkin in front of me.

Sitting up, I reach for the napkin, accidentally grazing his hand; the contact lasts a second too long, before I pull away. Shifting my gaze from his long fingers to this face, I recognize the familiar sharp shade of green staring at me intently. Commanding my eyes to look away from his perfectly sculpted face, my orders go unanswered. He scans my face, moving from my eyes to my lips and back again. Does he recognize me? My face burns up as I finally break eye contact.

"Th-thank you." I pat the napkin over my shoulder trying to soak up the blood but end up just smudging it around.

"Let me." The man takes the napkin from my hand and pours out a little of his drink onto it. "It's just water," he adds.

I didn't realize how cold I was until his large warm hand wrapped around my arm to steady it as he wiped off the remaining blood. With every stroke, small shivers tingle down my spine. Based on the sly smirk forming on the man's face, he could sense how my body was reacting to his touch.

"It's not mine," I blurt out. The man raises an eyebrow. "The blood. It's not mine".

Placing the stained napkin on the edge of the table the man reclines back in his seat. "I figured as much when I didn't see a wound."

I giggle nervously and lower my head.

Over my shoulder, there are two paramedics walking through the ballroom towards the doctor that's hailing them just outside the balcony. One of the paramedics eyes the stained napkin as he passes by, I avert my gaze. The last thing I want to do is explain what happened and why I'm covered in blood that's not my own.

I should just leave now. My legs wobble as I attempt to stand up and I fall back down to the chair.

"Hey!" A voice by the balcony shouts. "Hunter!"

The man beside me sluggishly turns around. "What!?"

"Make sure she stays seated, she's probably in shock."

Hunter turns back towards me. "Stay seated, doctor's orders."

Embarrassed, I try to think of something to say. I can't just sit here in silence, I'll die.

"So...are you also a doctor?" I ask, trying to avoid eye contact.

Hunter scoffs. "No."

This man is not giving me much to work with here. As if she could sense my desperation, Kimmy comes running towards our table.

"LILAH! Oh my God, here you are! I've been looking for you everywhere. What the hell happened?" she shrieks as she examines me.

"I was taking a break and a drunk man fell on the balcony and cut himself on some broken glass. Paramedics are here, it's fine." Hunter glances at me with disapproval.

Kimmy looks at the table puzzled. "What's with the napkin? Are you hurt!?"

I shoot her a glare. "I-I, no, I'm ok, really. Just a little queasy." Kimmy continues to examine me before noticing the dark-haired man sitting next to me, watching us.

Kimmy extends her hand in his direction. "Hi, I'm Kimmy, Lilah's friend. And you are?"

"Hunter." He doesn't take her hand.

"Rude," Kimmy states as she glares at Hunter. My face is now beet red and I'm starting to sweat. What is happening right now. Hunter's lips curl up into a smile and he lifts his hand up, showing a couple of dried red stains. "Ew. I'm good." Kimmy retracts her hand. Hunter nods.

The paramedics leave the balcony, walking the drunk man out of the ballroom, his hand wrapped up in gauze. The doctor rejoins our table and stands beside Hunter.

"How are you feeling, Lilah?"

"I think I'm good now, really. Thank you. I just don't handle blood well."

The doctor laughs. "Yeah, it can be a little too much for some people," he grabs Hunter's shoulder and squeezes. "Hopefully this guy kept you company though." Hunter shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Kimmy circles around my chair and holds out her hand to the doctor. "I'm Kimmy!"

The doctor grabs her hand instantly. "Oh hello. I'm Jack, and this is my brother, Hunter."

Kimmy fakes a smile. "Oh, we've met."

Brothers? Examining them head to toe, they are nothing alike. Different hair, different eyes. Jack is tall but has a smaller frame. I can tell even when he's sitting, that Hunter is built more like a Tight-End. Does he play sports? Or maybe he's more of a spectator type. What would be his game of choice? Football? Hockey? I hope it's not soccer, that game is a bore.

"Do you make a habit of lying to your friends?" Hunter asks in a low voice, interrupting my reverie.

"What!?" I ask looking around for Kimmy, but she's at the end of the table, lost in conversation with Jack.

"Your dress is covered in Scotch. I don't think it got there by accident." I lower my nose and smell the top of my sleeve. Single malt.

"There might have been an... incident outside, but please don't say anything!" I plead. If Kimmy thought some man tried to harass me she'd sue the hotel. "Plus, he was drunk."

"So, that makes it ok?" he asks. Why is he leaning so close? And why does he smell so delicious, like sandalwood or manly vanilla...is that even a thing?

"No... but I just don't want to start any drama."

Hunter's eyes slightly narrow as he takes a sip of his drink. "Hmm."

Jack and Kimmy walk back towards us, both seemingly pleased with whatever short conversation they had.

"So, we discussed it, and we think that Hunter should drive you home." Kimmy grins as she tries to help me out of my seat. Seeing Kimmy struggle, Hunter stands up and softly wraps his hands around my waist, lifting me to my feet in seconds. The heat radiating off his body sends my heart into overdrive.

"What?" I steal a glance at Hunter. "I can't leave! We still have last call. Donna's going to kill me if she sees I left early!"

"Lilah, last call was like 15 minutes ago and Donna already left, so it's fine. I need to stay to clean up a bit, but you should go." Kimmy gently nudges my ribs. "You'll get her home safe, right?" Kimmy adds, looking at Hunter. He nods.

Examining around the ballroom, it's not nearly as packed as it was the last time I checked.

"...but"

"No but's! You should rest. Go get changed, and then let Hunter drive you home." Kimmy nudges my ribs again, this time not so gently.

"How do I know you're not a serial killer?" I ask Hunter, attempting to whisper but clearly, I fail because Kimmy and Jack shoot me a quizzical look.

Hunter smirks. "You can keep your location on if you're concerned."

"Lilah, I don't think he's a serial killer," Kimmy says, tossing Hunter a nervous smile. "Sorry, she watches a lot of Dateline. Go change Lilah, I'll get his license plate if it'll make you feel better."

Defeated, I nod in agreement. "She'll meet you in the lobby in ten minutes," Kimmy announces. Jack smiles as Kimmy waves us goodbye.

It's dark and empty in Ballroom C, most of the staff have already packed up and left. I find my garment bag and start to undress.

There's some dried blood on a couple of individual sequins near the shoulder. I shudder at the thought of having to scrub down the dress before delivering it back to the Hot Shot office tomorrow.

In the hotel lobby, Hunter leans on the wall, his phone pressed against his ear. As I approach, I'm shocked by the sheer mass of the man in front of me. Can a man grow in ten minutes? His black suit hugs his wide shoulders, and even through the thick fabric, there's a visible definition in his arms. His tie is loosened and the top button of his shirt undone. The echoing clanks of my boots alert him of my presence and he promptly ends his call.

"Ready to go?"

I nod.

The valet brings around his car, some sort of BMW. It looks new. Hunter opens the door for me and I slip inside, placing my bags by my feet. The car smells of fresh leather. I run my fingers over the dashboard. No dust. Hunter pulls out of the hotel and turns onto the road; soft jazz music comes out of the speakers.

"Listen, um.. thank you for driving me home. You really didn't have to..." Hunter turns on Amsterdam Avenue. Kimmy must have told him my address.

"I have some business to take care of in the area, so it's no bother." Hunter stares at the road. His finger subtly tapping along to the smooth music.

Silence hangs in the air. It's taking everything in me not to turn my head and stare at Hunter as he drives. I force myself to keep my eyes on the road. Only 10 more minutes, then I'm home free.

We take the final turn and pull up outside my apartment. The engine stops. I scoop up my bags and start to open the door.

"Lilah..." Hunter grabs my hand just as I step out of the car. A shiver courses down my spine as I turn around.

"Yes?" I swallow.

"You dropped these." He holds up my keys, which must have fallen out of my purse. I grab them from his hand and slam the car door shut.

Rushing, I tumble over the last two stairs before making it inside my apartment. As soon as the door shuts, I sink down on the ground and put my forehead on my knees. A kaleidoscope of butterflies swarm my stomach. Oh, no. This is not good.