I click through the images, shifting the laptop toward him. “So, this is what I’m thinking for the furnishings. Rich upholstery. Warm wood tones. I want it to feel classic but still inviting. Like… tufted leather armchairs in that deep cognac color, with brass nailhead trim. Dark-stained mahogany desks—something with a little bit of carving detail, a nod to the old craftsmanship the hotel was known for. And I’m picturing floor-to-ceiling drapes in deep jewel tones, framing those huge windows so the afternoon light spills through. I want to keep the old-world charm but polish it up. Think velvet settees with turned legs, clawfoot coffee tables, antique-style sconces throwing off this soft, cozy glow. A mix of heirloom and high-end.”

He nods in approval, his gaze lingering on the screen before shifting to me. “You’re good at this. I can already picture it. But there’s one thing that concerns me.”

I glance up, brows lifting. “Oh?”

His lips twitch into something just shy of a smirk. “It’s easier if I show you.”

He steps back from the desk and gestures toward the bed. “Come here.”

I hesitate for a fraction of a second before standing.

He crosses the room, stopping at the foot of the bed and motioning for me to sit.

I give him a questioning look as I lower myself onto the edge. “Okay?”

“Tell me what’s wrong with this bed.”

I press my palms into the mattress, testing the feel beneath my fingertips. Then I shift my weight and give a small bounce. “It’s too firm to suit me.”

“What else?”

I bounce again, and the bedsprings protest with an unmistakable squeak. I wrinkle my nose. “Loud. Guests don’t want to feel like the whole floor can hear them rolling over—or doing anything else, for that matter.”

His lips twitch like he’s holding back a laugh. “Good point. What else?”

A checklist spins through my head, but nothing feels wrong. Lifting my gaze, I meet his eyes. “I’m not sure.”

He watches me for a moment, then exhales, shaking his head with something that looks a lot like disappointment. “Let me show you.”

He lowers himself to his knees in front of me, the movement slow and deliberate. My breath catches, every muscle in my body going rigid.

“Imagine this room, this bed… and the way your lover would worship every part of you until you forgot your own name.”

A warning bell chimes in my head, but I don’t move. I can’t speak.

His hands ghost over my knees. “May I?”

I blink, my brain cells scrambling. “May you what?”

His lips curl at the corner. “Show you the problem with the bed.”

I hesitate, uncertain of where this is going, but nod.