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“Look,” I say, “if you came here to insult my hotel room or throw more of your charm around, I’m not interested. Say whatever you came to say and leave.”

He stops in front of me, too close. My breath catches—not from fear, but something else. Something my mind immediately tries to shut down. His eyes hold mine for a moment longer than they should, like he’s reading something on my face.

Then he smiles.

“You want me, Mia. I can see it. You can pretend all you want, but you’ll fall eventually. Just like the others.”

My mouth drops open. “Are you serious right now?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t just toss a grenade into the room.

“I wouldn’t fall for you if we were the last two people on Earth,” I say, my voice shaking with fury. “You think the world revolves around you, but it doesn’t. You’re not charming, Jack. You’re exhausting.”

His jaw tightens, the smugness flickering for a split second.

“And for the record,” I add, “I’m not interested in the front pages or the drama that comes with you. The women you mess with? They’re not accessories to your personality. They’re people. So don’t come in here acting like you know me or like I’m going to be one of your tabloid stories. Because I’m not.”

Silence stretches between us.

He doesn’t respond. Just looks at me with something unreadable behind those piercing eyes.

“Now get out,” I say, stepping aside and pointing to the door. “My job doesn’t start until Bardstown. And it definitely doesn’t include dealing with you here.”

He doesn’t argue.

He walks past me, pauses at the doorway, and glances back once more. “I’ll see you in Bardstown, Cupid.”

Then he’s gone.

I stand there, heart pounding, fists clenched at my sides. I slam the door shut and lock it.

I should feel victorious. But all I feel is rattled.

And worse—deep down, somewhere I refuse to acknowledge—I still feel the echo of the way my body reacted when I first saw him.

My goodness. Is he right? Am I like the others? Oh, no! Never. This was just a moment of weakness. He just waltzed in here and caught me by surprise. It would never happen again, that’s for sure.

The second the door clicks shut behind Jack, my phone buzzes on the nightstand.

I sigh, already knowing who it is.

Sure enough, it’s Emma.

I pick up. “Hey.”

“Was it room service?” she asks, way too innocently.

There’s a beat of silence. I consider lying. It would be easier, maybe even smarter. But… I’m tired of pretending today.

“No,” I say, sinking back onto the edge of the bed. “It was Jack.”

Emma screams. “What?!”

I pull the phone away from my ear, wincing.

In the background, I hear another voice—deeper, masculine, confused.

“Why the heck is Jack Calloway in your room this late?” Sam. Emma’s husband—and my older brother. Of course, she’d rope him into this.